The King of Clowns and the Happy Man's Shirt

Many many years ago, in the days of the silent movies, there was a clown who was known as the King of Clowns. He was brilliant at slapstick, pratfalls and custard pies. The world was at his feet and film directors were clamouring at the door for him to star in their productions. He had a beautiful wife and two beautiful daughters. Wherever he went he was protected by twelve burly bodyguards.

But he was not happy. In fact, he was very sad. And as each movie was released, his audiences became sadder and sadder. They still went to see him, because he was a brilliant clown, and every time he appeared in public the people crowded round, anxious to catch a glimpse of the King of Clowns. But nothing could make him happy, not the adulation of the crowds, not his two little daughters who would come and throw their arms round their daddy's neck and kiss him and cuddle him, not even the love of his lovely wife.

His mantelpiece at home was full of Academy Awards, but each time he won a new Oscar and went to the microphone to say thank-you, he felt so unworthy that people didn't even applaud when he had finished speaking his thanks. And he would go home even sadder than ever, push the Oscar on to the mantelpiece, and sit there staring into the artificial logfire, a glass of champagne in one hand, and a dying Havana cigar in the other. He was too sad to drink from one or to puff on the other.

One day, it became too much for his lady to bear. She cried: “We can't go on like this any more. Some day soon people will stop coming to see you, because you make everyone feel so sad, and what will we do then? How are we going to pay for the children's education?” And the King of Clowns just stared into the artificial logfire, and didn't sip on his champagne or puff on his Havana cigar.

His lady sent for the studio psychiatrist, who made a steeple of his hands for a while, and then he said: “Of course, every-vun knows ze King of Clowns is very sad but no one knows vy 'e is so sad. I vill see 'im if you like, but I don't think zere's anyzing I can do for 'im.”

“That's nonsense,” said the lady. “You're the highest-paid psychiatrist on the planet, and you have cured many movie stars of alcoholism, drug addiction, and all sorts of other mental ills which make the sadness of the King of Clowns like nothing at all. You must cure him.”

“Vell,” said the studio psychiatrist, “I don't zink zis is a psychological problem. Back in Transylvania, vhere I come from, zere is an old wive's tale which may help, but I cannot promise any guarantee of success.”

“Tell me, tell me,” cried the lady. “I'll try anything. All he does is to sit staring into the artificial logfire all day, without sipping on his champagne or puffing his Havana cigar.”

“Gott in Himmel,” said the psychiatrist, “zis is more serious zan I zought. Vell, if you vill try any-zing, zen 'e must find an 'appy man, a truly 'appy man, und zen 'e must vear zat 'appy man's shirt.”

“Well,” said the lady, “I said I would try anything, but this shouldn't be too difficult. Surely there must be someone in the world who is happy, and willing to give his shirt to the King of Clowns to cheer him up!”

So she ran to where the King of Clowns was sitting, gazing into the artificial logfire without sipping his champagne or puffing on his Havana cigar. And she cried: “Oh my love, I love you very much, you are my husband and you are the King of Clowns. But everyone who sees you gets very sad, because you look so down-hearted, you make everyone unhappy.”

And the King of Clowns looked up from the fire and said: “My dear, I cannot help the way I feel. If there was something I could do to make me happy, then I would do it to please everyone. But it's just the way I am and I can't help it.”

“There is one solution, my dear,” she said, “if you will do it for me.”

The King of Clowns loved his lady very much, and there was nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her. So he said: “What must I do to make me happy? It just seems to be the way I am. It's only natural.”

“But it's not natural to be so sad,” she said. “You don't smile any more, you're never happy, and people get sad just by looking at your sad face.”

“I know, my love, but what can I do?”

“Well, you must find a happy man, get him to give you his shirt, and then you'll be happy, and everyone who sees you will be happy, instead of feeling sad.”

“Well, bring me a happy man,” said the King of Clowns, “and if he'll give me his a shirt I'll wear it just to please you.”

So next morning the studio sent out couriers all over the world, travelling by car, by ocean liner, and by airliner, looking for a happy man. But the movies of the King of Clowns were so popular that there wasn't a kingdom in the whole wide world where people hadn't seen him and his sad old face. So the couriers came dragging back wearily to the studio by car, by ocean liner, and by airliner, and when they got there, the King of Clowns' lady greeted them eagerly. “Tell me,” she cried, “did you find a really happy man?” And every time, the couriers answered “No.” And every time the King of Clowns heard this, he got sadder and sadder.

Then, the King of Clowns' lady cried: “Enough! I can stand it no longer. Send me the psychiatrist.”

So the psychiatrist came, and the lady took him to the room where the King of Clowns was sitting, gazing into the artificial logfire, a glass of champagne in one hand, and a Havana cigar in the other, and he neither sipping the champagne nor puffing on his Havana cigar.

“Tell my husband the King of Clowns,” said the lady, “what you told me he must do to make him happy.”

“I told you,” said the psychiatrist, “zat 'e must find an 'appy man, a truly 'appy man, und zen 'e must wear zat 'appy man's shirt.”

“But,” she says, “we've sent out couriers and they've searched the whole world over, and we can't find a happy man's shirt to save his life. Our couriers have searched all over the world, travelling by car, by ocean liner, and by airliner, looking for a happy man. But the movies of the King of Clowns are so popular that there isn't a kingdom in the whole wide world where people haven't seen him and his poor old sad old face. There doesn't seem to be a happy man in all the whole wide world.”

“All because ze King of Clowns is un'appy,” said the psychiatrist.

“Yes, everyone has searched everywhere.”

“No,” said the psychiatrist, “every-vun 'as not searched.”

“That's not true,” said the lady. “Tell me anyone who has not searched.”

“Zo, I vill tell you who 'as not searched. Ze King of Clowns 'as not searched. 'E must search 'imself for an 'appy man's shirt. As I recall ze old wive's tale from my native Transylvania, 'e is ze only one zat can really find an 'appy man's shirt.”

Now the King of Clowns was not too pleased to be searching the whole world over for a happy man, to see if he would give him his shirt, especially when he learned that he must go without his twelve burly bodyguards. “Because,” said his lady, “if you travel with bodyguards, everyone will know you are the King of Clowns, and as soon as they look at you they will feel sad, and it will not work, not even if they all give you their shirts.”

So he said he was willing, if only to keep his lady happy and the whole world happy, he would set out the very next morning to find a happy man and bring back a happy man's shirt so he could wear it and get happy. So true to his word, even though it made him feel even sadder, he set off just in his ordinary clothes, not a penny in his pocket, without food, without anything, and he swore that he would not come back until he could find a happy man and come back wearing the happy man's shirt.

Well, everyone in the studio lined up to wish him God speed, the studio boss, and the producers and the directors, and the cameramen, and the make-up girls, and the continuity girls, and the lighting cameramen, and all the stars, the starlets and the bit players and the extras, and a brass band, and of course his lady and their two lovely daughters, as well as his twelve burly bodyguards.

And the studio boss begged him to take some dollars in his pocket, or at least a platinum credit card to get him food in the top restaurants of the world and a bed in the greatest five-star hotels in all the world, but the King of Clowns said “No”.

“No,” he said. “I shall take nothing. I shall go as I am and I won't come back until I find a happy man, and he agrees to give me his shirt to wear.”

So everyone waved their handkerchiefs in the air and the brass band played him a fond farewell, and he set off. And the King of Clowns was gone. All the people in the studio missed him, but none missed him so much as his lady and his two lovely daughters. He travelled for days, and he travelled for weeks, and he travelled for months, and he travelled for over a year, and he did a few odd-jobs here, and he begged for a bite of food there, and everyone helped him because he looked so sad, though of course they didn't realise he was the King of Clowns. But then the days went by and the weeks went by and the months went by and over a year went by, and his lady began to worry.

So she called his twelve burly bodyguards together, and she says to the chief bodyguard: “Look, I can't stand it any more with the King of Clowns being so far away and I don't know if he's alive or dead. You must set off and find him and bring him back – happy or unhappy, I don't care. I would rather have him here unhappy than not to have him at all.

“So go,” she told the twelve burly bodyguards, “and find the King of Clowns. Bring him back to me even suppose he has never found a happy man willing to give him his shirt and let him wear it.” So the very next morning away went the twelve burly bodyguards under the chief bodyguard, and they went in search of the King of Clowns. They searched all over the world, travelling by car, by ocean liner, and by airliner, looking for the King of Clowns, and they travelled for days, and they travelled for weeks, and they travelled for months, and they travelled for over a year, and could they find the King of Clowns? They could not!

Meanwhile, the King of Clowns himself was travelling far and travelling wide, and the farther he travelled the more his boots was worn, the more his coat was worn, and he got dusty and he got ragged, and he travelled for days, and he travelled for weeks, and he travelled for months, and he travelled for over a year, and he couldn't find a happy man. He's asking everyone he meets on the way, farmers and woodcutters and shepherds in the country, and engineers and navvies and taxi drivers and policemen and gangsters in the cities, asking everyone were they happy.

“No,” says everyone, “no, we're not happy. We are very sad, because the King of Clowns has made us sad, and now we are sadder than ever, because he is no longer making movies to make us laugh.” And they said this, even though it had been a long time since anyone laughed at a movie starring the King of Clowns.

And the King of Clowns said to himself: “Is there not a happy man anywhere in this world of mine? Is there not a happy man anywhere to be found? Is everyone like me, because they have all seen me in my movies, and the movies have made them so sad? And if it's all my fault, where in all the world shall I ever find a happy man?”

Till, one bright sunshiny day, he comes walking over a hill and down he comes to a little brook. Sitting by the side of the brook with a small fire was a beggarman, with a long coat and a long beard, and he's sitting by the fire. He's got a little tin can and he's holding it over the fire with a stick, and he's singing a song to himself and he's brewing up something to drink in the tin can over the fire.

The King of Clowns walks down and he says to the beggarman: “Hello!”

The beggarman looks up, and he sees this man standing before him all ragged and worn. The clothes that once were beautiful, cut in the latest style, were now ragged and torn, and his hand-made boots were now worn through with holes in the soles, and he looked like just another beggarman. “Hello yourself,” he answers. “Will you sit down beside me and have a wee drop to drink by this small fire?”

“Well,” says the King of Clowns, “I wouldn't want to disturb you when you're having your breakfast.”

“'Tis true,” says the beggarman, “'tis little enough I have for my breakfast, but we must all make do. Anyway, it's all I have an' ye're welcome to some of it.” And the beggarman smiled and then he laughed out loud.

And when he smiled and laughed at the King of Clowns, it gladdened the wanderer's heart. He said: “Tell me something, who are you?”

And the man said: “I'm a beggarman. Some call me a bum, some call me a tramp, some call me a tink, but I don't care what they call me as long as they don't put me down. I'm always on me way, travelling all over the whole wide world and seeing many sights, meeting all sorts of folks, and havin' a little to eat as I go. An' when I haven't got anything to eat, why I can sleep without it.”

“Well,” says the King of Clowns, “you seem like a real happy man.”

“Of course I'm happy,” replied the beggarman. “Why wouldn't I be? I guess I must be the happiest man in the whole wide world.”

Now the King of Clowns was keen to find out what made this beggarman so happy, and him having nothing but a few rags to put on, and he wondered would the beggarman give him his shirt so he could be happy too, so he sat down beside him.

The beggarman took his little can off the fire, and he poured it into a little tin cup. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked the King of Clowns. “I certainly would,” he replied, and the beggarman handed him the tin cup. He took a sip, and oh! it was bitter, as if it had been made from acorns. There was no cream or sugar to sweeten it the way the King of Clowns liked to drink his coffee.

“Isn't it wonderful?” cried the beggarman, as he took the tin cup and drank deep of its contents. “I reckon that's the best cup of coffee in the whole wide world. Have some more.” And he handed the tin cup back to the King of Clowns, who smiled a little smile to himself as he sipped the bitter, black brew. And this made him feel good, because this was the first time he had smiled for many a long year.

And the beggarman rubbed his hands together, and he said: “You know, it's wonderful to be alive on a beautiful day like this, even though all we've got is a wee drop of coffee and nothing to eat at all.”

The King of Clowns sat there amazed, because he thought that at last he had met the happiest man he had ever met, who didn't get all sad because he was so sad. “Tell me something,” he said, “what makes you so happy, even though all you've got is a little drop of coffee and nothing to eat at all.”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” said the beggarman, “there's no reason I shouldn't be happy. Because I have nothing, there's nothing for anyone to steal, I've got nothing that anyone can beg from me, nothing that anyone can take from me, and I've got nothing to give anyone. Nobody can hurt me and I can't hurt anybody, that's why I'm so happy. I don't owe a penny, and I don't have a penny. All I have is the clothes on me back and the boots on me feet. I travel the whole wide world an' I try to spread a little happiness wherever I go, along me way.”

The King of Clowns said: “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Well, he replied, “I don't know yer name, but I know yer just like me, a beggarman, travellin' the road.”

“No,” says the King of Clowns, “not at all. I'm not a beggarman. I'm the King of Clowns.”

“The King of Clowns,” cried the beggarman. “Ye certainly are!” And he started laughing. “Ha-ha-ha!” he went. He went down on his knees, and he clapped his hands together, and he laughed and he laughed and he laughed until the tears came streaming down his cheeks.

And when the King of Clowns saw the beggarman laughing, he started to laugh himself, and he too laughed and he laughed and he laughed until the tears came streaming down his cheeks. There was the King of Clowns and the beggarman down on their knees in front of each other, laughing to each other till the tears streamed down their cheeks, when who should come over the hill but the twelve burly bodyguards the King of Clowns' lady had sent off to look for him.

They couldn't believe their eyes! There they could see the King of Clowns, down on his knees with a beggarman before a small fire by the side of the brook, and the both of them laughing fit to bust, with the tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks. The beggarman was laughing because the King of Clowns had said he was the King of Clowns, and him dressed all in rags with holes in his boots from walking so many days, weeks, months, and over a year. And the King of Clowns was laughing, he didn't know why, except the beggarman's laugh was so infectious he just couldn't stop. And before a moment was passed, the twelve burly bodyguards started laughing too, as they came down the hill, and surrounded the King of Clowns and the beggarman.

When the King of Clowns saw his twelve burly bodyguards, of course he knew who they were, but the beggarman was scared. He thought the twelve burly bodyguards might perhaps be a gang of robbers come to steal what little he had from him.

“Who are ye?” he cried, “to come upon two old beggarmen and scare the living daylights out of us, who're doing no harm to anyone, just having a wee laugh of a clear day's morning?”

“We are the twelve burly bodyguards of the King of Clowns,” said the chief bodyguard, “him who's there beside you, and we've been searching for him for days and for weeks and for months and for over a year, and at last we've found him.”

“Are ye truly the King of Clowns?” asked the beggarman, and the King of Clowns nodded his head. “That I am,” he said. “Oh,” said the beggarman, “please forgive me for being so rude as to doubt yer word. I'm sorry if I've insulted ye and upset ye.”

“Insulted and upset me?” said the King of Clowns. “You've made me happy, happier than I've ever been in all my life. Next to you, I must be the happiest man in all the whole wide world. I have never laughed so much in all my life and I have never met a happier man. But I have one small favour to ask of you. Will you grant me that?”

And the beggarman looked at the King of Clowns and at the twelve burly bodyguards, and though he wasn't frightened of any man, he did wonder what favour he could grant such a famous man as the King of Clowns. And he answered the King of Clowns: “Anything ye want, even the rags off me back, I'll give ye, because though I'm a happy man and the world makes me laugh as I travel through it on me travels, no one has made me laugh so much as when you said ye was the King of Clowns, beggin' yer pardon an' no offence meant.”

“None taken,” says the King of Clowns. “I've been searching the whole wide world for many a day and many a week and many a month and over a year now, looking for a truly happy man, and you're the first happy man I've ever met on my travels. Because a wise man told me I'd never be happy myself until I wore a happy man's shirt, and since you're so happy, I wonder would you please give me your shirt so I can wear it and be happy like you all the time.

At this, the beggarman started laughing again. “Ha-ha-ha!” he went. He went down on his knees, and he clapped his hands together, and he laughed and he laughed and he laughed until the tears came streaming down his cheeks.

And the King of Clowns couldn't help it, when he saw the beggarman laughing, he started to laugh himself again, and he too laughed and he laughed and he laughed until the tears came streaming down his cheeks. There was the King of Clowns and the beggarman down on their knees in front of each other, laughing to each other till the tears streamed down their cheeks, and the twelve burly bodyguards started laughing all as well, and the woods all around echoed with the sound of all that laughing, and no one knowing why they laughed but the beggarman, and he could scarcely get a word out, he was laughing so much.

“Ye . . . want . . . my . . . shirt?” he cried.

And the King of Clowns tried to stop laughing to answer him, but he couldn't get a word out, so he just nodded, and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his raggedy old coat.

And then they all stopped laughing, and King of Clowns and his twelve burly bodyguards, and the King of Clowns said: “Tell me why we've been laughing so much the tears streamed down our cheeks. What's so funny?”

And the beggarman opened his raggedy old coat so they could see his bare chest. “Ye've asked me for something I don't possess,” he said, “because I don't even have a shirt!” And they all started laughing again, the beggarman and the King of Clowns and his twelve burly bodyguards, and when they had wiped their eyes and calmed down a bit, the King of Clowns went to the beggarman and put his arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Beggarman,” he said, “you'll never want for a shirt for as long as you live.” And him and the beggarman and the twelve burly bodyguards went back home to where his lady was waiting with his two beautiful daughters, and as they rode along the road, every now and then the beggarman would look at the King of Clowns, or the King of Clowns would look at the beggarman, and they'd start laughing again, and the twelve burly bodyguards would join in, and they laughed all the way home, and were still laughing when they opened the door of the home of the King of Clowns so that everyone in the house could hear them.

“What's that noise?” cried the King of Clowns' lady, and she came running into the hallway, and who should she see there but the King of Clowns and his twelve burly bodyguards, and some old beggarman, and all of them laughing fit to bust, with the tears streaming down their cheeks. And she couldn't help it, but she had to laugh, too, and her two beautiful daughters as well, and all the servants and the cooks and the chamber-maids – for it was an awfully big house, way up in Beverly Hills – and the hall was just crowded with people, and all of them laughing.

Eventually, they all calmed down, and the King of Clowns' lady asked what was the cause of all this laughter? And straight away the King of Clowns started laughing again, struggling to get out a word or two between the laughs. “I met this old beggarman . . . ha-ha-ha-ha . . . and he gave me a cup of coffee . . . ha-ha-ha-ha . . . and it was awfully bitter, with no cream or sugar . . . ha-ha-ha-ha . . . ” And he had to stop, because he couldn't get another word out, he was laughing so much at the memory of it. And his lady was standing there with her hands on her hips waiting for him to calm down enough to explain what had happened, and her two beautiful daughters were standing there beside her, their thumbs in their mouths and their eyes wide and wondrous, so he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his raggedy old coat and tried to explain, with only the occasional snigger and the odd chuckle here and there, to interrupt his story.

“You know,” said the King of Clowns, “I set out to find a happy man and ask him to let me wear the happy man's shirt, and the most happiest man I ever met in all my days was this old beggarman, and he didn't even have a shirt to lend me. Isn't that the funniest thing you ever heard in all your life?” And he started laughing all over again.

“But now he's going to come and live with us, and I'll take him down Sunset Boulevard, and I'm going to buy him a different shirt for every day of the year, because he's made me so happy, and I'm not going to be sad any more.”

“Take care,” said the lady, “because if he was happy without a shirt, perhaps having a new shirt for every day of the year might make him unhappy.”

“Don't you worry your head about that, lady,” said the beggarman, “because it's not having a shirt or not not having a shirt makes a person happy, but just seeing the human comedy of a rich man asking a happy man without a shirt to give him one, so he can be happy.”

And so it was. And when the King of Clowns gave a banquet for all his friends, and everyone was enjoying themselves and smiling round the banqueting table, him and the beggarman had to be careful not to sit facing one another, in case they remembered how they had met and started laughing again, and the peace of the house was entirely ruined and destroyed.

But every time it happened, and it happened most times than not, the King of Clowns' lady looked at them laughing, and she was very happy, and so was everyone else, all over the whole wide world, though they never learned how it had come about that this sad man had become the happiest man in the world, who made everyone who saw his movies glad that they were alive.

December 3, 2002