The Prince and the Pauper, Mark Twain [fantasy novels to read .TXT] 📗

the wages due them. Tom

spoke out, with lively apprehension—

 

“We be going to the dogs, ‘tis plain. ‘Tis meet and necessary that we

take a smaller house and set the servants at large, sith they be of no

value but to make delay, and trouble one with offices that harass the

spirit and shame the soul, they misbecoming any but a doll, that hath nor

brains nor hands to help itself withal. I remember me of a small house

that standeth over against the fish-market, by Billingsgate—”

 

A sharp pressure upon Tom’s arm stopped his foolish tongue and sent a

blush to his face; but no countenance there betrayed any sign that this

strange speech had been remarked or given concern.

 

A secretary made report that forasmuch as the late King had provided in

his will for conferring the ducal degree upon the Earl of Hertford and

raising his brother, Sir Thomas Seymour, to the peerage, and likewise

Hertford’s son to an earldom, together with similar aggrandisements to

other great servants of the Crown, the Council had resolved to hold a

sitting on the 16th of February for the delivering and confirming of

these honours, and that meantime, the late King not having granted, in

writing, estates suitable to the support of these dignities, the Council,

knowing his private wishes in that regard, had thought proper to grant to

Seymour ‘500 pound lands,’ and to Hertford’s son ‘800 pound lands, and

300 pound of the next bishop’s lands which should fall vacant,’—his

present Majesty being willing. {5}

 

Tom was about to blurt out something about the propriety of paying the

late King’s debts first, before squandering all this money, but a timely

touch upon his arm, from the thoughtful Hertford, saved him this

indiscretion; wherefore he gave the royal assent, without spoken comment,

but with much inward discomfort. While he sat reflecting a moment over

the ease with which he was doing strange and glittering miracles, a happy

thought shot into his mind: why not make his mother Duchess of Offal

Court, and give her an estate? But a sorrowful thought swept it

instantly away: he was only a king in name, these grave veterans and

great nobles were his masters; to them his mother was only the creature

of a diseased mind; they would simply listen to his project with

unbelieving ears, then send for the doctor.

 

The dull work went tediously on. Petitions were read, and proclamations,

patents, and all manner of wordy, repetitious, and wearisome papers

relating to the public business; and at last Tom sighed pathetically and

murmured to himself, “In what have I offended, that the good God should

take me away from the fields and the free air and the sunshine, to shut

me up here and make me a king and afflict me so?” Then his poor muddled

head nodded a while and presently drooped to his shoulder; and the

business of the empire came to a standstill for want of that august

factor, the ratifying power. Silence ensued around the slumbering child,

and the sages of the realm ceased from their deliberations.

 

During the forenoon, Tom had an enjoyable hour, by permission of his

keepers, Hertford and St. John, with the Lady Elizabeth and the little

Lady Jane Grey; though the spirits of the princesses were rather subdued

by the mighty stroke that had fallen upon the royal house; and at the end

of the visit his ‘elder sister’—afterwards the ‘Bloody Mary’ of history

—chilled him with a solemn interview which had but one merit in his eyes,

its brevity. He had a few moments to himself, and then a slim lad of

about twelve years of age was admitted to his presence, whose clothing,

except his snowy ruff and the laces about his wrists, was of black,—

doublet, hose, and all. He bore no badge of mourning but a knot of

purple ribbon on his shoulder. He advanced hesitatingly, with head bowed

and bare, and dropped upon one knee in front of Tom. Tom sat still and

contemplated him soberly a moment. Then he said—

 

“Rise, lad. Who art thou. What wouldst have?”

 

The boy rose, and stood at graceful ease, but with an aspect of concern

in his face. He said—

 

“Of a surety thou must remember me, my lord. I am thy whipping-boy.”

 

“My WHIPPING-boy?”

 

“The same, your Grace. I am Humphrey—Humphrey Marlow.”

 

Tom perceived that here was someone whom his keepers ought to have posted

him about. The situation was delicate. What should he do?—pretend he

knew this lad, and then betray by his every utterance that he had never

heard of him before? No, that would not do. An idea came to his relief:

accidents like this might be likely to happen with some frequency, now

that business urgencies would often call Hertford and St. John from his

side, they being members of the Council of Executors; therefore perhaps

it would be well to strike out a plan himself to meet the requirements of

such emergencies. Yes, that would be a wise course—he would practise on

this boy, and see what sort of success he might achieve. So he stroked

his brow perplexedly a moment or two, and presently said—

 

“Now I seem to remember thee somewhat—but my wit is clogged and dim with

suffering—”

 

“Alack, my poor master!” ejaculated the whipping-boy, with feeling;

adding, to himself, “In truth ‘tis as they said—his mind is gone—alas,

poor soul! But misfortune catch me, how am I forgetting! They said one

must not seem to observe that aught is wrong with him.”

 

“‘Tis strange how my memory doth wanton with me these days,” said Tom.

“But mind it not—I mend apace—a little clue doth often serve to bring

me back again the things and names which had escaped me. (And not they,

only, forsooth, but e’en such as I ne’er heard before—as this lad shall

see.) Give thy business speech.”

 

“‘Tis matter of small weight, my liege, yet will I touch upon it, an’ it

please your Grace. Two days gone by, when your Majesty faulted thrice in

your Greek—in the morning lessons,—dost remember it?”

 

“Y-e-s—methinks I do. (It is not much of a lie—an’ I had meddled with

the Greek at all, I had not faulted simply thrice, but forty times.)

Yes, I do recall it, now—go on.”

 

“The master, being wroth with what he termed such slovenly and doltish

work, did promise that he would soundly whip me for it—and—”

 

“Whip THEE!” said Tom, astonished out of his presence of mind. “Why

should he whip THEE for faults of mine?”

 

“Ah, your Grace forgetteth again. He always scourgeth me when thou dost

fail in thy lessons.”

 

“True, true—I had forgot. Thou teachest me in private—then if I fail,

he argueth that thy office was lamely done, and—”

 

“Oh, my liege, what words are these? I, the humblest of thy servants,

presume to teach THEE?”

 

“Then where is thy blame? What riddle is this? Am I in truth gone mad,

or is it thou? Explain—speak out.”

 

“But, good your Majesty, there’s nought that needeth simplifying.—None

may visit the sacred person of the Prince of Wales with blows; wherefore,

when he faulteth, ‘tis I that take them; and meet it is and right, for

that it is mine office and my livelihood.” {1}

 

Tom stared at the tranquil boy, observing to himself, “Lo, it is a

wonderful thing,—a most strange and curious trade; I marvel they have

not hired a boy to take my combings and my dressings for me—would heaven

they would!—an’ they will do this thing, I will take my lashings in mine

own person, giving God thanks for the change.” Then he said aloud—

 

“And hast thou been beaten, poor friend, according to the promise?”

 

“No, good your Majesty, my punishment was appointed for this day, and

peradventure it may be annulled, as unbefitting the season of mourning

that is come upon us; I know not, and so have made bold to come hither

and remind your Grace about your gracious promise to intercede in my

behalf—”

 

“With the master? To save thee thy whipping?”

 

“Ah, thou dost remember!”

 

“My memory mendeth, thou seest. Set thy mind at ease—thy back shall go

unscathed—I will see to it.”

 

“Oh, thanks, my good lord!” cried the boy, dropping upon his knee again.

“Mayhap I have ventured far enow; and yet—”

 

Seeing Master Humphrey hesitate, Tom encouraged him to go on, saying he

was “in the granting mood.”

 

“Then will I speak it out, for it lieth near my heart. Sith thou art no

more Prince of Wales but King, thou canst order matters as thou wilt,

with none to say thee nay; wherefore it is not in reason that thou wilt

longer vex thyself with dreary studies, but wilt burn thy books and turn

thy mind to things less irksome. Then am I ruined, and mine orphan

sisters with me!”

 

“Ruined? Prithee how?”

 

“My back is my bread, O my gracious liege! if it go idle, I starve. An’

thou cease from study mine office is gone thou’lt need no whipping-boy.

Do not turn me away!”

 

Tom was touched with this pathetic distress. He said, with a right royal

burst of generosity—

 

“Discomfort thyself no further, lad. Thine office shall be permanent in

thee and thy line for ever.” Then he struck the boy a light blow on the

shoulder with the flat of his sword, exclaiming, “Rise, Humphrey Marlow,

Hereditary Grand Whipping-Boy to the Royal House of England! Banish

sorrow—I will betake me to my books again, and study so ill that they

must in justice treble thy wage, so mightily shall the business of thine

office be augmented.”

 

The grateful Humphrey responded fervidly—

 

“Thanks, O most noble master, this princely lavishness doth far surpass

my most distempered dreams of fortune. Now shall I be happy all my days,

and all the house of Marlow after me.”

 

Tom had wit enough to perceive that here was a lad who could be useful to

him. He encouraged Humphrey to talk, and he was nothing loath. He was

delighted to believe that he was helping in Tom’s ‘cure’; for always, as

soon as he had finished calling back to Tom’s diseased mind the various

particulars of his experiences and adventures in the royal school-room

and elsewhere about the palace, he noticed that Tom was then able to

‘recall’ the circumstances quite clearly. At the end of an hour Tom

found himself well freighted with very valuable information concerning

personages and matters pertaining to the Court; so he resolved to draw

instruction from this source daily; and to this end he would give order

to admit Humphrey to the royal closet whenever he might come, provided

the Majesty of England was not engaged with other people. Humphrey had

hardly been dismissed when my Lord Hertford arrived with more trouble for

Tom.

 

He said that the Lords of the Council, fearing that some overwrought

report of the King’s damaged health might have leaked out and got abroad,

they deemed it wise and best that his Majesty should begin to dine in

public after a day or two—his wholesome complexion and vigorous step,

assisted by a carefully guarded repose of manner and ease and grace of

demeanour, would more surely quiet the general pulse—in case any evil

rumours HAD gone about—than any other scheme that could be devised.

 

Then the Earl proceeded, very delicately, to instruct Tom as to the

observances proper to the stately occasion, under the rather thin

disguise of ‘reminding’ him concerning things already known to him; but

to his vast gratification it turned out that Tom needed very little help

in this line—he had been