Mary Poppins Comes Back Page 22

  “So have I. But I can’t think where.” Michael balanced on the back of the seat and stared.

  Whistling and jingling, the curious figure slouched up to Mary Poppins and leant against the perambulator.

  “’Day, Mary!” he said, putting a finger lazily to the brim of his hat. “And how are you keeping?”

  Mary Poppins looked up from her knitting.

  “None the better for your asking,” she said, with a loud sniff.

  Jane and Michael could not see the man’s face for the brim of his hat was well pulled down, but from the way the bells jingled they knew he was laughing.

  “Busy as usual, I see!” he remarked, glancing at the knitting. “But then, you always were, even at Court. If you weren’t dusting the Throne, you’d be making the King’s bed, and if you weren’t doing that you were polishing the Crown Jewels. I never knew such a one for work!”

  “Well, it’s more than anyone could say for you!” said Mary Poppins crossly.

  “Ah,” laughed the Stranger, “that’s just where you’re wrong! I’m always busy. Doing nothing takes a great deal of time! All the time, in fact!”

  Mary Poppins pursed up her lips and made no reply.

  The Stranger gave an amused chuckle. “Well, I must be getting along,” he said. “See you again some day!”

  He brushed a finger along the bells of his hat and sauntered lazily away, whistling as he went.

  Jane and Michael watched until he was out of sight.

  “The Dirty Rascal!”

  Mary Poppins’ voice rapped out behind them, and they turned to find that she, too, was staring after the Stranger.

  “Who was that man, Mary Poppins?” asked Michael, bouncing excitedly up and down on the seat.

  “I’ve just told you,” she snapped. “You said you were the King of the Castle – and you’re not, not by any means! But that’s the Dirty Rascal.”

  “You mean the one in the Nursery Rhyme?” demanded Jane breathlessly.

  “But Nursery Rhymes aren’t true, are they?” protested Michael. “And if they are, who is the King of the Castle?”

  “Hush!” said Jane, laying her hand on his arm.

  Mary Poppins had put down her knitting and was gazing out across the Lake with a far-away look in her eyes.

  Jane and Michael sat very still, hoping, if they made no sound, she would tell them the whole story. The Twins huddled together at one end of the perambulator, solemnly staring at Mary Poppins. Annabel, at the other end, was sound asleep.

  The King of the Castle (began Mary Poppins, folding her hands over her ball of wool and gazing right through the children as though they were not there), the King of the Castle lived in a country so far away that most people have never heard of it. Think as far as you can, and it’s even further than that; think as high as you can, and it’s higher than that; think as deep as you can, and it’s even deeper.

  And, she went on, if I were to tell you how rich he was, we’d be sitting here till next year and still be only halfway through the list of his treasures. He was enormously, preposterously, extravagantly rich. In fact, there was only one thing in the whole world that he did not possess.

  And that thing was wisdom.

  His land was full of gold mines; his people were polite and prosperous and generally splendiferous. He had a good wife and four fat children – or perhaps it was five. He never could remember the exact number because his memory was so bad.

  His Castle was made of silver and granite, and his coffers were full of gold, and the diamonds in his crown were as big as ducks’ eggs.

  He had many marvellous cities, and sailing-ships at sea. And for his right-hand man he had a Lord High Chancellor who knew exactly What was What and What was Not and advised the King accordingly.

  But the King himself had no wisdom. He was utterly and absolutely foolish and, what was more, he knew it! Indeed, he could hardly help knowing it for everybody, from the Queen and the Lord High Chancellor downwards, was constantly reminding him of the fact. Even bus-conductors and engine-drivers and the people who served in shops could hardly refrain from letting the King know they knew he had no wisdom. They didn’t dislike him, they merely felt a contempt for him.

  It was not the King’s fault that he was so stupid. He had tried and tried to learn wisdom ever since he was a boy. But, in the middle of his lessons, even when he was grown up, he would suddenly burst into tears and, wiping his eyes on his ermine train, would cry:

  “I know I shall never be any good at it – never! So why nag at me?”

  But still his teachers continued to make the effort. Professors came from all over the world to try to teach the King of the Castle something – even if it was only Twice-Times-Two or C-A-T cat. But none of them had the slightest effect on him.

  Then the Queen had an idea.

  “Let us,” she said to the Lord High Chancellor, “offer a reward to the Professor who can teach the King a little wisdom! And if, at the end of a month, he has not succeeded, his head shall be cut off and spiked on the Castle gates as a warning to other Professors of what will happen if they fail.”

  And, as most of them were rather poor and the reward was a large money-prize, the Professors kept on coming, and failing, and losing hope, and also their heads. And the spikes of the Castle gates became rather crowded.

  Things went from bad to worse. And at last the Queen said to the King:

  “Ethelbert!” (that was the King’s private name), “I really think you had better leave the government of the Kingdom to me and the Lord High Chancellor, as we both know a good deal about everything!”

  “But that wouldn’t be fair!” said the King, protesting. “After all, it’s my Kingdom!”

  However, he gave in at last, because he knew she was cleverer than he. But he so much resented being ordered about in his own Castle, and having to use the bent sceptre because he always chewed the knob of the best one, that he went on receiving the Professors and trying to learn wisdom and weeping when he found he couldn’t. He wept for their sakes as well as his own, for it made him unhappy to see their heads on the gate.

  Each new Professor arrived full of hope and assurance and began with some question that the last had not asked.

  “What are six and seven, Your Majesty?” enquired a young and handsome Professor who had come from a great distance.

  And the King, trying his hardest, thought for a moment. Then he leant forward eagerly and answered –

  “Why, twelve, of course!”

  “Tch, tch, tch!” said the Lord High Chancellor, standing behind the King’s Chair.

  The Professor groaned.

  “Six and seven are thirteen, Your Majesty!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! Try another question, please, Professor! I am sure I shall get the next one right.”

  “Well, then, what are five and eight?”

  “Um – er – let me see! Don’t tell me, it’s just at the tip of my tongue. Yes! Five and eight are eleven!”

  “Tch, tch, tch!” said the Lord High Chancellor.

  “THIRTEEN!” cried the young Professor hopelessly.

  “But, my dear fellow, you just said that six and seven were thirteen, so how can five and eight be? There aren’t two thirteens, surely?” asked the King.

  But the young Professor only shook his head and loosened his collar and went dejectedly away with the Executioner.

  “Is there more than one thirteen, then?” asked the King nervously.

  The Lord High Chancellor turned away in disgust.

  “I’m sorry,” said the King to himself. “I liked his face so much. It’s a pity it has to go on the gate.”

  And after that he worked very hard at his Arithmetic, hoping that when the next Professor came, he would be able to give the right answers.

  He would sit at the top of the Castle steps, just by the drawbridge, with a book of Multiplication Tables on his knees, saying them over to himself. And while he was looking at the book everything went well, b
ut when he shut his eyes and tried to remember them everything went wrong.

  “Seven ones are seven, seven twos are thirty-three, seven threes are forty-five. . .” he began one day. And when he found he was wrong he threw the book away in disgust and buried his head in his cloak.

  “It’s no good, it’s no good! I shall never be wise!” he cried in despair.

  Then, because he could not go on weeping for ever, he wiped his eyes and leant back in his golden chair. And as he did that, he gave a little start of surprise. For a stranger had pushed past the sentry at the gate and was walking up the path that led to the Caste.

  “Hullo,” said the King, “who are you?” For he had no memory for faces.

  “Well, if it comes to that,” replied the Stranger, “who are you?”

  “I’m the King of the Castle,” said the King, picking up the bent sceptre and trying to look important.

  “And I’m the Dirty Rascal,” was the reply.

  The King opened his eyes wide with astonishment.

  “Are you really, though? That’s interesting! I’m very pleased to meet you. Do you know Seven times Seven?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  At that the King gave a great cry of delight and, running down the steps, embraced the Stranger.

  “At last, at last!” cried the King, “I have found a friend! You shall live with me! What is mine shall be yours! We shall spend our lives together!”

  “But, Ethelbert,” protested the Queen, “this is only a Common Person. You cannot have him here.”

  “Your Majesty,” said the Lord High Chancellor sternly,“it would not do.”

  But for once the King defied him.

  “It will do very nicely!” he said royally. “Who is King here – you or I?”

  “Well, of course, in a manner of speaking, you are, as it were, Your Majesty, but—”

  “Very well. Put this man in cap and bells and he can be my Fool!’

  “Fool!” cried the Queen, wringing her hands. “Do we need any more of these?”

  But the King did not answer. He flung his arm round the Stranger’s neck and the two went dancing to the Castle door.

  “You first!” said the King politely.

  “No, you!” said the Stranger.

  “Both together, then!” said the King generously, and they went in side by side.

  And from that day the King made no attempt to learn his lessons. He made a pile of all his books and burnt them in the courtyard while he and hi new friend danced round it singing:

  “I’m the King of the Castle,

  And you’re the Dirty Rascal!”

  “Is that the only song you can sing?” asked the Fool one day.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is!” said the King rather sadly “Do you know any others?”

  “Oh, dear, yes!” said the Fool. And he sang sweetly:

  “Bright, bright

  Bee, in your flight

  Drop down some Honey

  For Supper tonight!”

  and

  “Sweet and low, over the Snow,

  The lolloping, scalloping Lobsters go

  – Did you know?”

  and

  “Boys and Girls, come out to play

  Over the Hills and Far Away,

  The Sheep’s in the Meadow, the Cow’s in the Stall,

  And down will come Baby, Cradle and All!”

  “Lovely!” cried the King, clapping his hands. “Now listen! I’ve just thought of one myself! It goes like this:

  “All Dogs – Tiddle-de-um!

  Hate Frogs – Tiddle-di-do!”

  “H’m!” said the Fool. “Not bad!”

  “Wait a minute!” said the King. “I’ve thought of another! And I think it’s a better one. Listen carefully!”

  And he sang:

  “Pluck me a flower,

  And catch me a Star,

  And braize them in Butter

  And Treacle and Tar.

  Tra-la!

  How delicious they are!”

  “Bravo!” cried the Fool. “Let’s sing it together!”

  And he and the King went dancing through the Castle, chanting the King’s two songs, one after the other, to a very special tune.

  And when they were tired of singing they fell together in a heap in the main corridor, and there went to sleep.

  “He gets worse and worse!” said the Queen to the Lord High Chancellor. “What are we to do?”

  “I have just heard,” replied the Lord High Chancellor, “that the wisest man in the kingdom, the Chief of all the Professors, is coming tomorrow. Perhaps he will help us!”

  And the next day the Chief Professor arrived, walking smartly up the path to the Castle, carrying a little black bag. It was raining slightly but the whole Court had gathered at the top of the steps to welcome him.

  “Has he got his wisdom in that little black bag, do you think?” whispered the King. But the Fool, who was playing knuckle-bones beside the throne, only smiled, and went on tossing.

  “Now, if Your Majesty pleases,” said the Chief Professor, in a businesslike voice, “let us take Arithmetic first. Can Your Majesty answer this? If two Men and a Boy were wheeling a Barrow over a Clover-field, in the middle of February, how many Legs would they have between them?”

  The King gazed at him for a moment, rubbing his sceptre against his cheek.

  The Fool tossed a knuckle-bone and caught it neatly on the back of his wrist.

  “Does it matter?” said the King, smiling pleasantly.

  The Chief Professor started violently and looked at the King in astonishment.

  “As a matter of fact,” he said quietly, “it doesn’t. But I will ask Your Majesty another question. How deep is the Sea?”

  “Deep enough to sail a ship on.”

  Again the Chief Professor stared, and his long beard quivered. He was smiling.

  “What is the difference, Majesty, between a Star and a Stone, a Bird and a Man?”

  “No difference at all, Professor. A Stone is a Star that shines not. A man is a Bird without wings.”

  The Chief Professor drew nearer, and gazed wonderingly at the King.

  “What is the best thing in the world?” he asked quietly.

  “Doing Nothing,” answered the King, waving his bent sceptre.

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear!” wailed the Queen. “This is dreadful!”

  “Tch! Tch! Tch!” said the Lord High Chancellor.

  But the Chief Professor ran up the steps and stood by the King’s throne.

  “Who taught you these things, Majesty?” he demanded.

  The King pointed with his sceptre to the Fool, who was throwing up his knuckle-bones.

  “Him,” said the King ungrammatically.

  The Chief Professor raised his bushy eyebrows. The Fool looked up at him and smiled. He tossed a knuckle-bone, and the Professor, bending forward, caught it on the back of his hand.

  “Ha!” he cried. “I know you! Even in that cap and bells, I know the Dirty Rascal!”

  “Ha, ha!” laughed the Fool.

  “What else did he teach you, Majesty?” The Chief Professor turned again to the King.

  “To sing,” answered the King.

  And he stood up and sang:

  “A black and white Cow

  Sat up in a Tree

  And if I were she

  Then I shouldn’t be me!”

  “Very true,” said the Chief Professor. “What else?” The King sang again, in a pleasant, quavering voice:

  “The Earth spins round

  Without a tilt

  So that the Sea

  Shall not be spilt.”

  “So it does,” remarked the Chief Professor. “Any more?” “Oh, Gracious, yes!” said the King, delighted at his success. “There’s this one:

  “Oh, I could learn

  Until I’m pink,

  But then I’d have

  No time to think.

  “Or perhaps, Professor, you’d prefer:
<
br />   “We won’t go round

  The World, for then

  We’d only come

  Back Home again!”

  The Chief Professor clapped his hands.

  “There’s one more,” said the King, “if you’d care to hear it.”

  “Please sing it, Sire!”

  And the King cocked his head at the Fool and smiled wickedly and sang:

  “Chief Professors

  All should be

  Drowned in early

  Infancee!”

  At the end of the song the Chief Professor gave a loud laugh and fell at the King’s feet.

  “Oh, King,” he said, “live for ever! You have no need for me!”

  And without another word he ran down the steps and took off his overcoat, coat and waistcoat. Then he flung himself down upon the grass and called for a plate of Strawberries-and-Cream, and a large glass of Beer.

  “Tch!Tch!Tch!” said the horrified Lord High Chancellor. For now all the Courtiers were rushing down the steps and taking off their coats and rolling in the rainy grass.

  “Strawberries and Beer! Strawberries and Beer!” they shouted thirstily.

  “Give him the prize!” said the Chief Professor, sucking his Beer through a straw, and nodding in the direction of the Fool.

  “Pooh!” said the Fool. “I don’t want it. What would I do with it?”

  And he scrambled to his feet, put his knuckle-bones in his pocket, and strolled off down the path.

  “Hi, where are you going?” cried the King anxiously.

  “Oh, anywhere, everywhere!” said the Fool airily, sauntering on down the path.

  “Wait for me, wait for me!” called the King, stumbling over his train as he hurried down the steps.

  “Ethelbert! What are you doing? You forget yourself!” cried the Queen angrily.

  “I do not, my dear!” the King called back. “On the contrary, I am remembering myself for the first time!”

  He hurried down the path, caught up with the Fool, and embraced him.

  “Ethelbert!” called the Queen again.

  The King took no notice.

  The rain had ceased but there was still a watering brightness in the air. And presently a rainbow streamed out of the sun and curved in a great arc down to the Castle Path.