The Short Reign of Pippin IV by John Steinbeck Read Free Book Online Page A

“I thought it was Clotilde.” He looked at his watch, then raised his voice to be heard over the guns. “It is three, less fifteen minutes. Where is Clotilde?”
    Madame said coldly, “La Princesse, on a motor scooter, is leading her loyal subjects to Versailles. She is going to start the fountains.”
    Pippin said, “Then it was no dream! When the Minister of Public Works hears of this, I smell the guillotine. Marie, these people seem to mean this nonsense. I want to talk to Uncle Charlie.”
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    In the early dawn the king and his uncle faced each other in the rear of the gallery in the Rue de Seine.
    Pippin had battered on the shutters of Charles Martel’s establishment until that gentleman, clad in a long nightgown and a tarboosh, ill-tempered with sleep, peered out at him. After a time of grumbling, of making his morning chocolate, and of pulling on his trousers, Uncle Charlie settled back on his dusty Morocco armchair, adjusted the green-shaded reading light, polished his glasses, and prepared for business.
    â€œYou must study calmness, Pippin,” he said. “For years I have recommended calmness. When you burst in here with your———comet, I suggested that the stars would wait on a cup of chocolate. When Clotilde had her small difficulty with the gendarmes about the improper use of firearms at the shooting gallery, did I not recommend calm? And it came out all right, you remember. You paid for a few light globes she shot from a carousel, and Clotilde sold her life story to an American magazine. Calm! Pippin. Calm! I recommend calm.”
    â€œBut they have gone insane, Uncle Charlie.”
    â€œNo, my boy, abandon that theory. The French do not go insane unless there is some advantage in it. Now you say that the delegation was composed of all parties, and you further say that they mentioned the future well-being of France.”
    â€œThey say France must have a stable government.”
    â€œHmmm,” said Uncle Charlie. “It has always seemed to me that this is the last thing they want. It is possible, Pippin, that the parties have chosen a direction, but for different reasons. Yes, that must be it, and you, my poor boy, have been chosen for the role of what the Americans call a ‘patsy.’”
    â€œWhat can I do, Uncle Charlie? How can I avoid this—this patsy?”
    Uncle Charlie tapped his glasses on his knee, sneezed, poured himself a fresh cup of chocolate from the saucepan on the gas ring at his elbow, and slowly shook his head.
    â€œWith time and calm,” he said, “I could possibly work out the political background. But right at the moment I cannot see any escape for you unless you wish to retire with dignity to a warm bath and cut your wrists.”
    â€œI don’t want to be king!”
    â€œIf suicide does not appeal to you, dear boy, you may relax in the certainty that in the near future there will be attempts at assassination and, who knows, one of them may succeed.”
    â€œCan’t I say no, Uncle Charlie? No, no, no, no! Why not?”
    Uncle Charlie sighed. “I can think of two reasons now. Later, several more will come to me. In the first place, you will be told that France needs you. No one has ever been able to resist such a suggestion, here or elsewhere. Let a man, old, sick, stupid, tired, cynical, wise, even dangerous to the future of his country, be told that his country needs him and him alone, and he will respond even though he must be carried to the rostrum on a stretcher and take the oath and Extreme Unction simultaneously. No, I can see no escape for you. If they tell you that France needs you, you are lost. You can only pray that France is not also lost.”
    â€œBut maybe—”
    â€œYou see,” said Uncle Charlie, “you are already caught. The second force is more subtle but no less powerful. It is the overwhelming numerical strength of the aristocracy.