King John of Jingalo - The Story of a Monarch in Difficulties

Laurence Housman

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• Publié par: rogum
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 20
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of King John of Jingalo, by Laurence Housman This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: King John of Jingalo The Story of a Monarch in Difficulties Author: Laurence Housman Release Date: June 4, 2006 [EBook #18498] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING JOHN OF JINGALO *** Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net KING JOHN OF JINGALO THE STORY OF A MONARCH IN DIFFICULTIES BY LAURENCE HOUSMAN NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1912 C OPYRIGHT , 1912, BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY Published November, 1912 THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS RAHWAY, N. J. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. A D OMESTIC INTERIOR CHAPTER II. ACCIDENTS WILL H APPEN CHAPTER III. WILD OATS AND WIDOWS' WEEDS CHAPTER IV. POPULAR MONARCHY CHAPTER V. C HURCH AND STATE CHAPTER VI. OF THINGS NOT EXPECTED CHAPTER VII. THE OLD ORDER CHAPTER VIII. PACE-MAKING IN POLITICS CHAPTER IX. THE N EW ENDYMION CHAPTER X. KING AND C OUNCIL CHAPTER XI. A R OYAL C OMMISSION CHAPTER XII. AN ARRIVAL AND A D EPARTURE CHAPTER XIII. A PROMISSORY N OTE CHAPTER XIV. H EADS OR TAILS CHAPTER XV. A D EED WITHOUT A N AME CHAPTER XVI. C ONCEALMENT AND D ISCOVERY CHAPTER XVII. THE INCREDIBLE THING H APPENS CHAPTER XVIII. THE KING 'S N IGHT OUT CHAPTER XIX. THE SPIRITUAL POWER CHAPTER XX. THE THORN AND THE FLESH CHAPTER XXI. N IGHT-LIGHT CHAPTER XXII. A MAN OF BUSINESS CHAPTER XXIII. "C ALL ME JACK " CHAPTER XXIV. THE VOICE OF THANKSGIVING KING JOHN OF JINGALO CHAPTER I A DOMESTIC INTERIOR I The King of Jingalo had just finished breakfast in the seclusion of the royal private apartments. Turning away from the pleasantly deranged board he took up one of the morning newspapers which lay neatly folded upon a small giltlegged table beside him. Then he looked at his watch. This action was characteristic of his Majesty: doing one thing always reminded him that presently he would have to be doing another. Conscientious to a fault, he led a harassed and over-occupied life, which was not the less wearisome in its routine because no clear results ever presented themselves within his own range of vision. By an unkind stroke of fortune he had been called to the rule of a kingdom that had grown restive under the weight of too much tradition; and constitutionally he was unable to let it alone. So must he now remind himself in the hour of his privacy how all too fleeting were its moments, and how soon he would have to project himself elsewhere. Glancing across the table towards his consort he saw that she was still engrossed in the opening of her letters—large stiff envelopes, conspicuously crested, containing squarish sheets of unfolded note-paper; for it was a rule of the Court that no creased correspondence should ever solicit the attention of the royal eye, and that all letters should be written upon one side only. The Queen was very fond of receiving these spacious missives; though they contained little of importance they came to her from half the crowned heads of Europe, as well as from the most select circle of Jingalese aristocracy. They gave occupation to two secretaries, and were a daily reminder to her Majesty that, in her own country at any rate, she was the acknowledged leader of society. Having looked at his watch the King said: "My dear, what are you going to do to-day?" "Really," replied the Queen, "I don't quite know; I have not yet looked at my diary." Her Majesty seldom did know anything of the day's program until she had consulted her secretaries, who, with dovetailing ingenuity, arranged her hours and booked to each day—often many months in advance—the engagements which lay ahead. Therein she showed a calmer and more philosophic temperament than her consort. The King always knew; every day of his life with anxious forecast he consulted his diary while shaving, and breakfasted with its troubling details fresh upon his recollection. Having answered his inquiry the Queen relapsed into her correspondence, while the King resumed his newspaper; and the moment may be regarded as propitious for presenting the reader with a portrait of these two august personages, since so good an opportunity may not occur again. The kind of portrait we offer is, of course, of an up-to-date and biographical character, and does not limit itself to those circumstances of time and space in which the commencement of this history has landed us. So, first, we take the King,—not as we have just found him, seated at a table with chair turned sideways and features sharply illuminated by the reflected lights of the journal he holds in his hands—for thus we do not see him to advantage, and it is to advantage that we would exhibit in its externals a character of which, before we have done with it, we intend to grow fond. Time and space must provide us with a broader view of him than that. This King had been upon the throne for twenty-five years; and during that period, like a rich wine in the wood, monarchy had mellowed within him, permeating his system with its mild and slightly dry flavor; it had become as it were a habit, and he carried it quite naturally, almost unconsciously, though with just a suspicion of weight, much as a scholar carries his learning or a workman his bag of tools. A pleasantly florid face, quaintly expressive of an importance about which its owner was undecided, imposed above a fullish waistcoat a chin which was now tending toward the slopes of middle age. The eyes were mild and vaguely speculative, the lips full and loosely formed, and when they smiled they began tentatively in a tremulous lift showing only the two upper front teeth—the smile of a woman rather than of a man. This smile—when it made, as it so often had to make, its appearance in public—was curiously suggestive of interrogation. "Am I now meant to smile?" it seemed to say. "Very good, then I will." This tentatively advanced smile of a countenance so highly exalted for others to gaze on, was peculiarly winning to those who were its recipients; it suggested a gentle character, indicating through its shyness both the giving and the receiving of a favor; and among those in personal attendance on