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

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The King looked pleased with this encouragement, coming as it did from so

excellent authority, and continued with good heart—

 

“Now mark ye all: we will try him further.”

 

He put a question to Tom in French. Tom stood silent a moment,

embarrassed by having so many eyes centred upon him, then said

diffidently—

 

“I have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your majesty.”

 

The King fell back upon his couch. The attendants flew to his

assistance; but he put them aside, and said—

 

“Trouble me not—it is nothing but a scurvy faintness. Raise me! There,

‘tis sufficient. Come hither, child; there, rest thy poor troubled head

upon thy father’s heart, and be at peace. Thou’lt soon be well: ‘tis

but a passing fantasy. Fear thou not; thou’lt soon be well.” Then he

turned toward the company: his gentle manner changed, and baleful

lightnings began to play from his eyes. He said—

 

“List ye all! This my son is mad; but it is not permanent. Over-study

hath done this, and somewhat too much of confinement. Away with his

books and teachers! see ye to it. Pleasure him with sports, beguile him

in wholesome ways, so that his health come again.” He raised himself

higher still, and went on with energy, “He is mad; but he is my son, and

England’s heir; and, mad or sane, still shall he reign! And hear ye

further, and proclaim it: whoso speaketh of this his distemper worketh

against the peace and order of these realms, and shall to the gallows!

… Give me to drink—I burn: this sorrow sappeth my strength… .

There, take away the cup… . Support me. There, that is well. Mad,

is he? Were he a thousand times mad, yet is he Prince of Wales, and I the

King will confirm it. This very morrow shall he be installed in his

princely dignity in due and ancient form. Take instant order for it, my

lord Hertford.”

 

One of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said—

 

“The King’s majesty knoweth that the Hereditary Great Marshal of England

lieth attainted in the Tower. It were not meet that one attainted—”

 

“Peace! Insult not mine ears with his hated name. Is this man to live

for ever? Am I to be baulked of my will? Is the prince to tarry

uninstalled, because, forsooth, the realm lacketh an Earl Marshal free of

treasonable taint to invest him with his honours? No, by the splendour of

God! Warn my Parliament to bring me Norfolk’s doom before the sun rise

again, else shall they answer for it grievously!” {1}

 

Lord Hertford said—

 

“The King’s will is law;” and, rising, returned to his former place.

 

Gradually the wrath faded out of the old King’s face, and he said—

 

“Kiss me, my prince. There … what fearest thou? Am I not thy loving

father?”

 

“Thou art good to me that am unworthy, O mighty and gracious lord: that

in truth I know. But—but—it grieveth me to think of him that is to

die, and—”

 

“Ah, ‘tis like thee, ‘tis like thee! I know thy heart is still the same,

even though thy mind hath suffered hurt, for thou wert ever of a gentle

spirit. But this duke standeth between thee and thine honours: I will

have another in his stead that shall bring no taint to his great office.

Comfort thee, my prince: trouble not thy poor head with this matter.”

 

“But is it not I that speed him hence, my liege? How long might he not

live, but for me?”

 

“Take no thought of him, my prince: he is not worthy. Kiss me once

again, and go to thy trifles and amusements; for my malady distresseth

me. I am aweary, and would rest. Go with thine uncle Hertford and thy

people, and come again when my body is refreshed.”

 

Tom, heavy-hearted, was conducted from the presence, for this last

sentence was a death-blow to the hope he had cherished that now he would

be set free. Once more he heard the buzz of low voices exclaiming, “The

prince, the prince comes!”

 

His spirits sank lower and lower as he moved between the glittering files

of bowing courtiers; for he recognised that he was indeed a captive now,

and might remain for ever shut up in this gilded cage, a forlorn and

friendless prince, except God in his mercy take pity on him and set him

free.

 

And, turn where he would, he seemed to see floating in the air the

severed head and the remembered face of the great Duke of Norfolk, the

eyes fixed on him reproachfully.

 

His old dreams had been so pleasant; but this reality was so dreary!

 

Chapter VI. Tom receives instructions.

 

Tom was conducted to the principal apartment of a noble suite, and made

to sit down—a thing which he was loth to do, since there were elderly

men and men of high degree about him. He begged them to be seated also,

but they only bowed their thanks or murmured them, and remained standing.

He would have insisted, but his ‘uncle’ the Earl of Hertford whispered in

his ear—

 

“Prithee, insist not, my lord; it is not meet that they sit in thy

presence.”

 

The Lord St. John was announced, and after making obeisance to Tom, he

said—

 

“I come upon the King’s errand, concerning a matter which requireth

privacy. Will it please your royal highness to dismiss all that attend

you here, save my lord the Earl of Hertford?”

 

Observing that Tom did not seem to know how to proceed, Hertford

whispered him to make a sign with his hand, and not trouble himself to

speak unless he chose. When the waiting gentlemen had retired, Lord St.

John said—

 

“His majesty commandeth, that for due and weighty reasons of state, the

prince’s grace shall hide his infirmity in all ways that be within his

power, till it be passed and he be as he was before. To wit, that he

shall deny to none that he is the true prince, and heir to England’s

greatness; that he shall uphold his princely dignity, and shall receive,

without word or sign of protest, that reverence and observance which unto

it do appertain of right and ancient usage; that he shall cease to speak

to any of that lowly birth and life his malady hath conjured out of the

unwholesome imaginings of o’erwrought fancy; that he shall strive with

diligence to bring unto his memory again those faces which he was wont to

know—and where he faileth he shall hold his peace, neither betraying by

semblance of surprise or other sign that he hath forgot; that upon

occasions of state, whensoever any matter shall perplex him as to the

thing he should do or the utterance he should make, he shall show nought

of unrest to the curious that look on, but take advice in that matter of

the Lord Hertford, or my humble self, which are commanded of the King to

be upon this service and close at call, till this commandment be

dissolved. Thus saith the King’s majesty, who sendeth greeting to your

royal highness, and prayeth that God will of His mercy quickly heal you

and have you now and ever in His holy keeping.”

 

The Lord St. John made reverence and stood aside. Tom replied

resignedly—

 

“The King hath said it. None may palter with the King’s command, or fit

it to his ease, where it doth chafe, with deft evasions. The King shall

be obeyed.”

 

Lord Hertford said—

 

“Touching the King’s majesty’s ordainment concerning books and such like

serious matters, it may peradventure please your highness to ease your

time with lightsome entertainment, lest you go wearied to the banquet and

suffer harm thereby.”

 

Tom’s face showed inquiring surprise; and a blush followed when he saw

Lord St. John’s eyes bent sorrowfully upon him. His lordship said—

 

“Thy memory still wrongeth thee, and thou hast shown surprise—but suffer

it not to trouble thee, for ‘tis a matter that will not bide, but depart

with thy mending malady. My Lord of Hertford speaketh of the city’s

banquet which the King’s majesty did promise, some two months flown, your

highness should attend. Thou recallest it now?”

 

“It grieves me to confess it had indeed escaped me,” said Tom, in a

hesitating voice; and blushed again.

 

At this moment the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey were announced.

The two lords exchanged significant glances, and Hertford stepped quickly

toward the door. As the young girls passed him, he said in a low voice—

 

“I pray ye, ladies, seem not to observe his humours, nor show surprise

when his memory doth lapse—it will grieve you to note how it doth stick

at every trifle.”

 

Meantime Lord St. John was saying in Tom’s ear—

 

“Please you, sir, keep diligently in mind his majesty’s desire. Remember

all thou canst—SEEM to remember all else. Let them not perceive that

thou art much changed from thy wont, for thou knowest how tenderly thy

old playfellows bear thee in their hearts and how ‘twould grieve them.

Art willing, sir, that I remain?—and thine uncle?”

 

Tom signified assent with a gesture and a murmured word, for he was

already learning, and in his simple heart was resolved to acquit himself

as best he might, according to the King’s command.

 

In spite of every precaution, the conversation among the young people

became a little embarrassing at times. More than once, in truth, Tom was

near to breaking down and confessing himself unequal to his tremendous

part; but the tact of the Princess Elizabeth saved him, or a word from

one or the other of the vigilant lords, thrown in apparently by chance,

had the same happy effect. Once the little Lady Jane turned to Tom and

dismayed him with this question,—

 

“Hast paid thy duty to the Queen’s majesty to-day, my lord?”

 

Tom hesitated, looked distressed, and was about to stammer out something

at hazard, when Lord St. John took the word and answered for him with the

easy grace of a courtier accustomed to encounter delicate difficulties

and to be ready for them—

 

“He hath indeed, madam, and she did greatly hearten him, as touching his

majesty’s condition; is it not so, your highness?”

 

Tom mumbled something that stood for assent, but felt that he was getting

upon dangerous ground. Somewhat later it was mentioned that Tom was to

study no more at present, whereupon her little ladyship exclaimed—

 

“‘Tis a pity, ‘tis a pity! Thou wert proceeding bravely. But bide thy

time in patience: it will not be for long. Thou’lt yet be graced with

learning like thy father, and make thy tongue master of as many languages

as his, good my prince.”

 

“My father!” cried Tom, off his guard for the moment. “I trow he cannot

speak his own so that any but the swine that kennel in the styes may tell

his meaning; and as for learning of any sort soever—”

 

He looked up and encountered a solemn warning in my Lord St. John’s eyes.

 

He stopped, blushed, then continued low and sadly: “Ah, my malady

persecuteth me again, and my mind wandereth. I meant the King’s grace no

irreverence.”

 

“We know it, sir,” said the Princess Elizabeth, taking her ‘brother’s’

hand between her two palms, respectfully but caressingly; “trouble not

thyself as to that. The fault is none of thine, but thy distemper’s.”

 

“Thou’rt a gentle comforter, sweet lady,” said Tom, gratefully, “and my

heart moveth me to thank thee for’t, an’ I may be so bold.”

 

Once the giddy little Lady Jane fired a simple Greek