The Prince and the Pauper - Mark Twain (read novel full .TXT) 📗

of a

measureless solitude.

 

He stumbled along, through the gruesome fascinations of this new

experience, startled occasionally by the soft rustling of the dry leaves

overhead, so like human whispers they seemed to sound; and by-and-by he

came suddenly upon the freckled light of a tin lantern near at hand. He

stepped back into the shadows and waited. The lantern stood by the open

door of a barn. The King waited some time—there was no sound, and

nobody stirring. He got so cold, standing still, and the hospitable barn

looked so enticing, that at last he resolved to risk everything and

enter. He started swiftly and stealthily, and just as he was crossing the

threshold he heard voices behind him. He darted behind a cask, within

the barn, and stooped down. Two farm-labourers came in, bringing the

lantern with them, and fell to work, talking meanwhile. Whilst they

moved about with the light, the King made good use of his eyes and took

the bearings of what seemed to be a good-sized stall at the further end

of the place, purposing to grope his way to it when he should be left to

himself. He also noted the position of a pile of horse blankets, midway

of the route, with the intent to levy upon them for the service of the

crown of England for one night.

 

By-and-by the men finished and went away, fastening the door behind them

and taking the lantern with them. The shivering King made for the

blankets, with as good speed as the darkness would allow; gathered them

up, and then groped his way safely to the stall. Of two of the blankets

he made a bed, then covered himself with the remaining two. He was a

glad monarch, now, though the blankets were old and thin, and not quite

warm enough; and besides gave out a pungent horsey odour that was almost

suffocatingly powerful.

 

Although the King was hungry and chilly, he was also so tired and so

drowsy that these latter influences soon began to get the advantage of

the former, and he presently dozed off into a state of semi-consciousness. Then, just as he was on the point of losing himself

wholly, he distinctly felt something touch him! He was broad awake in a

moment, and gasping for breath. The cold horror of that mysterious touch

in the dark almost made his heart stand still. He lay motionless, and

listened, scarcely breathing. But nothing stirred, and there was no

sound. He continued to listen, and wait, during what seemed a long time,

but still nothing stirred, and there was no sound. So he began to drop

into a drowse once more, at last; and all at once he felt that mysterious

touch again! It was a grisly thing, this light touch from this noiseless

and invisible presence; it made the boy sick with ghostly fears. What

should he do? That was the question; but he did not know how to answer

it. Should he leave these reasonably comfortable quarters and fly from

this inscrutable horror? But fly whither? He could not get out of the

barn; and the idea of scurrying blindly hither and thither in the dark,

within the captivity of the four walls, with this phantom gliding after

him, and visiting him with that soft hideous touch upon cheek or shoulder

at every turn, was intolerable. But to stay where he was, and endure

this living death all night—was that better? No. What, then, was there

left to do? Ah, there was but one course; he knew it well—he must put

out his hand and find that thing!

 

It was easy to think this; but it was hard to brace himself up to try it.

Three times he stretched his hand a little way out into the dark,

gingerly; and snatched it suddenly back, with a gasp—not because it had

encountered anything, but because he had felt so sure it was just GOING

to. But the fourth time, he groped a little further, and his hand

lightly swept against something soft and warm. This petrified him,

nearly, with fright; his mind was in such a state that he could imagine

the thing to be nothing else than a corpse, newly dead and still warm.

He thought he would rather die than touch it again. But he thought this

false thought because he did not know the immortal strength of human

curiosity. In no long time his hand was tremblingly groping again—

against his judgment, and without his consent—but groping persistently

on, just the same. It encountered a bunch of long hair; he shuddered,

but followed up the hair and found what seemed to be a warm rope;

followed up the rope and found an innocent calf!—for the rope was not a

rope at all, but the calf’s tail.

 

The King was cordially ashamed of himself for having gotten all that

fright and misery out of so paltry a matter as a slumbering calf; but he

need not have felt so about it, for it was not the calf that frightened

him, but a dreadful non-existent something which the calf stood for; and

any other boy, in those old superstitious times, would have acted and

suffered just as he had done.

 

The King was not only delighted to find that the creature was only a

calf, but delighted to have the calf’s company; for he had been feeling

so lonesome and friendless that the company and comradeship of even this

humble animal were welcome. And he had been so buffeted, so rudely

entreated by his own kind, that it was a real comfort to him to feel that

he was at last in the society of a fellow-creature that had at least a

soft heart and a gentle spirit, whatever loftier attributes might be

lacking. So he resolved to waive rank and make friends with the calf.

 

While stroking its sleek warm back—for it lay near him and within easy

reach—it occurred to him that this calf might be utilised in more ways

than one. Whereupon he re-arranged his bed, spreading it down close to

the calf; then he cuddled himself up to the calf’s back, drew the covers

up over himself and his friend, and in a minute or two was as warm and

comfortable as he had ever been in the downy couches of the regal palace

of Westminster.

 

Pleasant thoughts came at once; life took on a cheerfuller seeming. He

was free of the bonds of servitude and crime, free of the companionship

of base and brutal outlaws; he was warm; he was sheltered; in a word, he

was happy. The night wind was rising; it swept by in fitful gusts that

made the old barn quake and rattle, then its forces died down at

intervals, and went moaning and wailing around corners and projections—

but it was all music to the King, now that he was snug and comfortable:

let it blow and rage, let it batter and bang, let it moan and wail, he

minded it not, he only enjoyed it. He merely snuggled the closer to his

friend, in a luxury of warm contentment, and drifted blissfully out of

consciousness into a deep and dreamless sleep that was full of serenity

and peace. The distant dogs howled, the melancholy kine complained, and

the winds went on raging, whilst furious sheets of rain drove along the

roof; but the Majesty of England slept on, undisturbed, and the calf did

the same, it being a simple creature, and not easily troubled by storms

or embarrassed by sleeping with a king.

 

Chapter XIX. The Prince with the peasants.

 

When the King awoke in the early morning, he found that a wet but

thoughtful rat had crept into the place during the night and made a cosy

bed for itself in his bosom. Being disturbed now, it scampered away.

The boy smiled, and said, “Poor fool, why so fearful? I am as forlorn as

thou. ‘Twould be a sham in me to hurt the helpless, who am myself so

helpless. Moreover, I owe you thanks for a good omen; for when a king

has fallen so low that the very rats do make a bed of him, it surely

meaneth that his fortunes be upon the turn, since it is plain he can no

lower go.”

 

He got up and stepped out of the stall, and just then he heard the sound

of children’s voices. The barn door opened and a couple of little girls

came in. As soon as they saw him their talking and laughing ceased, and

they stopped and stood still, gazing at him with strong curiosity; they

presently began to whisper together, then they approached nearer, and

stopped again to gaze and whisper. By-and-by they gathered courage and

began to discuss him aloud. One said—

 

“He hath a comely face.”

 

The other added—

 

“And pretty hair.”

 

“But is ill clothed enow.”

 

“And how starved he looketh.”

 

They came still nearer, sidling shyly around and about him, examining him

minutely from all points, as if he were some strange new kind of animal,

but warily and watchfully the while, as if they half feared he might be a

sort of animal that would bite, upon occasion. Finally they halted

before him, holding each other’s hands for protection, and took a good

satisfying stare with their innocent eyes; then one of them plucked up

all her courage and inquired with honest directness—

 

“Who art thou, boy?”

 

“I am the King,” was the grave answer.

 

The children gave a little start, and their eyes spread themselves wide

open and remained so during a speechless half minute. Then curiosity

broke the silence—

 

“The KING? What King?”

 

“The King of England.”

 

The children looked at each other—then at him—then at each other again

—wonderingly, perplexedly; then one said—

 

“Didst hear him, Margery?—he said he is the King. Can that be true?”

 

“How can it be else but true, Prissy? Would he say a lie? For look you,

Prissy, an’ it were not true, it WOULD be a lie. It surely would be.

Now think on’t. For all things that be not true, be lies—thou canst

make nought else out of it.”

 

It was a good tight argument, without a leak in it anywhere; and it left

Prissy’s half-doubts not a leg to stand on. She considered a moment,

then put the King upon his honour with the simple remark—

 

“If thou art truly the King, then I believe thee.”

 

“I am truly the King.”

 

This settled the matter. His Majesty’s royalty was accepted without

further question or discussion, and the two little girls began at once to

inquire into how he came to be where he was, and how he came to be so

unroyally clad, and whither he was bound, and all about his affairs. It

was a mighty relief to him to pour out his troubles where they would not

be scoffed at or doubted; so he told his tale with feeling, forgetting

even his hunger for the time; and it was received with the deepest and

tenderest sympathy by the gentle little maids. But when he got down to

his latest experiences and they learned how long he had been without

food, they cut him short and hurried him away to the farmhouse to find a

breakfast for him.

 

The King was cheerful and happy now, and said to himself, “When I am come

to mine own again, I will always honour little children, remembering how

that these trusted me and believed in me in my time of trouble; whilst

they that were older, and thought themselves wiser, mocked at me and held

me for a liar.”

 

The children’s mother received the King kindly, and was