RENATI THE KING
A Play
by Gian DiDonna
Page IV
THE AMBASSADOR:
What in heaven are you suggesting? Have you smuggled a child in this dungeon while I was away, Monsieur?
RENATI:
I am not a smuggler.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Then what?
RENATI:
She was birthed here.
THE AMBASSADOR:
You’ve done it, haven’t you? You’ve been frequenting prostitutes! No wonder the Queen is skeptical.
RENATI:
Of what?
The Ambassador is silent. The Ambassador goes to the door.
RENATI: (cont’d)
What do you think you’re doing, Ambassador? You’re not leaving here alive. Not until you deliver me to her.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Monsieur Renati. You are in no condition to be brought before her.
RENATI:
Don’t you think I know that. How could I when I haven’t had a bath in six months? But I care nothing for that, Ambassador. I want to know what you’re going to do about my daughter.
Silence.
RENATI: (cont’d)
Why aren’t you answering me?
(Then,)
Ambassador?
THE AMBASSADOR:
Monsieur, I’m afraid to say, that you have lost your mind. Now I think you should put away the sword and listen to me.
RENATI:
But—
THE AMBASSADOR:
But nothing. Put it down, Monsieur.
RENATI:
So you’re not going to save her? You’re going to let my daughter die?
THE AMBASSADOR:
I’m afraid to inform you, Monsieur, that you have no daughter.
RENATI:
That’s not true. Not true at all, Ambassador.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Then why haven’t we heard a peep from her. I’d imagine a child missing a leg would be in horrible pain, no? That does seem reasonable, doesn’t it?
RENATI:
She’s sleeping.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Sleeping?
RENATI:
In that trunk over there.
The Ambassador suddenly seems concerned.
RENATI: (cont’d)
I hid her from you because I didn’t know if I could trust you.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Why do I get the feeling you’re not jesting?
RENATI:
Because I’m not. I wouldn’t jest about the welfare of my own child.
The Ambassador fears the worse. He looks about the room and struggles for some semblance of sanity.
THE AMBASSADOR:
I see.
RENATI:
Would you like to meet her, Ambassador?
Silence.
THE AMBASSADOR:
I’m sorry to be so frank with you, Monsieur, but you are not of fit mind.
RENATI:
Nonsense. I am the only sane person alive. Now, if you want to meet her, and you are willing to care for her, then stand away from the door. Stand away from the door, or I will kill you.
THE AMBASSADOR:
But Monsieur, if this child is missing a leg, she must be taken ashore to receive proper treatment.
RENATI:
I will not entrust her life to those barbarians. And frankly, I don’t see how you could either, when I’ve just finished telling you they were the ones who brutalized her.
Renati takes his sword from where it has been resting.
RENATI: (cont’d)
Withdraw from the door, Ambassador.
THE AMBASSADOR:
But what good is living if a child dies in my service?
Renati puts the sword under Ambassador’s chin.
RENATI:
Step away.
THE AMBASSADOR:
So, you say she’s been in that trunk the entire time?
RENATI:
Safe and sound.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Very well. Away from the door I go.
The Ambassador moves away from the door. Renati blocks it with a chair, then seizes the Ambassador and forces him to the trunk.
THE AMBASSADOR: (cont’d)
Whatever it is I’m about to witness, I fear the end has come.
Renati opens the trunk. The Ambassador looks in, stunned.
THE AMBASSADOR: (cont’d)
Oh. Oh.
RENATI:
What do you have to say for yourself, Ambassador? Aren’t you ashamed?
Silence. Ambassador looks at the trunk, then to Renati, then back to the trunk.
RENATI: (cont’d)
Do you believe me now? Her cries cut through the night like a rapier. Thank goodness she’s resting peacefully now. To think the libidinous gnome is off frolicking in the theatre while her own daughter suffers at the hands of her loyal servants!
THE AMBASSADOR:
Monsieur, did you say “her” own daughter?
RENATI:
That’s correct, Ambassador. You want to know who’s complied in this child’s procreation? I therefore will name her. This child whom you see before you was born of my affections for the Queen.
Pause
THE AMBASSADOR:
And by that I take it you mean the Queen whom I serve, Monsieur?
RENATI:
None other than the illustrious vixen herself. Behold her daughter, Ambassador. Princess Francine.
Renati lifts “Francine” from within the trunk. We see for the first time that “she” is a robot composed of a clock face with pendulums for arms and legs. Of course, there is the exception of the one “missing” leg. She wears a bonnet and a pretty dress that is soaked.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Francine.
RENATI:
Fannie is also acceptable. As is Frankie. You’ll have to forgive me for not telling you sooner, but I had no choice. I promised the Queen no one would know until the time was appropriate. But now, circumstances of life and death have forced my hand.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Monsieur, do you want to suggest that the Queen knows about . . .
RENATI:
Francine. Don’t let me have to remind you of her name again, Ambassador. The child cannot endure any further insults.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Very well. Francine. You’re suggesting the Queen knows of her.
RENATI:
Of course. Haven’t I made it clear that the trollop is her mother? The truth is, I’ve been in love with the bitch for quite some time now. And she with me. Why she’s decided to take on this air of indifference is beyond my comprehension.
(Quickly)
From my very first correspondence with her ladyship, the voracious tart wanted nothing more than to be tutored in the language of my New Philosophy, which concerns itself not with the skepticism so many associate to my writings, but with that ephemeral mystery known as Love.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Love?
RENATI:
If you don’t believe me, I encourage you to ask her majesty about the treatise I left in her care during my first and only meeting with her three months ago. A treatise that was written expressly for her own person in the spirit of the amorous love and dedication she has inspired in me. Let her show you how at the top of every page I painted the image of my favorite flower: a tulip called The Queen of Night because of its dark purple hue. Some might call this coincidence, since it seems obvious that as the Queen of a country steeped in perpetual night for six months of the year, no other flower could be named after her. But I prefer to call it destiny, Ambassador. And this child is the fruit of destiny. This child was conceived of our only meeting, and it was during that rendezvous that her majesty asked that I keep it secret, until it might be safe to announce the arrival of our love-child to the world. You know how Christians feel about the concept of the love-child, don’t you Ambassador?
(Quick Beat)
But now seeing that the salacious doxy has found it less than convenient to invite us to her court, I have no other choice but to make Fannie public knowledge.
Renati lifts the android’s dress.
RENATI: (cont’d)
Do you see the gaping hole in her hip socket? That’s where her leg used to be!
THE AMBASSADOR:
I assure you Monsieur, it will be returned to her. Yes, absolutely. In fact, I’ll make my way to the deck right now and—
RENATI:
Stay right here, Ambassador. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve apologized.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Apologized, Monsieur?
RENATI:
For insulting her. With that judgmental stare.
THE AMBASSADOR:
But I don’t think I’ve been in any way—
RENATI:
I’ve been watching you and you’ve been despicable, Ambassador. Your eye boils with judgment.
THE AMBASSADOR:
I wasn’t aware of it, but if you say so. Very well. I’ll apologize and then I’ll be on my way to make sure her leg is returned.
(Pause)
Dearest . . .
Ambassador has forgotten her name.
RENATI:
Francine. Her name is Francine.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Yes, it is. Francine, I apologize for staring at you with so much . . . judgment.
RENATI:
Good.
THE AMBASSADOR:
May I go inquire about her leg now, Monsieur? The child must really be in terrible pain.
RENATI:
No.
THE AMBASSADOR:
But—
RENATI:
I want the harlot to pay, Ambassador! I want her to sweat under the weight of my body. I want to—
THE AMBASSADOR:
Monsieur! Please! You’re talking about a lady who possesses a chastity of the highest order. This is a known fact across the continent.
RENATI:
For heaven’s sake, do you really believe that the tramp is still the virgin so many believe her to be?
THE AMBASSADOR:
Well, obviously not, if she’s given you a daughter.
RENATI:
Even so! Do you think it’s possible, that some semblance of virginity could still be maintained in a woman who has delivered a child?
THE AMBASSADOR:
Well, I suppose all Queens are virgins in reputation—
RENATI:
I’m not referring to reputation, Ambassador. I’m referring to carnal virginity.
THE AMBASSADOR:
You do realize that many of history’s alleged virgins often had hidden passage ways, making entrance to their “chambers” not entirely inconceivable.
RENATI:
I can assure you she has hidden entrance ways just about everywhere, Ambassador. Everywhere, except where it matters most.
THE AMBASSADOR:
And where are you suggesting that might be, Monsieur?
RENATI:
Dear Ambassador, despite what so many believe, the profligate has been penetrated. Ad nauseum. But unfortunately not in the orifice she so desires. The Queen has been cursed with a nondescript genitalia, a covering also known as a caul, that has rendered whatever opening there is, completely inaccessible. The strumpet has been sealed from birth, Ambassador. Sealed by the hand of God for a greater purpose.
THE AMBASSADOR:
And how do you know this, Monsieur?
RENATI:
Because I saw it.
THE AMBASSADOR:
You saw it?
RENATI:
With my own eyes.
(Beat)
I even touched it.
THE AMBASSADOR:
I am amazed.
RENATI:
You should be, Ambassador. Yes, in one sense, it is true that I have been summoned to Sweden to cure her melancholia. But beneath the artifice of that appearance, another kind of work has been undertaken and accomplished. My real work. My life’s purpose. Ambassador, I have made it possible for her majesty to breed a child when the greatest physicians in Sweden had convinced her it would never happen. When I came to her, she was a broken woman. Broken and barren and in need of . . . fruition. And I gave her “fruition.” Yes, over the course of one short meeting, our bodies came together and through that coming together not only did I transform her, but I also transformed the future of the entire world. My dear Ambassador, in that brief exchange between myself and the Queen of Sweden, I made it possible for her to bear . . . an heir. And Francine is as much my daughter as she is hers.
(Pause)
The time has come for you to honor the princess of Sweden. Kiss her, Ambassador. Kiss Francine.
THE AMBASSADOR:
But I couldn’t permit myself to . . . I am not worthy—
RENATI:
What you don’t seem to realize is that by denying little Fannie you also deny someone else. Someone much more significant and unforgiving.
THE AMBASSADOR:
Monsieur, the child is lovely, but I am sure the Queen will understand why I had to forego this blessed—
RENATI:
The Queen is nothing compared to the One of whom I speak.
THE AMBASSADOR:
The One? Which One?
RENATI:
Him.
Renati points to the image of the savior on the back wall.
RENATI: (cont’d)
You have denied the savior.
THE AMBASSADOR:
But how? She’s . . .
RENATI:
She’s what, Ambassador?
THE AMBASSADOR:
It’s her artificiality. She’s constructed so . . . mechanically.
RENATI:
And you find this quality morally troubling, Ambassador?
THE AMBASSADOR:
Monsieur, is this act not blasphemy? Aren’t you taking credit for creating what only the Lord can endeavor.
RENATI:
Isn’t that what every Christian claims they’re doing, Ambassador? “The Lord’s charity? God’s work?” Puh!
(Beat)
By suggesting that she’s mechanical you have paid her the highest compliment. Nature is a machine that operates as a series of causes and effects. And the body too is a series of causes and effects. One thing connected to another, and moved by the catalyst that precedes it. I am only doing what my nature was designed to do, and that is to create more life. To be the cause, not only of an effect, but of a more excellent effect! To propagate with the purity of my masculine principle. To propagate with the intellect. I have merely imitated God’s will. Is this blasphemous? I have imitated the Nature that He created. Isn’t that what the church asks of us? To imitate the Lord? You wouldn’t want people to think you’re a heretic, do you Ambassador?
(Long Pause)
Well then . . . it seems you have no other choice . . .
Renati holds the android before Ambassador.
RENATI: (cont’d)
. . . for in kissing Fannie you acknowledge her not only as an act of divine grace, but as my own offspring. And what greater reward is there in life than for a man to become a father.
Quite reluctantly, the Ambassador kisses the android. He then turns before the image of the savior, genuflects and crosses himself.
RENATI: (cont’d)
Isn’t that better now? In fact, since you are the first to have seen her, Ambassador and the first to have in a sense, baptized her with a kiss, I wish to proclaim you her uncle. Do you accept the Christian responsibility?
Pause
THE AMBASSADOR:
Of course. How could I refuse?
Renati talks to the android.
RENATI:
(To Francine)
What, my dear? Oh, I know your clothes are still dreadfully wet, but Papa cannot stoke the embers for you until your godfather supplies us with more wood for the fire.
(Pause)
Oh, and what’s that?
(Pause)
You say that in the meantime you wonder if the Ambassador will let us keep this plush garment so you can use it as a blanket to keep you warm? Well I’m sure your good Christian uncle wouldn’t mind making such a small sacrifice. After all, he is fortunate enough to be blessed with two legs that enable him to move closer to a fire when he grows cold.
Ambassador nods in agreement. Renati removes the cape from around his waist and cloaks the android. He sings.
RENATI: (cont’d)
Fannie, Fannie, oh, my dear dear, Fannie, Were man more enlightened, At ease with the art of science, Then he might be less frightened, And I might have the license . . .
Renati moves to a corner where he lifts a small statue of the Catholic Virgin from a mantle and kisses it.
Then he has Francine kiss it too. He replaces the statue. Then brings Francine to her cradle and lays her to sleep.
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