King Matt the First

by Janusz Korczak

  The doctor dictated his prescription:

  Rx. Crayfish soup

  Disp. 10 crayfish dosis una

  Sig: A spoonful every two hours

  When the doll manufacturer, who now called himself Purveyor to the King, heard that the Minister of Commerce himself was awaiting him in his office, he rubbed his hands with joy.

  King Matt must have come up with a new idea.

  The manufacturer needed business because, since the outbreak of the war, practically all the fathers and uncles had gone away, and no one was buying dolls.

  “Mr. Manufacturer, this is a rush order. The doll must be ready tomorrow.”

  “That will be difficult. Almost all my workers have gone off to war, and I only have women and sick people working for me now. Besides, I am up to my ears in work because practically every father who’s going off to war is buying his children dolls so they won’t cry and won’t miss him and be naughty.”

  The manufacturer was lying through his teeth. None of his workers had gone off to war, because he paid them so poorly that they were all weak from hunger and unfit for military service. And he had no orders whatsoever. He only said that because he wanted a lot of money for the doll.

  His eyes lit up when he learned that it was to be a doll of Matt.

  “Just think,” said the minister, “the king has to appear in public often. He will have to go around the city in an open car so people won’t think he’s hiding because he’s afraid of the war. But why should a young child ride around so much? It might rain and he could catch cold. It’s especially important now to safeguard the king’s health.”

  The manufacturer was too smart not to guess that something was being covered up. “So it has to be ready tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, by nine o’clock.”

  The manufacturer picked his pen up and pretended to make some calculations—after all, Matt would have to be made of the best porcelain, and he didn’t know if he had enough. Yes, it was going to be extremely expensive. And the workers would have to be paid extra for keeping it a secret. And his best doll-making machine had just broken down, and it would cost a pretty penny to fix! And, of course, he would have to delay all his other orders. He spent a long, long time going over his figures.

  “Mr. Minister of Commerce, if there were no war—and I do understand that right now great sums of money are being spent on troops and cannons—if there were no war, you would have to pay twice this amount. But, with things as they are, the best price I can give you is . . .”

  The minister groaned when he heard the price.

  “But that’s highway robbery.”

  “You are insulting a national industry, Mr. Minister.”

  The Minister of Commerce telephoned the Prime Minister because he was afraid to spend so much money himself. But, afraid that somebody might be listening in on their conversation, he said “cannon” instead of “doll.”

  “They’re asking an awful lot of money for that cannon.”

  The Prime Minister guessed immediately what was going on, and so he said: “Don’t haggle, just tell them that the cannon must have a pull string so it can salute.”

  The telephone operator, who was listening in, was very surprised to hear about newfangled cannons that were supposed to salute.

  The manufacturer began to grow very excited: “That’s not part of the order. That’s not our business. You should talk to the royal mechanic or a watchmaker. I’m a serious manufacturer, not a magician. Matt will open and close his eyes, but he won’t salute, and that’s that. And I won’t lower my price by a single cent.”

  But finally the doll maker agreed to make a doll that saluted.

  Hungry and tired, the Minister of Commerce returned home.

  Hungry and tired, the prefect of police returned to the palace. “Now I know how they kidnapped Matt. I have examined everything thoroughly. This is what happened: while Matt was sleeping, they threw a sack over his head and carried him out to the royal gardens near the raspberry bushes. I saw some trampled spots there. Matt passed out. So they gave him raspberries and cherries to bring him back to consciousness. There were six cherry stones there. When they were lifting Matt over the fence, he must have struggled, because there are traces of blue blood on one of the trees. Then they seated him on a cow so people would think he was a peasant boy.”

  The prefect had seen the hoofprints himself. The trail had led to the forest, where a sack was found. Then, of course, they had hidden Matt somewhere, but the prefect did not know where, because he had not had enough time, and he could not question anyone, because that would mean betraying the secret. They should keep an eye on the foreign tutor, who was acting very suspiciously—he kept asking if he could see Matt. And then the prefect of police showed the Prime Minister the cherry pits and the sack.

  The Prime Minister placed the sack and the pits in a chest, padlocked it, and sealed it with red wax on which he wrote in Latin: Corpus delicti.

  It is customary to write in Latin when a person doesn’t know what he’s talking about and doesn’t want others to find out.

  The next day the Minister of War made a farewell report to Matt the doll, who did not say a word but only saluted.

  On every street corner, announcements were posted that the people of the capital could go calmly about their business, because King Matt would be touring the city every day in an open car.

  THE MINISTER OF War’s plan succeeded brilliantly. Matt’s three enemies had thought that Matt’s troops would attack all of them at once. But meanwhile the Minister of War had assembled his soldiers in one place, attacked one of the enemy armies with all his might, and smashed it to pieces. He took a great deal of booty and distributed rifles, boots, and knapsacks to those who were short of them.

  Matt arrived at the front just when the spoils were being divvied up.

  “What kind of soldiers might these two be?” marveled the chief of supply, who issued food and clothing to the soldiers.

  “We’re the same as all the rest,” said Felek. “Just a little smaller.”

  Everyone chose a pair of boots, a revolver, a rifle, and a knapsack. Now Felek regretted that he had taken his father’s cartridge belt and jackknife—he could have been spared the beating if he’d only waited. But who can ever foresee the surprises that war brings?

  It was no accident that people said the commander in chief was none too smart. Instead of collecting the booty, pulling back, and digging in, he continued on the attack. He took another five or six more cities, none of which he needed. And only then did he order ramparts to be built. But it was too late, for by then the other two enemy armies were on their way to help the one he had defeated.

  That’s what people said later on, but at the time Matt’s division knew nothing, because in war everything is kept a secret.

  An order came to go here, then there, an order came to do this, then that. Go where you’re told, do what you’re told, ask no questions, and keep your lips sealed.

  Matt liked everything he saw in the foreign town they had conquered. People slept in large, comfortable rooms; though they did sleep on the floor, it was still better than a cramped hut or an open field.

  Matt was longing for his first taste of battle, because so far he had seen and heard many interesting things, but he had not seen any real war. What a shame that they had been too late.

  They only stayed in that city one night; the next day they were on their way again.

  “Halt. Dig in.”

  Matt knew absolutely nothing about modern war. He thought that soldiers just fought, stole horses, and rode onward, trampling the foe. But he never dreamed that soldiers dug trenches, drove in posts connected by barbed wire in front of those trenches, and then sat in those trenches for weeks on end. He was in no great hurry to set to work. He was tired and weak, all his bones ached; it was a king’s task to fight, but digging trenches—anybody could do that better than Matt.

  But orders kept coming to hurry because the enemy was
approaching. Now cannon fire could be heard in the distance.

  A colonel of the engineers came by in an automobile; he shouted, clenched his fists, and threatened to shoot anyone who didn’t do a good job of digging.

  “There’s going to be a battle tomorrow and they’re doing nothing! And why are those two here?” he shouted in a fury, pointing at Matt and Felek. “Who are these two giants?”

  All the colonel’s anger might have come down on the two volunteers, but fortunately, just then, an enemy airplane began to roar overhead.

  The colonel looked up at the sky through his binoculars, then turned quickly, got into his car, and slipped away. And then—boom, boom, boom—three bombs fell one after the other. No one was actually wounded, but everyone scrambled into the trenches for cover.

  Bombs and cannon shells are constructed to contain lots of shot and shrapnel. When a shell explodes, everything inside it flies out in all directions, wounding and killing. But if you’re down low, in a trench, everything flies over your head. That is, unless the shell falls right into the trench. But that’s rare, because cannon shells travel over a mile and it is difficult to aim them precisely from such a distance.

  Those three bombs taught Matt a great deal. He no longer sulked and rebelled, he just picked up his shovel and worked so long that his exhausted hands dropped all by themselves, and overcome with fatigue, he fell deeply asleep, right at the bottom of the trench. The soldiers did not wake him up even though they kept working all through the night by the light of the flares. And with the dawn came the enemy’s first attack.

  Four enemy horsemen appeared. They had been sent out to look for Matt’s army, which then opened fire on them; one fell dead from his horse, the other three fled.

  “The battle will start any minute,” shouted the lieutenant.

  “Stay in your trenches, show your rifles, and wait,” sounded the order.

  And indeed, the enemy’s troops appeared a minute later. Both sides opened fire. But Matt’s division was concealed in trenches and the enemy was crossing an open field. The enemy’s bullets flew, buzzing and whistling, over the trenches and over the heads of the crouching soldiers. But the enemy was suffering heavy losses.

  Now Matt understood that the colonel of the engineers had been right to be angry yesterday, and that in war every order must be carried out quickly and without any unnecessary gab.

  Yes, a civilian could do what he wanted, hesitate, and waste time talking, but a soldier knows only one thing: an order must be carried out without delay, every command fulfilled to the letter.

  If it’s forward, it’s forward; if it’s back, it’s back; and if it’s dig, then you dig.

  The battle lasted an entire day. Finally, the enemy realized that there was no point in continuing, because they were just losing men, and they could not even reach Matt’s army because of the barbed wire. So they retreated and began digging in. But it’s one thing to dig trenches calmly when no one’s hampering you and quite another when bullets are flying from all sides.

  That night, flares were set off every few minutes and lit up the sky, and though there was less shooting because the weary soldiers took turns shooting and sleeping, the battle still continued.

  “We’re holding the line,” said the soldiers, pleased.

  “We’re holding the line,” the lieutenant telephoned headquarters, for they had already laid the telephone wire.

  And so they were very surprised and angry the next day when they received the order to retreat.

  “What for? We dug trenches, we held the enemy, we can defend ourselves.”

  Had Matt been the lieutenant, he probably would not have obeyed the order. It must be some mistake. The colonel should come and see how well they were fighting. So many enemy soldiers dead, but they had only one man wounded: he’d been firing from the trench when an enemy bullet grazed his hand. How could the colonel see what was happening from so far away?

  There was a moment when Matt had been ready to shout at the top of his lungs: “I am King Matt. Let the colonel give all the orders he wants, but I will not allow a retreat. A king is higher than a colonel.”

  He did not do it, because he wasn’t sure they would believe him, and then they might make fun of him.

  And for the second time Matt was to learn that in war you don’t have to understand, but you do have to obey orders without delay.

  They were sorry to abandon those trenches dug with such sweat and effort and to leave behind part of their supplies—their bread, sugar, and lard. They were sorry to return through the village where the villagers asked in surprise: “Why are you running away?”

  While they were on the march, a messenger on horseback overtook them with a note saying to march quickly and take no rest.

  “Take no rest”—that’s easy to say, but after two nights without sleep, one night digging trenches, the other fighting, it was impossible to march without resting. Besides, the soldiers had little food and were angry and upset, too. Soldiers like to advance, they get their second wind and speed up, but they don’t like to retreat and quickly run out of strength.

  They marched and they marched and then they marched some more, when suddenly shots began ringing out left and right.

  “I see,” cried the lieutenant. “We advanced too far, and the enemy has come up from the rear. The colonel was right when he ordered us to flee quickly. They would have taken us prisoner.”

  “A fine kettle of fish,” said one soldier. “Now we’ll have to fight our way out.”

  And that was no easy thing. Now the enemy was in the trenches, firing from both sides, and it was Matt’s army’s turn to take flight.

  NOW MATT UNDERSTOOD why boots, oats for the horses, and bread were discussed by the council of ministers.

  If it weren’t for the bread in their knapsacks, they would have died of hunger, because for three days they had nothing but that bread to eat. They took turns sleeping, only a couple of hours each. And by now their feet were in such bad shape that blood was gurgling in their boots.

  Quiet as shadows, they fled through the forests; the lieutenant kept looking at his map to find ravines or thickets for them to hide in.

  Enemy riders kept appearing again and again to see where Matt’s army was fleeing and tell the pursuit party which direction to take.

  Matt looked entirely different now. He became thin as a rail, stooped, smaller than ever. Many soldiers threw down their rifles, but Matt held on to his, his fingers numb.

  How could a person live through so much in just a few days I

  Daddy, Daddy, thought Matt. Oh, how hard it is to be a king and fight a war. It was easy to say: “Why should we be afraid—I will conquer you just like my mighty great-grand- father.” Easier said than done. Oh, what a foolhardy child I was. All I thought about was leaving the capital on a white horse while the people threw flowers at me. But I wasn’t thinking how many people would be killed.

  Many people had been felled by bullets, and perhaps Matt had been spared only because he was so small.

  How happy they were when they finally met up with their own troops and saw trenches already dug.

  Now they’re going to laugh at us, thought Matt.

  But he was soon to learn that even in war there is justice.

  The fresh troops occupied the trenches and opened fire, while they marched another three miles to the rear and halted in a little town.

  The colonel of the engineers met them there on the square and now was not the least bit angry. He only said, “All right, lads, now do you understand what trenches are for?”

  Did they ever!

  Then the soldiers who had thrown away their rifles were separated from those who had returned with theirs. And to those who still had their rifles, the general made the following speech: “Hats off to you for keeping your weapons. True heroes show themselves in adversity.”

  “Look,” cried the colonel of the engineers. “Those two little boys are here. Long live the two brave brothers!�
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  While resting up, the soldiers heard that the Minister of War had had a terrible argument with the commander in chief and only King Matt had been able to get them to make up.

  Matt knew nothing about the doll that had replaced him in the capital and was very surprised to hear people talking about him as if he were still home. Matt was still a very young king and did not know what diplomacy was. Diplomacy means lying all the time, so that your enemy has no idea of what you’re really doing.

  And so they rested up, ate their fill, and settled down in the trenches. Then the trench war began. This means that both Matt’s army and the enemy fired at each other but the bullets flew over their heads because all the soldiers were below ground level.

  Every once in a while, when they were bored, one side would attack and move a mile or so forward, and the other a mile or so back.

  The soldiers walked back and forth in the trenches, played music, sang, played cards, while Matt tried diligently to keep studying.

  Matt was given lessons by the lieutenant, who was bored, too. In the morning he would post a guard to watch out for an enemy attack, then he would telephone headquarters that everything was in order and have nothing to do for the whole rest of the day.

  And so he was glad to teach little Matt. Matt would sit in the trench and study geography, the skylarks would be singing, and once in a great while a shot would ring out. It was quiet and pleasant.

  Then suddenly it sounded like dogs were whining.

  It was starting!

  Small field artillery.

  And then—boom, boom. A big cannon was barking.

  It was starting. The rifles were croaking like frogs, bullets were whistling, hissing, droning. And it never let up for a second.

  It went on like that for half an hour, or an hour. Sometimes a cannon shell would land in a trench and explode, killing a couple of people and crippling a few more. But the men, already used to it, did not make much of their lost friends.