The version that's as real as a fairy tale:
Once upon a time there was a man who roamed about the castle grounds mumbling questions to himself. (We wouldn't be worried, dear readers, unless he started answering himself).
"What is the purpose of art? Why dost it exist? How can I get my hands upon it?"
Then in the distance he heard a sound, and he knew deep in his heart that he must translate that book by Wencelius into English for all the world to see. But the man sighed heavily as he did not know French. He paced upon the bridge that led over the river.
And then he knew as he gazed at the setting sun on the horizon,
"I must go to France and learn French. Then I shall translate this book and know the answers to these burning questions."
That very day he packed up his beautiful wife, his three strapping sons and they rode off to France on a black steed with all their belongings in a small silk scarf. And they lived happily ever after.