THE PHILOSOPHER KING

by

Mark Aeron

The four Germany's - east, west, north, south: they are as hopelessly divided today as they were in ancient times.  There's a man going around calling himself Kaiser; and much talk in the cities of imposing a four hundred mile an hour speed limit on Juggernauts.  The use of neon for name badges is much touted in artistic circles, but scientists opt for argon.  And in Britain the royal family has gone beneath the Channel in a fallow submarine; the Crown Prince, it seems, has taken his hereditary title quite literally.  He is determined to extract oaths of allegiance from the migratory gape whales his governess told him about.  France moved lock, stock and barrel to the palace of the Sheik of Araby, leaving behind a hole some six inches deep where the Eiffel Tower used to be, and a suitcase full of memories which a young Swiss dairy maid is toying with opening.  The Holy Roman Emperor's emissary is speeding there to try and dissuade her.

"My writing stand," Emperor Mixus Amentious declared philosophically, the only manner he knows how to speak, "move it sparingly."

"Sir, my good master," I advised on the side, "it may be you mean to suggest something in the realm of gentleness, of which realm 'sparingly' is not entirely a member."

"Nonsense, Jeeves," said my master, "the term applies prodigiously.  But if not, then I shall simply issue a warrant to that effect.  Gloria!" he called his pretty young blonde secretary with big breasts, slender waist, big again through the rump, and wearing a tight, low cut dress.  Before she could arrive, since it takes her a considerable length of time to move across the room in her tight dress, I made bold to suggest to my master that what he perhaps wished to issue here was a decree and not a warrant.

"Nonsense," he dismissed my suggestion.  "A warrant will do just fine."  By this time Gloria had arrived, somewhat out of breath and complaining of chapped thighs, which his majesty at first could not understand, till I explained it was a condition of the skin and not an item of apparel she referred to.  He advised her to come to his chambers later, after the Empress - whom he insisted on calling "Emperoress" - had retired for the night, and he would put balm - which he mispronounced as "bomb" - on her luscious thighs.  She drew me a little aside and informed me, with a shrug, that "he likes it kinky sometimes, a term he confuses with regality, and at all times he likes it militarily, but philosophical.  We placed Kant's Critique of Pure Reason upright between us last night - an experience neither of us will soon forget!"

"What were you telling my man Jeeves just now?" his majesty asked.

"Nothing," said Gloria.

"Oh.  I thought I heard voices," Mixus said.

"Probably an Italian passing below," Gloria offered.  "They're very loud."

"Pope Unctious Terminus has had them all exterminated," Mixus pointed out.  "They would not recognize his rule.  And the altar boys kept masturbating into his chalice to get their seed blessed by His Holiness."

Gloria made a face at this.

"Take a letter," his majesty ordered.  "Dear General, I will arrive in Heidelberg the fourteenth to personally oversee the campaign.  As I am in the middle of writing my fourth treatise on duty, I am having my writing stand and inkwell transported ahead of me.  Please have it set up in my tent.  Yours, Snookums."

"Should be 'them,'" I pointed out.  "'Please have them set up': this, to agree with 'writing stand and inkwell.'"

"Change it," his majesty told Gloria.

"How do you spell 'them?'" she asked.  "I always confuse it with 'they.'"

Together, my master and I worked up an appropriate spelling: I taking the philological approach, he the philosophical.

"It is a word," he said, "which connotes more than one, so begin with the abbreviation 'MTO.'"

"It is a possessive word," I then pointed out, "and all possession is characterized by selfishness, hence you should have somewhere in there an 'EGO.'"

"Do not forget," said Mixus, "to add that they are away from us in space and time, so you must have some form of the expression 'Out of sight, out of mind.'  I forget just now how to parse that, so put simply 'GONE.'  Now read it back."  Gloria read it back.  "Sounds fine to me," said his majesty.  "Send it right off."  Gloria slowly made her way to the postbox.  "A man could not want for a better secretary," my master observed.

With much fanfare, we arrived in lower Germany.  The General greeted us with a twenty-four gun salute which, owing to our great dexterity, we managed to dodge.  He was arrested at once for treason.

"Birds are loving associates - yeah, verily, I say it and hereby command it to be believed with ado," my master wrote.  He was fast at work on his treatise when his Colonels approached seeking his advice on what to do about the rebellious General.  They pouted and stamped their feet as they spoke.

"Boil him in oil!  For heaven sake, don't bother me," Mixus exclaimed.  "I'm at a critical point!  Do whatever you want, just leave me be!"  The Colonels pouted some more, sprinkled gold dust on their mustaches and left, plotting among themselves.  "Now where was I?  Jeeves, where was I?" my master asked.

I couldn't resist the pun.  "About birds, master," I said, "and how your words were to be believed with further a-dodo."

"Ah yes," he said, "now I remember.  What a task it is, Jeeves, writing philosophical treatises and conducting a war at the same time."  He went back to writing.

"Intelligent critters have alone among nature forgotten their universal affinity, one for the other.  Jeeves!" he interrupted to ask, "if I use 'affinity' here, do you think they'll know when they read it I mean contentment with their lot in life?"

"I don't see why not," I said, more to flatter my master's ego really than anything else.

"I don't either," he agreed.  "Just in case though I'll issue a summons.  Gloria!" he called.  In came Gloria, wearing an Oktober Fest outfit, except with a very low cut blouse and a very tight skirt.  Actually, the only way anyone knew it to be Oktober Fest was if she specifically told them it was.

"Gloria," Mixus said, "take a letter.  Title it 'Universal Brotherhood.'  Address it to all my subjects.  'My dearest friends.'"

Here I felt compelled to interrupt.  "Master," I said, "not all your subjects are your friends.  Some are enemies."

"In that case," Mixus said, "we'll add at the bottom that information copies are to be furnished my enemies.  This way they'll always wonder what information was given my friends that wasn't given them.  And, Gloria, when you've addressed all the copies furnished, give me the list of names and I'll have them arrested.  Now to the body of the letter.  'March is hereby proclaimed Bird Watching Month.  Anyone caught turning his back on our avicultural friends will have his bones cut up and set out to feed the pigeons.  Signed, your loving Emperor, et cetera.  Read it back."

"How do you spell 'et cetera?'" Gloria asked.

"Well," said Mixus, "it means there is more there than meets the eye, so begin it with the term 'subliminal.'"

"Yes," I said, "and it signifies a causal chain that almost anyone should be familiar with, so we want to stress the familiarity of the data it presupposes, so include somewhere the term 'axiom.'"

"Hmm," my master puzzled a moment.  "We have gotten our signals crossed.  You, Jeeves, gave the metaphysical, I the linguistic.  Heavens! at this rate, before I know it, it'll be you taking my secretary to conference at night!"  Mixus laughed; Gloria and I looked nervously at one another, but briefly, then we too laughed, as though it were the most preposterous thing imaginable.  I stepped aside long enough to mop my brow.  Gloria got up from his majesty's lap and made the slow, tortuous journey across the room to the mail drop.  Mixus returned to his treatise, murmuring "Now let's see, where was I?"

"Oh yes," I heard him say, "something about color.  Yes, colorful, birds, and how seeing only the parrots won't do.  For that," he wrote, "is a disordered retinue!"

"Sire!  Sire!" the emperor's majors came rushing in crying.

"Well, what is it?  You've interrupted my train of thought!"

"A thousand pardons!" the majors exclaimed as officially and formally as they could.

"One will have to suffice, there's no time," his majesty commanded.  The majors looked disappointed.

"Sire," they informed him, "we have captured some German youths raping Holy Roman maidens.  What shall we do?"

"Oh who cares?  Castrate them all - who knows what to do with these animals?  Why can't they be like the birds of the air, or the lilies of the fields!"

"You mean pansies," the majors all pointed out.

"Whatever," his majesty dismissed them.  "Now where was I?" he asked.  He resumed writing.  "Be as a physicist," he wrote, "forsake all gross care and follow God's Law."

We had some Portuguese wine, but unfortunately the corks were from Spain and could not be coaxed open.  When I informed the emperor of this - and I would not have interrupted his treatise had it not been his favorite wine - he took the opportunity to make a pun.

"Of course you cannot coax them out," he said, "you must corks them out!  Get thee to Boston!"  He laughed hysterically till he cried, which, he insisted, was the philosopher in him hiding behind the clown.

"You mean emperor, master," I corrected him.  He returned to his treatise, but not before giving me a dirty look.

"Slaves had best watch what they say," he wrote, "for the person in chains may, brushing up against a free man, either get a taste he cannot long endure or else rub something of his bondage onto the other.  Jeeves!" he called, "how do you spell 'rust'?"

I thought for a moment.  "Master," I confessed, "never having been called upon to write it before, I know not how to spell it."

"It doesn't have to be one hundred percent correct," Mixus explained, "it's only a treatise, not an edict.  Fake it if you can't spell it."

"In that case, master," I said, "it is spelled in this way: 'FE two 0.'  Or is that 'FE 0 two'?" I wondered.

"Close enough," he said, and wrote it down.  Again, while fast at work on his treatise, he was interrupted, this time by his captains, who bowed and begged forgiveness for the interruption.

"What is it now?" his majesty asked.

"Sir," they said in urgent voices, "the Germans have called in the Arabs."

"God help us!" Mixus exclaimed.

"You need not worry sir," the captains reassured him, "they have refused to help, dissuaded by the French."

"Thank God," said Mixus.  "But why, pray tell, did you interrupt me at so crucial a point to tell me this?"

"It was an intelligence report, sir," said the captains, with great awe and reverence in their voices.  With this they left.  The emperor commended them on their thoroughness before returning to his treatise.

"Gloria," he called, "draw up a letter of commendation for my captains.  In it, stress their thoroughness."

"How do you spell it?" Gloria asked.

I couldn't resist.  "'I-T,'" I said.  Apparently his majesty could not resist either, for he called out at the exact same moment "'I-T'" also.  Gloria suggested we clasp least fingers and make a wish.  The emperor and I approached and held out our least fingers.  Mine was correct, but his majesty apparently misunderstood the nature of the digits and their relationship to each other for he held out his thumb.  When I explained his error, he simply noted that "it is the smallest."  When I persisted, he asked me, in a very calm voice, who was emperor.  So we clasped our thumbs and made a wish.

"What did you wish for, Jeeves?" his majesty asked.

"Oh," said Gloria, "you can't tell or it won't come true!"

"And yet," Mixus mused, "if you don't tell you might well be boiled in oil."

"In that case," I said, "what I wished is that these Germans would quit bothering us and let you get your treatise finished."

"Fat chance of that!" Mixus exclaimed, returning to his writing.  "Let's see now," he muttered.  "Do not become Caesarian," he wrote, "but endeavor to be patient, modern, sufferable, so that you cannot make the right or wrong decision."

I had meanwhile worked my way over to where Gloria sat arranging her paper clips hierarchically according to color: the copper colored she particularly relished, and would therefore use only for official edicts, whereas the silver colored she stuck on ordinary correspondence.  While she was tinkering with her clips, I reached into her bodice, a bold move certainly, what with his majesty not half a room away.  She made me remove my hand.

"Are you crazy?" she whispered.  "Do you want him to find out about us?"

"I think he already suspects something," I told her.

"I hear talking!" his majesty suddenly, and in a very loud voice, announced.

"Probably an Irish tenor passing below," Gloria informed him.  I have always been awed at the quickness of her wit; this is what, I'm certain, attracts me most about her.

"There are no Irish any longer, my dear," his majesty retorted.  "It seems not ten days ago they found themselves in complete accord on some petty issue - the north, the south, the Catholics, the Protestants, the tenors, the baritones: all the Irish in complete agreement with one another, so they promptly committed suicide.  Ran off the Cliffs of Dooneen into the sea and drowned, my intelligence tells me.  The Blarney stone is to be shipped to Southeast Asia in hopes of effecting some kind of truce there.  Nevertheless, your tenor passing below was quite right: I do know about you two already."

I hastily withdrew my hand from Gloria's bodice.

"I don't mind thought, she's only my mistress," he added.  I returned my hand to her bodice.  "But if I ever find who it is that's messing around with my wife, I'll fix him good!"  I nearly fainted when I heard this.  Fortunately, my back was turned to my master so he failed to notice my silent gasps or my ashen face; they were not, however, lost on Gloria.  She personally withdrew my hand from her bodice.  His majesty had meanwhile returned to his writing.

Just then a great commotion was heard outside in the hallway and, a moment later, in came his majesty's lieutenants, all freshly scrubbed and polished, all rosy cheeked and bright eyed, all tripping over one another trying to keep in step.

"Sirrah!" they cried out, undoubtedly just to be martial.  "Sirrah!  We come with great word!  The German women are restive, they are angry with us for killing so many of their husbands and boyfriends!  Whatever shall we do?"

"Do?" asked the emperor, slamming his quill pen down onto the writing stand.  "Is that all I ever get?  Do?  Do, you ask?  Do whatever you will - rape the women, kill them, who cares?  Just leave me in peace to conclude my treatise, can't you?"

"Yes Sirrah!  We can!  We can do!" they all shouted together.  Then, clicking their heels and saluting, they turned to go, each tripping over the other's feet until finally, in unison, they managed to troop out again.

"Oh dear me," Mixus sighed, "where was I?  Let me see now.  Oh yes."  He began writing again.  "Things," he wrote, "are bound up in mystery so that they can be but sensed, never understood.  Gloria!" he called.  "As soon as we wrap up this German campaign, I'm heading for either Russia or Greece, I don't know which, so take a letter to each.  'Dear' - and leave the addressee blank.  'I expect to be in your neck of the woods within the week, and thought this would afford me the perfect opportunity of annexing your land.  Until then, yours truly, Skookums.  Et cetera.'  I know, don't say it: how do you spell 'et cetera' - right?"

"Oh, I'll get that from the last letter," said Gloria.  My God, what a quick mind, to recall that!  I simply had to pinch her, I was so impressed.  "But what I need to know now is how you spell 'then'?"

"Look back two letters," I suggested.

"No, that was 'them,' not 'then,'" she reminded me.  What a woman; a philologist's dream.  I pinched her twice, one on each hip.

"How's your thighs?" I whispered, so great was my concern with her well being.  "Still chapped?"

"Jeeves, you're slipping," my master corrected me, "that should be 'how are your thighs,' not 'how's your thighs.'"  When he's right, he's right.  But Gloria was all business.

"When I hear 'then,' I always get it confused with 'than,'" she explained.  My God, was explanation ever more succinct!

"Let me tell you," his majesty pointed out, "'than' is qualitative, my dear - qualitative.  Whereas 'then' is purely  quantitative.  Am I right Jeeves?"

"Yes master," I agreed.  "Then is more quantitative than qualitative."

"But then how do you spell 'then'?" Gloria asked.  Brief and to the point: that's my Gloria.

"Well," his majesty began, "since it's an unknown quantity, begin with an 'X.'"

"And since it's both adjectival and adverbial," I added, "give it a neutral, a nondescript, a nonaligned, as it were, suffix.  Something like "KCJX.'"

"KCJX?" his majesty asked.  "But that's nonsense, Jeeves!"

"Precisely," I agreed.  "That's why it's appropriate in the present instance."

"Ah!  I see!  Very good, Jeeves, very good!"  Now it was back to his writing, but before he could even take up his quill, he was again interrupted, this time by his sergeants, corporals and privates, who came crawling in on all fours, the privates beating their heads against the floor every few steps to register their rank in the hierarchy, the corporals merely licking the floor, while the sergeants simply crawled.  There was one buck private in the group, a new recruit, and he crawled on his belly.

"Don't get up," his majesty informed the group.  "Just tell me whatever it is you have to tell me then turn right around and leave, the same way you came in."

"Oh majesty," the sergeant major exclaimed, "exultancy, oh greatness, oh all powerful, all knowing, all seeing, all wise, all good, we come before you seeking forgiveness.  We disobeyed our superiors when, for a joke, they ordered us to perform anal sodomy on them.  What shall we do now, oh generosity?"

"Who knows?" the emperor Mixus Amentious threw up his hands in exasperation.  "Disobeying a direct order, eh?   Well, have yourselves flogged first of all, then the privates castrated, the corporals hung by the thumbs."

"And what of the sergeants?" they all asked.

"Have their tongues cut out," said the emperor.

"And who will carry this out?" asked the buck private in a sadistic voice.

"You will," replied Mixus.  "I make you General of the Holy Roman Army.  Now get these men out of here."  The buck private arose, a general, and began kicking his troops.

"Faster you scum!" he cried.  "Can you crawl no faster than that?"

When they had gone and his majesty had returned to finishing up his treatise, Gloria turned to me with tears in her eyes and said "You see?  He used 'than' in a quantitative sense, relating to speed - and he's General of the Army so he should know such things!  Yet you said--" she could say no more, she had begun crying.  "How can I ever trust you - or anyone - ever again?" she asked through it all.  I could hardly keep my hands off her she had moved me to such a fit of compassion.

Just then the empress walked in and, in a loud voice, announced to her husband that she was leaving him to run off with her lover.  I nearly swallowed my tongue.

"I am giving this all up - I am renouncing all worldly pleasures, save one," she informed the emperor.

"And who is you lover?" his majesty asked through his teeth.

"Don't tell him!" I blurted out before I could stop myself.  Inwardly I cursed my tongue and wished I had swallowed it.

"It is your --" the empress began, and I nearly passed out.  All manner of sweat exuded from me, and I had to take hold of Gloria's shoulders to steady myself, but as she was yet in a paroxysm of weeping I was shaken up and down like an inflatable dummy with every heave of her fabulous bosom.  I barely heard the lover's name.

"It is your new General," the empress said.  I heaved a great sigh of relief and nearly collapsed right on top of my master's secretary.

"What?" Mixus cried in disbelief.  "The General of the Holy Roman Army?  Impossible!  He's the most loyal subject in my kingdom!"

"Ha!" the empress exclaimed.  "A thousand times Ha!"  And we all feared the worst here: that her majesty the empress Miximus Amentiamus might proceed to rattle off a thousand 'Ha's.'  Even Gloria ceased weeping long enough to put her hands over her ears.  But we were spared.

"We are leaving - leaving - I tell you!" her majesty told his majesty.  "We are running off to what used to be the south of France but is now a vacant lot to establish our kingdom and to give birth to the anti-Christ!"

Here I exercised my duties as royal philologist to point out to her majesty that it is incorrect to imply that she and her lover will both give birth to the anti-Christ when in fact she will do it alone.  She gave me a threatening look.

"The least you say about it, the better - Poopsie!" she declared.  The logic of her argument was infallible.  I shut right up.

"Well as it so happens, Miss Smartie Pants - little Miss Itch in the Pants - as it so happens," his majesty announced with great flourish, "my secretary Gloria and I are headed to either a remote island off Greece or the Kremlin to do just that very same thing!  We are going to give birth to the anti-Christ ourselves!"

"Myself!" Gloria corrected the emperor.

"Herself," Mixus corrected himself.  "So there!"

"Ha!" said the empress.  "We shall see who gives birth to the anti-Christ around here!"  With this she left.

"And to think," his majesty was musing, "with the General of my Army, no less."  He shook his head wearily.  "It'll take a lifetime to find another soldier like him.  Ah, Jeeves," he said, "being an emperor and a philosopher: it's almost too much for any one human being!"

I agreed.  Gloria agreed.  His majesty returned to his treatise, to give it the finishing touches.