King Matt the First

by Janusz Korczak

  Klu Klu had fainted. Matt began to drag her out, but he was afraid that she would sink in the muck. He could barely stand on his feet himself. Things might have taken a bad turn, but, up above, the group leaders had not been wasting time. Klu Klu had ordered them to stay put, but how long could they just stand there like a bunch of ninnies? And so they had crawled down into the sewer and noticed the light right away. First they carried out Klu Klu, then Matt, and, last, the dead wolf.

  “MATT, WHAT HAVE you done?” said the sad king. “Matt, come to your senses, you’re in great danger. It’s a shame, you had a chance but you wasted it. I came here to warn you, but I’m afraid it’s too late. I would have been here a week ago, but your trains are useless since the children took over the railroads. I had to travel from the border in farm wagons. Maybe that was for the best, because I passed through villages and little towns and I know what the people are saying about you. Things are bad, Matt, take my word.”

  The sad king had left his own country in the utmost secrecy and had come to help Matt.

  “But what happened that’s so bad?” asked Matt in a worried voice.

  “A lot. But you’re being deceived, the wool’s being pulled over your eyes, and so you don’t know what’s going on.”

  “I know everything,” said Matt, taking offense. “I read the paper every day. The children are gradually getting the hang of things, the subcommittee is working. And reforms aren’t easy—there are always some rough spots. I know it’s been bumpy.”

  “Listen, Matt, you only read one paper, your own. And it’s full of lies. Here, read some other papers.”

  The sad king laid a roll of newspapers tied with string on Matt’s desk.

  Matt slowly unrolled the newspapers. He read only the headlines, that’s all it took to see what was going on. And what Matt read made his head reel.

  KING MATT HAS GONE MAD

  PRIME MINISTER IS THIEF

  BLACK DEVILS RULE

  KING TO MARRY AFRICAN

  SPY ESCAPES FROM PRISON

  NEWSPAPER BOY FELEK NOW BARON

  TWO FORTRESSES BLOWN UP

  COUNTRY WITHOUT CANNONS OR GUNPOWDER

  WAR IMMINENT

  MINISTERS SHIPPING THEIR JEWELS OUT OF THE COUNTRY

  DOWN WITH THE TYRANT KING

  “It’s these papers,” cried Matt, “that are full of lies! What does this mean—black devils rule? The black children came here to study. And they’ve been more than helpful. When the wolves escaped from the zoo, they risked their lives to drive them back into their cage. Klu Klu almost lost a hand. We have cannons and we have gunpowder. I know that Felek was once a newspaper boy, but he was never a thief, and I’m not a tyrant.”

  “Matt, don’t be angry, it won’t do any good. I’m telling you—things are bad. If you like, we can go into town and you can see for yourself.”

  Matt disguised himself as an ordinary boy, and the sad king wore ordinary clothes, too.

  They came to the same barracks Matt had slipped past with Felek the night he ran away from the palace to go off to war. He had been so happy then, a child who knew nothing at all. Now he knew everything and had nothing to look forward to.

  An old soldier was sitting by the barracks smoking his pipe.

  “What’s the good word?” asked Matt.

  “Things are bad. The children are running the show now. They keep shooting off twenty-one-gun salutes and wrecking the cannons. The army’s a shambles.” The old soldier broke into tears.

  They walked past a factory. A worker was sitting outside with a book on his knees, memorizing poetry for school.

  “How are things in the factory?”

  “Go inside and have a look. Anyone who wants to can go in now.”

  They went in. There were papers strewn everywhere in the payroll office, the main boiler had burst, all the machines were idle. A couple of boys were wandering around the factory.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, they sent five hundred of us over here to work. But the other boys said ‘We’re nobody’s fools,’ and they took off. About thirty of us stayed. We don’t know what to do, everything’s busted. The rest of the guys left, but we’re sweeping up a little. Our parents are in school and it’s boring to just sit around at home. Besides, it doesn’t feel right to take money you didn’t earn.”

  Half the stores on the street were closed, even though everyone knew that the wolves were back in their cage.

  They went into a store. There was a nice girl at the counter.

  “Why are so many stores closed?” asked Matt.

  “Because everything’s been stolen. There’s no police, no soldiers. Hoodlums are roaming the streets and robbing stores in broad daylight. The store owners brought all their stuff home for safekeeping.”

  Next they went to the train station. A train was lying on its side in the middle of the yard.

  “What happened?”

  “The switchman went off to play soccer and the stationmaster went fishing. The engineer didn’t know where the emergency brake was. A hundred people were killed.”

  Matt bit his lip to keep from bursting into tears.

  There was a hospital near the train station. The children were supposed to take care of the patients. If they didn’t have too much homework, the doctors would run in for half an hour or so. But that didn’t help much. The patients were groaning and dying. The children were crying, because they were afraid and didn’t know how to help the patients.

  “Well, Matt, should we go back to the palace?”

  “No, I have to go to the newspaper office and have a talk with that journalist,” said Matt calmly, though it was clear that he was seething within.

  “I can’t go there with you,” said the sad king. “I might be recognized.”

  “I won’t be long,” said Matt, and he set off quickly.

  The sad king watched him go, shook his head, and returned to the palace.

  Now Matt wasn’t walking, he ran. Fists clenched, he could feel the blood of King Henryk the Hasty rising in him.

  “Just you wait, you crook, you liar, you cheat, you’ll answer to me for everything.”

  Matt burst into the journalist’s office. The journalist was at his desk, and Felek was lying on the couch, smoking a cigar.

  “Aha, so you’re here, too!” shouted Matt. “All the better, since you’re both involved. What have you done to my country?”

  “Would Your Royal Highness like to sit down and rest?” asked the journalist in his soft, pleasant voice.

  Matt shuddered. Now he was convinced that the journalist was a spy. His heart had told him that long ago, but only now was he certain.

  “Take this, you spy!” cried Matt, firing the revolver that had never left his side since the war, but in a lightning move the journalist grabbed Matt’s hand and the bullet struck the ceiling.

  “Children shouldn’t play with guns,” said the journalist with a smile, squeezing Matt’s hand so hard the bones started to crunch. Matt’s hand opened. The journalist took the revolver and locked it in his desk.

  “Now we can discuss things calmly. And so what is it that Your Royal Highness has against me? Didn’t I defend Your Royal Highness in my newspaper, didn’t I try to keep things peaceful, offer explanations, and praise Klu Klu? Is that why Your Royal Highness calls me a spy and wants to shoot me?”

  “And whose idea was it to make that stupid law about sending grownups to school?”

  “How am I to blame for that? The children voted in that law themselves.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything about our fortresses being blown up?”

  “The Minister of War was supposed to report that to you. I couldn’t write about it in the paper, it’s a military secret.”

  “But why did you ask me so many questions about the fire in the old king’s forest?”

  “A journalist has to ask questions about everything. Then he chooses what he thinks should go in his paper. Your Royal Highness r
ead my paper every day. Was there anything bad in it?”

  “Everything was very good, too good,” said Matt, laughing bitterly.

  The journalist looked Matt right in the eye and asked: “Does Your Royal Highness still say I’m a spy?”

  “I say you are!” cried Felek, leaping up from the sofa.

  The journalist turned pale, glanced furiously at Felek, and was out the door before the two boys realized what was happening.

  “See you soon, you snot-nosed brats,” he shouted, and dashed down the stairs.

  A car screeched to a stop in front of the building.

  “Stop him, grab him!” Felek shouted through the window.

  But it was too late. The car had already disappeared around the corner. Besides, who could have stopped him? Not the few passersby and children standing around to see what the fuss was about.

  Matt was still stunned by it all. Felek threw himself at Matt’s feet and wept.

  “Have me hung, my king, it’s all my fault,” said Felek between sobs. “What a miserable wretch I am! What have I done?”

  “HOLD ON, FELEK, we’ll talk about that later. What’s done is done. The main thing is to be calm and careful. We can’t think about the past. We have to think about the future and what has to be done now.”

  Felek still wanted to confess everything, but Matt didn’t want to lose a second.

  “Listen, Felek, the telephones are out of order. You’re the only one I can count on now. Do you know where the ministers live?”

  “Of course I do. They all live in different parts of town. But that doesn’t matter. I’ve got good legs. I was a newspaper boy for two years. You want them summoned to the palace?”

  “Immediately.” Matt glanced at his watch. “How long will you need?”

  “A half an hour.”

  “Fine. They are to be in my throne room in two hours. If anyone says he’s sick, remind him that the blood of Henryk the Hasty flows in my veins.”

  “They’ll come, all right!” cried Felek.

  He took off his boots and his elegant coat with his medal on it. Felek smeared his pants, hands, and face with printer’s ink, then dashed off barefoot to summon the ministers. Matt set off at a run for the palace, because he wanted to talk with the sad king again before meeting with his ministers.

  “Where’s that man who was here this morning?” said Matt, panting, as soon as Klu Klu opened the door.

  “He’s gone. He left a letter on your desk.”

  Matt ran into his office with a sinking feeling. He grabbed the letter and read it:

  Dear Matt, my friend,

  What I feared the most has now happened. I have to leave you. Dear Matt, if I didn’t know you so well, I would have proposed that you come with me to my country, but I knew you wouldn’t agree. I’ll be taking the northern highway, and if you wish, you could catch up with me on horseback in two hours. I will stop at the inn and I may wait a little while. But if I don’t, remember that I am your friend. Trust me even when you think that I have betrayed you. Whatever I do will be for your own good. One thing I beg of you—my coming here must be our secret. No one, but no one, can know about this. This letter must be burned at once! I feel sorry for you, you poor child, an orphan all alone in the world. I would be so happy to spare you even a tenth part of the misfortunes awaiting you. But maybe you’ll come with me. This letter absolutely must be burned.

  Matt read the letter through quickly, lit a candle, and held the edge of the paper to the flame. The paper began to smolder, burst into flame, and curled into a blackened scroll. The flame singed Matt’s fingers, but he paid no attention to the pain.

  My soul is suffering more than my fingers, he thought.

  On the wall across from Matt’s desk hung portraits of his father and mother.

  “Poor orphan, all alone,” Matt said with a sigh, gazing at the portraits of his dead parents.

  He could sigh but could not allow himself to weep. In a short while he would be sitting on his throne, and he could not attend the meeting with eyes red from crying.

  Klu Klu slipped quietly into the room and waited meekly. Her presence irritated Matt at first, but after a moment he asked her quite gently: “What do you want, Klu Klu?”

  “The king is hiding his worries from Klu Klu. The king doesn’t want to trust wild Klu Klu with his secrets, but Klu Klu knows and Klu Klu will not let the king down.”

  Klu Klu said this very solemnly, with both of her hands raised, just as Bum Drum had once sworn his allegiance to Matt.

  “And just what do you know, Klu Klu?” asked Matt, very moved.

  “The white kings envied Matt for having so much gold. They want to conquer Matt and kill him. The sad king feels sorry for Matt, but he is weak and afraid of the powerful white kings.”

  “Quiet, Klu Klu.”

  “Klu Klu will be quiet as the grave, but Klu Klu recognized the sad king. That burnt letter might betray Matt, but Klu Klu never would!”

  “Quiet, Klu Klu, not another word!” cried Matt, throwing the ashes of the burnt letter to the floor and stomping them with his feet.

  “Klu Klu swears she won’t say another word.”

  It was time for this conversation to end, because the footmen, who had just returned from school, burst into Matt’s study.

  Matt turned red with anger.

  “What’s the meaning of this!” he shouted. “Since when have the royal footmen dared enter the royal study shouting and hollering? Didn’t you have enough time to shout and play in school?”

  The master of ceremonies blushed up to his ears. “Your Royal Highness, I beg your forgiveness for them. But these poor souls never had a chance to play when they were children. First, they were apprentice footmen or scullions; now they’re footmen. They’ve had to be quiet and obedient all their lives. And so now they’re running wild.”

  “All right, then, all right. Prepare the throne room. There’ll be a meeting in half an hour.”

  “But I’ve got so much homework for tomorrow,” moaned one footman.

  “I’ve got to draw a map.”

  “I have six assignments and a whole page of—”

  “You won’t be going to school tomorrow!” Matt interrupted them in a threatening voice.

  The footmen bowed and quietly left the room. But a fight almost broke out in the doorway, because one footman shoved another one, who fell and banged his chin against the door handle.

  Felek came running in, dirty and sweaty, his pants ripped and torn.

  “It’s all arranged. They’ll all be here.” And then Felek began telling Matt the whole story.

  “What the newspaper said was true. I stole money and took bribes. When I took your place at an audience, I didn’t give out all the packages to the children. If I liked something, I kept it for myself. If someone gave me money or presents, I’d give him one of the better packages. I had a few helpers, including Antek, who came every day and took something. But I was never a spy. The journalist told me what to do. He told me to take the name Baron and demand a medal. He pretended to be my friend. Then one day he told me we must forge a document saying that Matt was retiring all the ministers, depriving the grownups of all their rights, and transferring power to the children. I wouldn’t do it. Then the journalist put on his hat and said: ‘If you don’t, I’ll go to the king and tell him that you’re stealing packages and taking bribes.’ That scared me silly. I couldn’t see how he knew all that, but I figured it was part of his job. But now I know he was a spy. And there’s more. There was another forged document, some sort of proclamation to all the children of the world.”

  Matt put his hands behind his back and paced the office for a long time.

  “You have done a lot of bad things, Felek. But I forgive you.”

  “What? You forgive me? If Your Royal Highness really forgives me, I know what I should do.”

  “What?” asked Matt.

  “I’ll tell my father everything. Then he’ll give me such a beating I�
��ll never forget what I’ve done as long as I live.”

  “Don’t do that, Felek. What good is that? There are better ways of paying for what you did. The country’s in trouble. I need people I can count on. That means you, Felek.”

  “The Minister of War’s car has arrived,” announced the marshal of the court.

  Matt put on his crown—and what a heavy crown it was that day—and entered the throne room.

  “Mr. Minister of War, tell me everything you know. But be quick and don’t beat around the bush, because I know a lot myself already.”

  “I can report to Your Royal Highness that we have three fortresses left out of five, four hundred cannons left out of a thousand, and two hundred thousand serviceable rifles. We had enough ammunition for three months, now we have enough for ten days.”

  “What about boots, knapsacks, and bread?”

  “Our supplies are intact, except that all the marmalade’s been eaten up.”

  “Is your information accurate?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Do you think there will be a war soon?”

  “Politics is not my department.”

  “Can the damaged cannons and rifles be repaired quickly?”

  “Some of them were badly damaged, but some can be repaired, if the factories go back to work.”

  Matt remembered the factory he had been in, and felt his head sink under the weight of his crown, heavier now than ever.

  “How is the troops’ morale, Mr. Minister?”

  “The soldiers and the officers are grumbling. It offends them to have to go to civilian schools. When I received the letter of dismissal—”

  “The letter was a forgery. I knew nothing about it.”

  The Minister of War frowned. “When I received that forged letter, a delegation of soldiers came to see me, demanding to be sent to military schools. So I gave them a tongue-lashing: You’ll march to civilian schools if those are your orders, and you’ll march through fire and hell itself if those are your orders.”