I had received a royal summons to pay a call on the sovereigns of my country.
The invitation was made of lace, framing embossed letters of gold. There were also roses and swallows.
I went to fetch my car, but my chauffeur, who has no practical sense at all, had just buried it.
"I did it to grow mushrooms," he told me. "There's no better way of growing mushrooms."
"Brady," I said to him, "you're a complete idiot. You have ruined my car."
So, since my car was indeed completely out of action, I was obliged to hire a horse and cart.
When I arrived at the palace, I was told by an impassive servant, dressed in red and gold, "The queen went mad yesterday. She's in her bath."
"How terrible," I exclaimed. "How did it happen?"
"It's the heat."
"May I see her all the same?" I didn't like the idea of my long journey being wasted.
"Yes," the servant replied. "You may see her anyway."
We passed down corridors decorated in imitation marble, admirably done, through rooms with Greek bas-reliefs and Medici ceilings and wax fruit everywhere.
The queen was in her bath when I went in; I noticed that she was bathing in goat's milk.
"Come on in," she said. "You see I use only live sponges. It's healthier."
The sponges were swimming about all over the place in the milk, and she had trouble catching them. A servant, armed with long-handled tongs, helped her from time to time.
"I'll soon be through with my bath," the queen said. "I have a proposal to put to you. I would like you to see the government instead of me today, I'm too tired myself. They're all idiots, so you won't find it difficult."
"All right," I said.
The government chamber was at the other end of the palace. The ministers were sitting at a long and very shiny table.
As the representative of the queen, I sat in the seat at the end. The Prime Minister rose and struck the table with a gavel. The table broke in two. Some servants came in with another table. The Prime Minister swapped the first gave for another, made of rubber. He struck the table again and began to speak. "Madame Deputy of the Queen, ministers, friends. Our dearly beloved sovereign went mad yesterday, and so we need another. But first we must assassinate the old queen."
The ministers murmured amongst themselves for a while. Presently, the oldest minister rose to his feet and addressed the assembly. "That being the case, we must forthwith make a plan. Not only must we make a plan, but we must come to a decision. We must choose who is to be the assassin."
All hands were immediately raised. I didn't quite know what to do as the deputy of Her Majesty.
Perplexed, the Prime Minister looked over the company.
"We can't all do it," he said. "But I've a very good idea. We'll play a game of draughts, and the winner has the right to assassinate the queen." He turned to me and asked, "Do you play, Miss?"
I was filled with embarrassment. I had no desire to assassinate the queen, and I foresaw that serious consequences might follow. On the other hand I had never been any good at all at draughts. So I saw no danger, and I accepted.
"I don't mind," I said.
"So, it's understood," said the Prime Minister. "This is what the winner will do: take the queen for a stroll in the Royal Menagerie. When you reach the lions (second cage on the left), push her in. I shall tell the keeper not to feed the lions until tomorrow."
The queen called me to her office. She was watering the flowers woven in the carpet.
"Well, did it go all right?" she asked.
"Yes, it went very well," I answered, confused.
"Would you like some soup?"
"You're too kind," I said.
"It's mock beef tea. I make it myself," the queen said. "There's nothing in it but potatoes."
While we were eating the broth, an orchestra played popular and classical tunes. The queen loved music to distraction.
The meal over, the queen left to have a rest. I for my part went to join in the game of draughts on the terrace. I was nervous, but I've inherited sporting instincts from my father. I had given my word to be there, and so there I would be.
The enormous terrace looked impressive. In front of the garden, darkened by the twilight and the cypress trees, the ministers were assembled. There were twenty little tables. Each had two chairs with thin, fragile legs. When he saw me arrive, the Prime Minister called out, "Take your places," and everybody rushed to the tables and began to play ferociously.
We played all night without stopping. The only sounds that interrupted the game were an occasional furious bellow from one minister or another. Towards dawn, the blast of a trumpet abruptly called an end to the game. A voice, coming from I don't know where, cried, "She has won. She's the only person who didn't cheat."
I was rooted to the ground with horror.
"Who? Me?" I said.
"Yes, you," the voice replied, and I noticed that it was the tallest cypress speaking.
I'm going to escape, I thought, and began to run in the direction of the avenue. But the cypress tore itself out of the earth by the roots, scattering dirt in all directions, and began to follow me. It's so much larger than me, I thought and stopped. The cypress stopped too. All its branches were shaking horribly--it was probably quite a while since it had last run.
"I accept," I said, and the cypress returned slowly to its hole.
I found the queen lying in her great bed.
"I want to invite you to come for a stroll in the menagerie," I said, feeling pretty uncomfortable.
"But it's too early," she replied. "It isn't five o'clock yet. I never get up before ten."
"It's lovely out," I added.
"Oh, all right, if you insist."
We went down into the silent garden. Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hours of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves. I sang a bit to cheer myself up. I was chilled to the bone. The queen, in the meantime, was telling me that she fed all her horses on jam.
"It stops them from being vicious," she said.
She ought to have given the lions some jam, I thought to myself.
A long avenue, lined on both sides with fruit trees, led to the menagerie. From time to time a heavy fruit fell to the ground, Plop.
"Head colds are easily cured, if one just has the confidence," the queen said. "I myself always take beef morsels marinated in olive oil. I put them in my nose. Next day the cold's gone. Or else, treated in the same way, cold noodles in liver juice, preferably calves' liver. It's a miracle how it dispels the heaviness in one's head."
She'll never have a head cold again, I thought.
"But bronchitis is more complicated. I nearly saved my poor husband from his last attack of bronchitis by knitting him a waistcoat. But it wasn't altogether successful."
We were drawing closer and closer to the menagerie. I could already hear the animals stirring in their morning slumbers. I would have liked to turn back, but I was afraid of the cypress and what it might be able to do with its hairy black branches. The more strongly I smelled the lion, the more loudly I sang, to give myself courage.
-Leonora Carrington
