Relief at court

„Ping!“

A bright, exceedingly delicate, playful, and subtle sound danced through the thick air in His Majesty's bedchamber. The air was thick enough to cut with a knife. The King had deigned to fart. The courtiers enthusiastically craned their noses and, with cheers of approval, inhaled their sovereign's flatulence.

"Ah! Oh! Delicious!"

The chamberlain's page lifted the brocade cloth from the royal privy, which two footmen had carried to the lord's bedside as they did every morning. The page opened the lid of the chamberlain, revealing the velvet-lined opening. Then he stepped back respectfully. He had folded the gold-embroidered cloth over his bent forearm.

"Pingping!"

The long-serving Marshal of the Court Duc Clarence d'Arome, a man of precise bearing and incorruptible duty, as well as a poor sense of smell, now swung his graceful silver bell twice between his thumb and forefinger, as the ruling anus of the realm had once again blessed the assembled nobility and servants with a wind.

A duchess in the second row of the semicircle arranged around the royal chamberlain's throne according to strict rank brought her lace handkerchief to her nose, trembled briefly, and fainted. An unforgivable faux pas. The Marshal of the Court immediately placed the disobedient woman on his mental blacklist as he laid down the silver bell and reached for the golden gong. This lady would never again be allowed to attend the morning leve, and her family would lose their lands and status.

„Attention!“

The semicircle of privileged individuals eagerly approached the privy chair until the court marshal, with a discreet but decisive gesture, stopped the two dozen chosen ones. All eyes turned to the king.

His Majesty was feeling unwell, groaning as he lay on his left forearm, freeing his right buttock from his nightshirt and placing his right hand on his hip. The anointed ruler closed his eyes, tightened his mouth, and puffed out four cheeks; two on top, two on the bottom. Face and buttocks were thus in perfect harmony.

„Pingpingping!“

The marshal had to hastily let the gong go again, as the king himself was now letting one rip for the third time, without yet having ascended the throne. The rules were ironclad: the bell for the anointed one's delightful flatulence, which was a slowly building overture – until the gong announced the great crescendo, the monarchy's wondrous gift to the people and the entire world: the venerable Royal Excrement.

The king rose. Applause followed.

"The King rises! How beautiful!"

Le Roi was now in a hurry. The porters, who had jumped back again, supported him on both sides and lifted the exalted one onto the shit throne.

A reverential silence fell. The Master of Ceremonies kept a watchful eye on everyone present. His expression forbade any whispering. They were preparing for a momentous occasion, possibly a historic one. A bishop in the first row of the semicircle around the lectern made the sign of the cross.

"Uäähhmmbpfff. Hmpff. Aarhrh. Pfffff. Hah!"

As always, the ruler found the appropriate words. The golden gong sounded. The pageboy cleaned the royal rosette with its brocade covering. Amidst endless applause, His Majesty then retired, wearily, to his dressing room.

The court chamberlain opened a drawer in the commode and took out a porcelain bowl. The enviable witnesses to the royal defecation were now allowed to approach more closely and, for a precious moment, glimpse the digestive offering in its delicate vessel.

The court marshal prevented any overly intimate glimpses, allowing everyone only a brief turn before directing them to the door. The party dispersed throughout the castle's corridors and halls. Several nobles, clergymen, and officers were agitated and had to relieve themselves immediately in various niches, beneath marble busts, and behind curtains. There was only one commode in the entire castle. No other toilets. But there were three chapels, an opera house, five kitchens, and ten dining rooms.

The Court Marshal made sure everyone had left the King's bedchamber and all the doors were closed. He brought the porcelain bowl to his useless nose, silently prayed three rosaries for his monarch and himself, and disappeared through a wallpapered door to have the Royal Excrement archived.