The Exploits of Moominpappa (Moominpappa's Memoirs) by Tove Jansson Page A
Authors: Tove Jansson
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horn and gave a short blast every time he wished to acknowledge a toast from any one of his subjects.
We bowed to the earth, and when the fog horn ceased Hodgkins said: 'Many happy returns of the century!'
'And thank you for the greatly successful surprises, Your Autocratical Majesty,' I added in an unnatural voice and saluted with my tail.
'Cheerio!' said Daddy Jones and chuckled happily. 'Did it come off? Were you wet? What did the bull do? Did anybody fall in the treacle trap? Really, sometimes it's great fun to be King!'
'If Your Majesty allows me...' I started to say.
'Call Us Jones, please,' said the Autocrat. 'Hullo, my people good and true! (Blast you, stop that merry-go-round!) Come hither, all! It's time to draw the lottery prizes!'
The merry-go-round and the swings stopped, and everybody came running with their eggs.
'701!' shouted Daddy Jones. 'Who's got number 701?'
'I have,' said Hodgkins.
'Here you are, please,' said the King and handed him an excellent fret-saw of the kind he had always wanted.
I squeezed my eggs in excitement. Every time a new number was called I felt a catch in my throat - but every time it was somebody else's number. Every little black-beetle seemed to have won something or other, but not I.
The Joxter and the Muddler already had a row of prizes in front of them and were busy, because the prizes were mostly chocolate balls, marchpane Hemulens, or spun-sugar roses. And Hodgkins satin the grass holding a heap of practical and uninteresting things in his lap.
Finally Daddy Jones rose and made a little speech:
'My dear people! Dear muddle-headed, fuzzy, and thoughtless subjects! Each of you has won exactly the things that suit him best and that he's earned. In Our centennial wisdom We have hidden the eggs in three kinds of places. Firstly, in the grass where you might stumble on them simply running about or when you are too lazy to look carefully. All those prizes are eatable. Secondly, We have hidden some eggs where they can be found with meticulous and methodical search. Those prizes are useful. And thirdly, We have chosen hiding-places that need a certain amount of imagination to find. And those prizes are of no use whatever. Now, my pig-headed, dear and silly subjects! Who of you have looked in fancy places: in the brooks, in the tree-tops, in the flower-buds, in his own pockets, or in the anthills? Who has found Numbers 67, 14, 890, 999, 223, and 27?'
'I have,' I shouted quite loudly, which made me a little embarrassed for a moment.
And shortly afterwards a smaller voice beside me said: '999!'
'Come hither, poor little Moomin,' said Daddy Jones.
'Behold the utterly useless rewards of the fantastic. Do you like them?'
'Terribly, Your Majesty,' I breathed.
My prizes were enchanting. I think number 27 was the nicest. It was a drawing-room decoration: a small meerschaum tram on a coral pedestal. You could keep safety pins on the front platform. Number 67 was a champagne whisk beset with garnets. The other prizes were a shark's tooth, a preserved smoke ring, and an organ-grinding handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Can you understand my bliss?
'And what about me?' asked the Mymble's daughter who had Number 999.
'Little girl,' said Daddy Jones gravely. 'You have drawn the capital prize. You are entitled to kiss Daddy Jones on the nose.'
The Mymble's daughter shyly climbed on the Autocrat's lap and kissed him on his old autocrat nose. The multitude cheered madly and started eating their prizes.
It was a really lavish, grand and sumptuous garden party. At dusk, coloured lanterns were lighted all over the Garden of Surprises, and everybody played or danced or sang and forgot all about morning.
I was milling around with the others when I perceived a female person who seemed wholly built of round pieces. I went up to her, bowed and asked:
'Excuse me, Madam, do you happen to be the Mymble?'
'Herself!' said the Mymble laughing. 'Tumble and bumble, what a lot I've eaten!
We bowed to the earth, and when the fog horn ceased Hodgkins said: 'Many happy returns of the century!'
'And thank you for the greatly successful surprises, Your Autocratical Majesty,' I added in an unnatural voice and saluted with my tail.
'Cheerio!' said Daddy Jones and chuckled happily. 'Did it come off? Were you wet? What did the bull do? Did anybody fall in the treacle trap? Really, sometimes it's great fun to be King!'
'If Your Majesty allows me...' I started to say.
'Call Us Jones, please,' said the Autocrat. 'Hullo, my people good and true! (Blast you, stop that merry-go-round!) Come hither, all! It's time to draw the lottery prizes!'
The merry-go-round and the swings stopped, and everybody came running with their eggs.
'701!' shouted Daddy Jones. 'Who's got number 701?'
'I have,' said Hodgkins.
'Here you are, please,' said the King and handed him an excellent fret-saw of the kind he had always wanted.
I squeezed my eggs in excitement. Every time a new number was called I felt a catch in my throat - but every time it was somebody else's number. Every little black-beetle seemed to have won something or other, but not I.
The Joxter and the Muddler already had a row of prizes in front of them and were busy, because the prizes were mostly chocolate balls, marchpane Hemulens, or spun-sugar roses. And Hodgkins satin the grass holding a heap of practical and uninteresting things in his lap.
Finally Daddy Jones rose and made a little speech:
'My dear people! Dear muddle-headed, fuzzy, and thoughtless subjects! Each of you has won exactly the things that suit him best and that he's earned. In Our centennial wisdom We have hidden the eggs in three kinds of places. Firstly, in the grass where you might stumble on them simply running about or when you are too lazy to look carefully. All those prizes are eatable. Secondly, We have hidden some eggs where they can be found with meticulous and methodical search. Those prizes are useful. And thirdly, We have chosen hiding-places that need a certain amount of imagination to find. And those prizes are of no use whatever. Now, my pig-headed, dear and silly subjects! Who of you have looked in fancy places: in the brooks, in the tree-tops, in the flower-buds, in his own pockets, or in the anthills? Who has found Numbers 67, 14, 890, 999, 223, and 27?'
'I have,' I shouted quite loudly, which made me a little embarrassed for a moment.
And shortly afterwards a smaller voice beside me said: '999!'
'Come hither, poor little Moomin,' said Daddy Jones.
'Behold the utterly useless rewards of the fantastic. Do you like them?'
'Terribly, Your Majesty,' I breathed.
My prizes were enchanting. I think number 27 was the nicest. It was a drawing-room decoration: a small meerschaum tram on a coral pedestal. You could keep safety pins on the front platform. Number 67 was a champagne whisk beset with garnets. The other prizes were a shark's tooth, a preserved smoke ring, and an organ-grinding handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Can you understand my bliss?
'And what about me?' asked the Mymble's daughter who had Number 999.
'Little girl,' said Daddy Jones gravely. 'You have drawn the capital prize. You are entitled to kiss Daddy Jones on the nose.'
The Mymble's daughter shyly climbed on the Autocrat's lap and kissed him on his old autocrat nose. The multitude cheered madly and started eating their prizes.
It was a really lavish, grand and sumptuous garden party. At dusk, coloured lanterns were lighted all over the Garden of Surprises, and everybody played or danced or sang and forgot all about morning.
I was milling around with the others when I perceived a female person who seemed wholly built of round pieces. I went up to her, bowed and asked:
'Excuse me, Madam, do you happen to be the Mymble?'
'Herself!' said the Mymble laughing. 'Tumble and bumble, what a lot I've eaten!
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