King John of Jingalo | Page 2

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 him the King was--perhaps on account of that
smile--more liked than he knew. Servants whom the vastness of his
establishments did not convert into total strangers found him a

considerate master, full of a personal interest in their snug lives, and
with a carefully practised memory for the numbers and names of their
children; and the only complaint that even his valets had against him
was that he remained his own barber and evinced a certain reluctance in
casting his suits until they had begun to show a suspicion of wear. In
outward relations he was a kind, touchy, companionable soul; inwardly
he was one who suffered acutely from lack of companionship and
conversation, not because he had not plenty of people to talk to, but
because so many things came into his head that he must not say, while
the correct substitutes for them only occurred to him later. And thus it
came about that a good deal of his intercourse with humanity was
limited to a pleasant expression of face, wearing generally, especially
when it smiled, a wistful note of interrogation.
To present this face to the public in the regulation doses which were
considered inducive to loyalty, he had sat thirty-nine times for his
portrait to popular rather than famous painters, and to commercially
successful photographers more times than any one could count. And
painters and photographers alike had agreed that he was a steady and a
patient sitter. They all liked him. He himself preferred the
photographers; they came more often but they took less time and did
not require the give-and-take of artificially made conversation. They
were also more amenable to criticism, and kept behind the scenes for
"touching-up" purposes wonderful anonymous artists who gave no
trouble whatever, requiring no sittings and yet producing results that
for tact and skill combined with accuracy could not be beaten.
Occasionally, after having sat for his portrait to one of the painters, the
King was advised to bestow on him a knighthood or an order. In his
heart of hearts he would have much preferred knighting a photographer;
but for some reason which was beyond him to discover this was not
considered the correct thing, and the knighthoods went accordingly to
the people who gave him the most trouble and the least satisfactory
results.
It had never been the King's lot to be handsome; but now the
approaches of age were giving to his countenance a dignity which in
youth it had lacked. This was part and parcel of a certain mental

obtuseness or obstinacy: when his Majesty did not understand, majesty
became sedentary in his face. Often when it was the duty, or the device,
of his ministerial advisers to confuse his mind with explanatory details
about things which lay far beyond it, they would presently become
aware that he did not in the least understand what they were saying, or
that such understanding as he possessed at the beginning had become
darkened by judicious counsel. This stage of the reasoning process was
marked by a gentle access of majesty to the royal countenance; and
when it appeared ministers were informed that, for the time being, their
object was attained. When, however, the King did understand, or
thought that he did, he was