‘The Command Performance’

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 4452, 30 January 1940, Page 3 (Supplement)

‘The Command Performance ’

By HAL PINK.

A motley medley of humanity surging to the exits of the Royal Theatre. Voices. “ . . . her song . . . astounding, my dear . . . very clever and amusing, of course, but what a smack at the king.” “. . , may get her into trouble . . . pity . . . she’s a lovely girl . . . but after all, who is Flavio? A stranger to most of us . . . now when the old king was alive . . ”... he’s a modern, of course. Educated abroad . . . but I say give the lad a chance to find his feet ... all this anti-royalist talk A tall young man with a soft felt hat crammed down on his head, a shabby raincoat with upturned collar half hiding his face, waited in a dark alleyway where the sole illumination was a flickering gas-lit sign—“ Stage Door. Performers Only.” Minutes passed. Then the alleyway began to disgorge people. Almost last came a young girl wrapped in furs. The tall young man turned and sauntered towards her. She passed him, hurrying out into the road. Everything happened in a flash. An automobile hurtling from a side road —the girl hesitating in the fierce glare of the headlamps —a squeal of brakes, but no diminution of speed—a man’s voice raised in alarm. Then the girl felt herself pushed violently aside. She fell. Someone fell with her—the young man in the raincoat. With a smile —“ Sorry if I hurt you, but it was the only thing to do.” Her eyes were shining. “You saved my life. Thank you.” Extending her hand—“ Sonia is my name.”

A Fascinating Short Story

Fingers closed on hers. “ Mine is Ivan.” As they reached the safety of the opposite pavement —“ You are the girl who sang the song about the king to-night, aren’t you?” Sonia laughed audaciously. “ I am. Did you like it?” Ivan bowed gallantly. “So much that I would like to hear more about it. Won’t you join me for supper?” Together they passed through the door of a nearby restaurant. Russ, the senior of the five Cabinet Ministers present, endeavoured to awaken Flavio 11., King of Alturia, to the seriousness of the situation. Speaking slowly and deliberately. “Your Majesty,” said Russ, “ the people of Alturia are known throughout the entire civilised world for one strong national characteristic their passionate love of drama, opera and musical productions. “ I quite agree,” said Flavio, heartily. “ I have had the pleasure of listening to that excellent musical comedy, “ Waltzes from Alturia,” in no less than five capitals. “YTs, yes. Quite so,” said Russ hastily. “ Your Majesty’s keen perception of my point enables me to emphasise the grave danger to the throne of this particular conspiracy. Last night, during the premier of the new show “ Alturian Rose ” at the Royal Theatre, one of the principal female vocalists —Sonia by name —sang a song which reflected most unfavourably upon Your Majesty.” “ Let us have some details, my dear Russ,” smiled Flavio. “ It—it —” the counsellor flushed, groped for words. “Part of the song referred to your infrequent public appearances, hinting that you were not greatly concerned about the welfare of your subjects. It seems that the common people have a nickname for you—they call you the ‘ Stranger-King,’ and another verse stressed your long absences from the kingdom during the period when you were PrinceElect,” he plunged on desperately. “ There are some words about ‘ royal loungers roaming round the town, kicking up their heels and ‘ oh, dear! What am I saying? Forgive me, I should not have quoted.” Flavio laughed outright. “'But, sire,” protested the horrified Russ, “ can’t you see the peril of all this. The song proved to be one of the most popular items in the show! The audience

not only tolerated it, but liked it! The tune has an attractive lilt — everybody is humming it —it will rage throughout the kingdom! Here is subtle propaganda that may foment an actual uprising, unless it is banned in time, while if it leaks out of Alturia Your Majesty will become the laughing stock of the whole world!” “My friends,” said Flavio, gravely. “ I realise that you all have my best interests at heart, and I am grateful for your loyalty and zeal. But we must be cautious. I cannot believe that my people are rising against me. It is just that they do not understand. When they know me better, qur troubles will disappear.”

“ 1 have a plan. The King commands a Special Performance of the musical comedy, “ Alturian Rose ” at the Royal Theatre five nights from now!” “ But Your Majesty the song!” stuttered Russ. “Are we to forbid it?”

“ Not at all,” Flavio assured him heartily. “ Mine is a policy of masterly inactivity. Let the management of the theatre, the singer, and the audience do the worrying about the song.”

The cellar was dimly lit, poorly furnished and none to clean, but the small group of men and women seated round the table seemed happy enough. Faces flowed with eagerness, as they listened to the low-voiced, impassioned harangue of a man whose vivid personality dominated the assembly. “We were told that the song would be banned,” the speaker said. “Was it? No! Because the authorities did not dare! Instead, the King commands a Special Performance, thinking to shame us by his presence.” He laughed heartily. “ Instead, he has played right into our hands, given us the chance we want! And I, Carl, from the stage, shall strike the blow for liberty Avhile Sonia sings her song!” Footsteps on the cellar stairs. A knock on the door. “Who comes?” “ Friends of the People.” “Enter.” A key turned in the lock. Sonia and Ivan entered, hailed warmly by the others. Carl raised a hand for silence. “ Sonia here has vouched for Ivan. We all know and welcome him. He is to be initiated into our ranks.” To Ivan—“ That is your wish?” Ivan nodded. “ Raise your right hand. Do you solemnly swear always to have the welfare of the people of Alturia at heart?” “ I swear.” “ Then you are one of us, and shall learn our plans. We shall strike against the monarchy at the Command Performance. Listen.”

Tier upon tier the Royal Theatre was crammed with people. High Society in the boxes and loggias, social climbers in the stabs and dress circle, and every other seat in the auditorium filled with the tax-paying public . . . the night of the Command Performance.

For many present, this was to be their first glimpse of the young king. What was he like? Was he the idle lounger of the song? Would Sonia dare to sing that song? Would the management permit it? So ran the questions and surmises. Some feared trouble. All were won-

dering. What was that? A whisper, travelling faster than fire runs over dry grass —“ The King has arrived!” And so the curtain rose and the show commenced. But though they listened, applauded, encored, every single person in that great audience waited, tensed, for the moment when Sonia was to make her entrance. At last the dancing girls pranced out of sight. The crisis had come.

From the darkened auditorium a murmur of many voices. Then ominous silence. All eyes on the King. Fie did not seem in the least perturbed. Look! Sonia, head up, eyes flashing, advancing towards the footlights! Music—the lilting refrain of the song! The singer’s glorious voice rang out in the opening words of the song —then two things happened simultaneously! A costumed figure whom the audience recognised as Carl, the leading tenor, ran on to the stage —and Flavio stood up, leaning out over the edge of the box so that the light was full on his face ! Abruptly, in the middle of a note, Sonia stopped singing, and the astounded audience heard her loud cry—

“Ivan. You? The King?” Flavio nodded, smiling. Then Carl, wild-eyed, lips writhed in a snarl, sprang past Sonia. “ So ! You spied on us!” he screamed. “ You are no Friend of the People ! Die then—” His hand tore something small and round from an inside pocket —a bomb —he, was jerking loose the safetv-pin—-“Ah! No! Don’t!” Sonia grappled with Carl, caught his arm, and — CRASH! A blinding flash—a mighty roar of sound—the bomb had exploded between Sonia and Carl, flinging them apart! And when the audience dared to look again, Flavio had leapt from the royal box on to the shattered woodwork of the stage,

had knelt and gathered the girl in his arms. Hoarsely Speak to me !”•—they heard him cry. Sonia’s eyes opened. Gazing up at him—“ I think lam going to die,” she murmured faintly. “ Forgive me —sorry —for everything—did not understand —you saved my life—the least I could do —was to try to save yours.” Flavio shook his head. His eyes smiled at her through a mist of tears. “You will not die, little Sonia,” he said, softly. “ You will live. I, your King, command it.” Then someone at the back of the stage recovered his senses, and the curtain dropped upon the command performance. The End.