--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Woolsey, Mary H. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 28 number: 7 published: 1925-05 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Mary H. Woolsey, “He That Would Be Greatest,” *Improvement Era 28, no. 7 (May 1925)*: 657–662." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2807unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2807unse start_page: 657 end_page: 662 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1925-05) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2807unse publication_year: 1925 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1925, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # He That Would Be Greatest "HE THAT WOULD BE GREATEST" By Mary H. Woolsey II Before dawn, the mob — for mob, at best, it was — was streaming over the broad highway that led to Varna; growing larger each time it came to a crossroads or passed through a little village. The women and the few men who were loyal, stood about in white-faced groups, speaking in dismal whispers or excited voices. Through the wide gates of Varna, up the broad avenue to the palace doors, the revolutionists surged at last. The soldiers, whom they had expected to oppose them, were nowhere to be seen — nor, in fact, was anyone else. They paused in indecision; and at that mo- ment, King Maros stepped from an open doorway onto a low balcony and thus addressed them: "Tivranians, come not with weapons, I your king am but your servant, to do for you the best I can. If I have failed, dismiss me. I shall not demand bloodshed for the gaining of what is rightfully yours already." Amid a ripple of surprise, the young king removed his crown and sword and royal robes, and laid them on the stone coping of the balcony. "They are yours, men of Tivrania. Do with them what you will. I am no longer your king." And he was gone. Gone, also, the mob spirit from the mob. It was as if a toy balloon had been pricked with a pin. That glamour lent by difficulty of attainment, fell away when what they sought was suddenly thrown into their hands. Arad was dismayed. "It is victory, victory!" he shouted in a fruitless endeavor to re- vive their enthusiasm. "It is time to select your new ruler." But one of the older peasants spoke up, "Rather, it is time to go to our homes, and forget what fools we have been." His words brought a flush of shame to many faces, and the men began to move slowly back through the gates. A few who might otherwise have followed Arad and ransacked the royal houses, were restrained by the action of the majority; and Arad, realizing that it would be the safer course, fell in with their mood. So homeward, silent and ashamed, went the sobered Tivranian revolutionists, undefeated, yet without glory or pride of victory. Home- ward, under darkening skies, their way marked by bonfires which they built to rest beside at times during the night. Homeward, to face their womenfolk with hung heads and downcast eyes; and finally to try to veil their shame by admitting that they had made a mistake, and to bury their regret in the lure of Arad's adventures — for in his skill he made them forget the part he had played among them — kept them from recognizing the wolf that he was. 658 IMPROVEMENT ERA "I shall stay yet ahwile," he said to himself. "'Tis a stupid place, but better than hustling always — and possibly I may still gain my desire." So, at the end of the quiet, almost dull days, when the peasants, yielding to life-long habit, came to the inn, Arad became again the story-teller, and strove to make more secure his place among them. And so successful was he that soon he was admitted occasionally at Misivri's house — and Amadra's eyes burned brightly under the spell of his eloquence. To Lago, this situation was unbearable, and he could not make himself pleasant company; so he went no more to the merchant's house, but sat beside his own fire, alone and filled with gloom. And thus he sat one evening when Shumla came, — Shumla, ready as always to sympathize or advise; but with a calm eagerness in his manner which had never been there, even though they were more silent than ever they had been. In the morning, as they watched the sun rise over the mountains, whose peaks were now white with snow, Lago asked as always: "Can you not stay here, Shumla?" But this time Shumla answered, "Yes, Lago — now I can stay. My business no longer needs me." So Shumla remained at Urtutz, or near there — while week piled upon week and winter closed in on Tivrania. His especial pet now was the little crippled Dorene, the fiddler's son, who reclined always upon his couch; until Shumla had made for him a chair which might be wheeled about and placed wherever desired. Hour by hour, Shumla's fairy tales and quaint songs beguiled the little fellow's weary time away, and made him laugh with glee — to the great joy of his father and mother and the warm approval of all the villagers. Life slipped into its old ways — then suddenly was jolted by the realization that Tivrania was now without a head. The king, Maros, could not be found. The nobles and ministers, with no guiding hand to restrain them, fell to quarreling over trifles. Varna was thrown into an uproar. The army disbanded and the soldiers returned to their homes, leaving the little country unprotected. One thing was certain — they must have a leader. But whom? One was too thoughtless; another too stern; this one was suspected of being dishonest, that one was generally disliked. Arad listened awhile, and when they had debated for some time, tacitly suggested that he would be an excellent premier for Tivrania. But he had reckoned without the vision and insight of the blind priest Saghra. The old man's lifted hand commanded silence: "You, Arad? You would become premier, would you? Have you for- gotten that you are an alien? Having been among us for one short season, you think you can understand our needs? Was it not just for this that you came here and incited a peaceful people to rise against a king who had served them well?" "HE THAT WOULD BE GREATEST" 659 Father Saghra's tone was low and stern. And at last the peasants understood and turned upon Arad with shouts and threats, bidding him begone with his wolf's heart and his fox's cunning. Muttering curses against the blind priest's intervention, Arad stalked away. Lago, watching him, saw him pause a moment to glance back down the street past the crowd; and turning, Lago saw a flash of scarlet against the white wall of Misivri's house. His heart leaped, for it was surely Amadra's bright shawl. He looked again towards Arad — to see him turning from the highway, to quickly disappear behind some cottages. Suspicious, Lago hurried towards the merchant's house. As he drew near he saw that Amadra had gone to the well, where she stood motionless, her pail in her hand, staring before her; and presently Arad approached from that direction and began to speak in a low tone. Knowing that the girl was alone at home, Lago drew as near as he could, sheltered behind a group of beeches. Somewhat indistinctly, he could hear the words Arad spoke: "I am going away, Amadra. Come with me." "Where?" she asked, startled. "Adventuring, sweet maid. To the ends of the earth, perhaps." "I wish you good speed, then," Amadra replied calmly. "I did not ask for your good wishes," he retorted, "but for you. Think, girl — you and I, and all the world our playground! like the tales I told you " "Ah, yes — pretty to listen to, Arad. But to live in — no. Four walls and a roof and a fire — they are better shelter." "For common clay, say," returned Arad, "which you are not. Your house should be a palace; you should be robed in costly silks and your play things should be jewels. I shall give you them. Come!"" She eyed him steadily, neither moving nor replying. "Think!" he urged. "Would you remain here to become mis- tress in a hovel? — slave to a stupid peasant like — " "Stop!" she cried, furiously. "I want not his name on your tongue! I would not trade a hair of his head for all that you can offer." Arad's face darkened with anger. "Now I say you shall come!" he exclaimed, seizing her roughly, and as she cried out, "Silence, girl! But then who is near enough to hear?" "I am!" shouted Lago, leaping swiftly from his hiding-place. Arad, startled, released Amadra and turned to see Lago approaching, then fled ignominiously. "Coward!" Lago yelled after him, "coward and traitor! Dare ever to show your face in Urtutz again, and you shall suffer for it!" Amadra had crouched back against the wall, quivering with relief from her fright. Lago turned towards her slowly. "He will not trouble you more, I think," he said, and then was silent; loath to leave her presence, yet afraid to speak further. "I am sick of him and his boastings!" the girl exclaimed with 660 IMPROVEMENT ERA sudden vehemence. Then, "Why have you deserted our fireside, Lago?" "Because there is not room for him and me beneath the same roof," bluntly. "Would you have it so?" "Pshaw! Lago — I would but see if you can be jealous — so slow you are!" Then she looked at him directly and the color flamed in her cheeks; she caught up her pail and ran swiftly into the house, while his adoring eyes followed her until she slammed the door behind her. Then he hurried homeward, quite forgetting such an unimport- ant trifle as the selection of a successor to the king; intent only on doing his chores and making ready for the evening's visit. Days passed, and no ruler was selected for Tivrania. The peasants were puzzled. How could they select a ruler when they could not all agree on anyone? The snow came, drifting heavily over the fields and hillsides, and the children began to talk eagerly of the king's annual festival. Their parents listened with heavy hearts, fearful lest the little ones might be sadly disappointed. When would there be again a king in Tivrania? Then, one night, a band of robbers galloped in from beyond the moun- tains, terrorized the villiages, and drove away many sheep and cattle and horses. When at last they had gone, the people ran to their priests, begging them to help select a king who would bring peace to the little country again. Father Saghra stood within his little gray church, his face lined with sadness and pity. Every ear strained to catch the words of his prayer: "* * * As that of children in mischief has been their sin, O God; and in repentance they turn to thee. Father, forgive them, and help them to find the one amongst them who is greatest of all. Let them remember the words of our Savior, that he who is greatest is he who serves best. Give them of thy wisdom, that they may know who will serve them best; and so let them have peace. Amen." Slowly they filed out of the church, lingering near to talk to- gether. Olgetz had brought his little crippled son, and the child was riotously happy to be abroad at night. His gayety quickly made him the center of an admiring group. "Little Dorene of the light heart!" murmured an old peasant. "Would it not be wonderful if a child all innocence and purity should point out to us our king?" "King — king," the little boy repeated merrily. '"Tis the first time he would say the word," explained Olgetz. At that moment Shumla, the last to leave the church, stood in the doorway pulling on his heavy cap. The lantern's light shone on him, and Dorene quickly recognized his friend. "Shumla! Shumla!" he shouted, stretching out both chubby mit- tened hands, eager to show off his latest accomplishment. As Shumla "HE THAT WOULD BE GREATEST" 661 smiled and came near, the child shouted again, "King, Shumla — I say, king!" Silence — a breathless silence — held the crowd. Someone laughed. "King Shumla! Why not?" Suddenly they knew that among them all there was no one bet- ter loved nor more trusted than he. Who had not benefited by his helpfulness and kindliness? A great shout went up. "Shumla shall be our king!" "But I thought — " he stammered irresolutely. "I thought that you no longer wanted a king — that you would have some other — " "But we know not the ways of any other," broke in Datmir, eagerly. "It is a king we need." And another cheer confirmed his words. Shumla turned, to see the old priest standing near by, smiling benignantly, and staggered towards him. "Father Saghra, I must speak with you!" Inside the church door, out of hearing of the joy-wild crowd, the good old man laid affectionate hands on the young man's shoulders. "Shumla, Shumla! Did you then think I do not know?" "You knew, Father Saghra! — How long?" "Always, -I think," replied the priest. "The blind, Shumla, sometimes see what others never can." Shumla bowed his head reverently. "Poor children!" the holy man said softly. "It has been a lesson for them; next time they will turn deaf ears to the voice of evil counsel. But it will be a beautiful joke at the end, Shumla. * * * Now you must be gone about your business — and may God be with you." Tivrania marveled and rejoiced at the expertness of the . new king. How swiftly his ruling spread peace over the land! An end to the quarrels, the bickerings! The army, reunited; the brigands put to flight! Everywhere, industry and content as of old. Every home was a scene of hustling activity. Mornings were spent in the kitchens; afternoons at weaving, knitting, sewing; evenings at making candles and at dancing. And at all times there was sing- ing, and laughter, and hopefulness. Storms piled the snow deep, and vanished, leaving the country- side glistening beneath the drifts. The days were clear and pleasant; the nights, starrily, crisply cold. And at last the king issued a procla- mation bidding all Tivranians to assemble at Varna for a great festival of celebration. At last the great day came. Resplendent in new finery, the peas- ants made ready their sledges, and beneath warm fur robes set ouc Ou the journey to Varna and the king's festival. Hearts were light and faces glowed with happy excitement, and the air was filled with laughter and song as they sped along their way. 662 IMPROVEMENT ERA The great Hall of State was gay with decorations which shim- mered in the soft light of many candles, and strange sweet music could be heard. On tables round about were the gilded fruits and the little cakes, and bags of nuts and sweetmeats which would be given the people at the end of the festival. With exclamations of delight, the people separated into groups and waited eagerly for the king to appear. In he came, his royal robes trailing and his crown glittering. It was a strange Shumla, but his smile was the same and he spoke to them merrily in answer to their shouts of acclamation. Amid the eager flutter, Shumla was approached by one of his ministers, and as they conversed, the candle-light illumed his face, now serious and intent — and it was the face of the king whom they had driven away in the autumn! The room seemed charged with an electric stillness; then — "'Tis Maros himself!" exclaimed a dozen voices; and the king raised his head, smiling at their amazed recog- nition. For it was true. He whom they knew and loved and had chosen king, was the same as he whom, in ignorance and listening to the tempter, they had rebelled against. Of Maros they had stood in awe; but to the vagabond story-teller, Shumla, they had opened their hearts — and thus had the king learned the whole truth regarding their conditions, and been enabled to rule for their genuine good. "But truly I would rather be Shumla than Maros," the king said wistfully; yet he knew that never again would their king seem remote from them, and that the uncovering of his secret would not end his pleasant evenings of story-telling and mingling with the peasants whom he loved. For the king would be Maros, and Shumla always their friendly companion; and if a king be a friend — why, the difference is but the presence or absence of a crown. (The End) Looking Forward Let us store up all the sunshine Let us harness all the moonbeams Glistening through the Summer's day, That some night of disillusionment That we may have some to feast on May be brightened by the shining When the skies are cold and grey. Of promises Heaven sent. Let us cultivate our gardens Let us not neglect the friendships Until the weeds of worthlessness Which endeavor have kept green, Are replaced by flowers of beauty That in the hours of loneliness With borders of blessedness. We a cheering smile may glean. Let us stretch the line of patience Let us store, and save, and gather That all our griefs may air, Every bit of love and joy, And be cleansed of selfish groanings Lest some day we may miss them That on another's patience wear. As a child a loved, lost toy. A. Henderson.