Antal Szerb - Oliver VII

Our friends withdrew, Marcelle and Honoré fired with enthusiasm, the King and the Major deeply troubled, and Sandoval wickedly amused by the whole situation. Next, Honoré took his leave, and the others went out for some fresh air.

“Now listen, Marcelle,” said the King, slowly stirring his cup of black coffee. “I have to tell you something really dreadful.”

“My God! Are you ill?”

“Possibly. All I want to say to you is that I won’t be playing the part of Oliver VII, ex-King of Alturia.”

“What? And if I may be permitted to ask, why ever not?”

“Why not? How can I put it? … I do have my principles.”

“Have you gone mad?”

“And then, I just don’t feel I’m up to the part. Look, you said it yourself: as a child I never even had my own room, I’ve no manners, no style — you yourself told me no one would ever believe I was a marquis, so who the devil would think I was a king? Especially Coltor, who has breakfast and dinner with kings every day.”

“Wonderful! And why didn’t you say this to St Germain?”

“I was going to, but then you shouted me down. I was afraid that if I even opened my mouth you’d make a scene in front of the old chap. And I didn’t want that.”

“Oh, I know how very refined you are. I always knew you lacked talent, that you’re stupid, and you’re a coward. You can think about that until tomorrow. Come to your senses by then, or you’ll never see me again.”

And with that she made her exit.

Only the Alturians remained on the scene.

“Gentlemen,” the King began, “now that we’re alone there is no longer any need to hide the fact that we have money. Waiter, bring us a bottle of good, strong, red Alturian wine, wherever you can get it. We must drink to the little scare we’ve just had.” Then, as soon as the waiter had disappeared, he turned pensively to his compatriots.

“So what do we do now?”

“It’s very simple,” said the Major. “We’re too late now for the night sailing. But we can be out of Italy on the first boat tomorrow morning. Your Highness has never seen Vienna. I strongly commend it to Your Highness’ attention. Although, as it’s summer, it might be better if we went up into the mountains … And Coltor could easily bump into you in Vienna. Perhaps Igls … But here, Your Highness’ situation is one where only rapid flight will serve. It’s like when you’re dreaming. Sometimes the only way out is to wake up.”

“Is waking up really the only way out?”

“At best, Your Highness might reveal your true identity to the group. But I cannot recommend doing that. Because if St Germain doesn’t do it himself, then Honoré for one will try to capitalise on our little adventure. He’d sell the great news to the papers, and you’d be made a mockery to the world. Not to put too fine a point on it, Alturia would be a laughing stock throughout the world for years to come. No, Your Highness, there’s nothing for it but for us to disappear.”

“And Marcelle?”

“But Your Highness,” he went on, with a hint of exasperation, “it’s my turn to observe that, now we are alone, there is no need to hide the fact that we have money. At least, enough to take her with us, and to compensate her for any unfinished business she might have with St Germain.”

“And do you think, my dear Milán, that she would come with us if she knew … if she knew that I am a king?”

“I know it for certain.”

“It’s not at all certain … And then again … My dear Milán, this is something your soldier’s mind cannot grasp; she would be completely altered in her attitude towards me. Just imagine: she’d be respectful. She’d be afraid of me. And she would swindle me. She said herself that she diddled every one of her friends who had money. She considers it a moral obligation.”

“She would never swindle Your Highness, because I’m here to look after you,” the Major said, with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“But even if she didn’t actually swindle me, her manner towards me would change completely. She would lose her waif-like charm. She would no longer talk to me as an equal. There’d be no more ‘Oscar, what an idiot you are!’ ”

The King sank into himself, deep in thought. Then he went on:

“Gentlemen, I have decided. We’re staying.”

“But Your Highness … ” the Major protested in despair.

“Not another word, my dear Milán. We’re staying here. If there were any pomposity left in me I would say it was the royal wish. I came from Alturia to experience life from below. I can’t run away now that it’s begun to get really interesting, complicated and difficult. We must accept the strange situation we’ve got ourselves into. No great harm can come of it. So cheer up, Milán. Now the fun begins. From tomorrow I am no longer Oscar but the bogus Oliver VII, my own double. Who’s ever done that before?”

When they arrived at St Germain’s the next day they found the Count ten years younger. His great inspiration seemed to have filled him with strength. That morning he was on a level with the greatest of theatre directors.

He gave order after order. He sent telegrams flying round the world.

“This is to Baudrieu, in Paris — tremendous expert in legal jargon. This to Gervaisis, in Brussels — knows how to fall asleep during conversation in the grand aristocratic manner. And this to Valmier, the perfect flunkey. We must bring them all together, the very best in their professions: at this stage we really can’t consider expense or effort. Which reminds me. Honoré, nip round to Mr Beetz in the hotel next door and sell him Marcelle’s ring. We need some petty cash.”

Marcelle heaved a painful sigh.

“Then carry straight on and hire the Palazzo Pietrasanta — the royal residence. Sandoval, you go and get an Alturian flag. Two gold sardines on a field of silver. If you can’t buy one, have one made. Meyer, on you falls the important duty of intellectual preparation. We need all the information we can get about Alturia and its half-witted king. In particular, we must dig up illustrated news sheets from the time of the revolution. We absolutely must locate a portrait of Princess Ortrud. Marcelle, take yourself off to one of the larger jewellers in the Merceria. Ask him to bring his collection to the Pietrasanta. We shall want something nice and showy … perhaps a pendant … yes, that’ll be best … which King Oliver is to present as a token of his love to Princess Ortrud. Then, my girl, you must find us one of those toothpaste advertisements with the king brushing his teeth.”

“What’s that for?” she asked in stupefaction.

“No questions, my girl. Just be on your way, and good luck to you.”

The team raced off for the next boat to town, to carry out his commissions.

“And me?” said Oscar, now finding himself alone with St Germain.

“You stay here. Now we get to the difficult bit. Come, my young friend, we’ll take a little walk on the seafront. This is the place where Goethe so memorably heard the fishermen singing to one another across the water, answering one another with alternate lines from Jerusalem Delivered . I feel like singing myself. Perhaps the setting will inspire us both.”

When they reached the Lungomare — the seafront promenade — St Germain began his little speech:

“Now listen carefully, my young friend. I’ve something serious to say to you. You are not yet ready for your role.”

“I’ve already told you,” Oscar replied glumly. “I’m resigned to the inevitable.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’ve never doubted for a moment that you would do it. You must have at least that much common sense. The only question now is, can you actually play the part? Do you know how to live, what to do, to be a king?”