The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain (novel24 txt) 📕

another, and finally a third; the marriage then took place by the death-bed of Sir Richard. It had not proved a happy one. It was whispered

about the country that shortly after the nuptials the bride found among

her husband’s papers several rough and incomplete drafts of the fatal

letter, and had accused him of precipitating the marriage—and Sir

Richard’s death, too—by a wicked forgery. Tales of cruelty to the Lady

Edith and the servants were to be heard on all hands; and since the

father’s death Sir Hugh had thrown off all soft disguises and become a

pitiless master toward all who in any way depended upon him and his

domains for bread.

There was a bit of Andrew’s gossip which the King listened to with a

lively interest—

“There is rumour that the King is mad. But in charity forbear to say I

mentioned it, for ‘tis death to speak of it, they say.”

His Majesty glared at the old man and said—

“The King is NOT mad, good man—and thou’lt find it to thy advantage to

busy thyself with matters that nearer concern thee than this seditious

prattle.”

“What doth the lad mean?” said Andrews, surprised at this brisk assault

from such an unexpected quarter. Hendon gave him a sign, and he did not

pursue his question, but went on with his budget—

“The late King is to be buried at Windsor in a day or two—the 16th of

the month—and the new King will be crowned at Westminster the 20th.”

“Methinks they must needs find him first,” muttered his Majesty; then

added, confidently, “but they will look to that—and so also shall I.”

“In the name of—”

But the old man got no further—a warning sign from Hendon checked his

remark. He resumed the thread of his gossip—

“Sir Hugh goeth to the coronation—and with grand hopes. He confidently

looketh to come back a peer, for he is high in favour with the Lord

Protector.”

“What Lord Protector?” asked his Majesty.

“His Grace the Duke of Somerset.”

“What Duke of Somerset?”

“Marry, there is but one—Seymour, Earl of Hertford.”

The King asked sharply—

“Since when is HE a duke, and Lord Protector?”

“Since the last day of January.”

“And prithee who made him so?”

“Himself and the Great Council—with help of the King.”

His Majesty started violently. “The KING!” he cried. “WHAT king, good

sir?”

“What king, indeed! (God-a-mercy, what aileth the boy?) Sith we have but

one, ‘tis not difficult to answer—his most sacred Majesty King Edward

the Sixth—whom God preserve! Yea, and a dear and gracious little urchin

is he, too; and whether he be mad or no—and they say he mendeth daily—

his praises are on all men’s lips; and all bless him, likewise, and offer

prayers that he may be spared to reign long in England; for he began

humanely with saving the old Duke of Norfolk’s life, and now is he bent

on destroying the cruellest of the laws that harry and oppress the

people.”

This news struck his Majesty dumb with amazement, and plunged him into so

deep and dismal a reverie that he heard no more of the old man’s gossip.

He wondered if the ‘little urchin’ was the beggar-boy whom he left

dressed in his own garments in the palace. It did not seem possible that

this could be, for surely his manners and speech would betray him if he

pretended to be the Prince of Wales—then he would be driven out, and

search made for the true prince. Could it be that the Court had set up

some sprig of the nobility in his place? No, for his uncle would not

allow that—he was all-powerful and could and would crush such a

movement, of course. The boy’s musings profited him nothing; the more he

tried to unriddle the mystery the more perplexed he became, the more his

head ached, and the worse he slept. His impatience to get to London grew

hourly, and his captivity became almost unendurable.

Hendon’s arts all failed with the King—he could not be comforted; but a

couple of women who were chained near him succeeded better. Under their

gentle ministrations he found peace and learned a degree of patience. He

was very grateful, and came to love them dearly and to delight in the

sweet and soothing influence of their presence. He asked them why they

were in prison, and when they said they were Baptists, he smiled, and

inquired—

“Is that a crime to be shut up for in a prison? Now I grieve, for I

shall lose ye—they will not keep ye long for such a little thing.”

They did not answer; and something in their faces made him uneasy. He

said, eagerly—

“You do not speak; be good to me, and tell me—there will be no other

punishment? Prithee tell me there is no fear of that.”

They tried to change the topic, but his fears were aroused, and he

pursued it—

“Will they scourge thee? No, no, they would not be so cruel! Say they

would not. Come, they WILL not, will they?”

The women betrayed confusion and distress, but there was no avoiding an

answer, so one of them said, in a voice choked with emotion—

“Oh, thou’lt break our hearts, thou gentle spirit!—God will help us to

bear our—”

“It is a confession!” the King broke in. “Then they WILL scourge thee,

the stony-hearted wretches! But oh, thou must not weep, I cannot bear

it. Keep up thy courage—I shall come to my own in time to save thee

from this bitter thing, and I will do it!”

When the King awoke in the morning, the women were gone.

“They are saved!” he said, joyfully; then added, despondently, “but woe

is me!—for they were my comforters.”

Each of them had left a shred of ribbon pinned to his clothing, in token

of remembrance. He said he would keep these things always; and that soon

he would seek out these dear good friends of his and take them under his

protection.

Just then the jailer came in with some subordinates, and commanded that

the prisoners be conducted to the jail-yard. The King was overjoyed—it

would be a blessed thing to see the blue sky and breathe the fresh air

once more. He fretted and chafed at the slowness of the officers, but

his turn came at last, and he was released from his staple and ordered to

follow the other prisoners with Hendon.

The court or quadrangle was stone-paved, and open to the sky. The

prisoners entered it through a massive archway of masonry, and were

placed in file, standing, with their backs against the wall. A rope was

stretched in front of them, and they were also guarded by their officers.

It was a chill and lowering morning, and a light snow which had fallen

during the night whitened the great empty space and added to the general

dismalness of its aspect. Now and then a wintry wind shivered through the

place and sent the snow eddying hither and thither.

In the centre of the court stood two women, chained to posts. A glance

showed the King that these were his good friends. He shuddered, and said

to himself, “Alack, they are not gone free, as I had thought. To think

that such as these should know the lash!—in England! Ay, there’s the

shame of it—not in Heathennesse, Christian England! They will be

scourged; and I, whom they have comforted and kindly entreated, must look

on and see the great wrong done; it is strange, so strange, that I, the

very source of power in this broad realm, am helpless to protect them.

But let these miscreants look well to themselves, for there is a day

coming when I will require of them a heavy reckoning for this work. For

every blow they strike now, they shall feel a hundred then.”

A great gate swung open, and a crowd of citizens poured in. They flocked

around the two women, and hid them from the King’s view. A clergyman

entered and passed through the crowd, and he also was hidden. The King

now heard talking, back and forth, as if questions were being asked and

answered, but he could not make out what was said. Next there was a deal

of bustle and preparation, and much passing and repassing of officials

through that part of the crowd that stood on the further side of the

women; and whilst this proceeded a deep hush gradually fell upon the

people.

Now, by command, the masses parted and fell aside, and the King saw a

spectacle that froze the marrow in his bones. Faggots had been piled

about the two women, and a kneeling man was lighting them!

The women bowed their heads, and covered their faces with their hands;

the yellow flames began to climb upward among the snapping and crackling

faggots, and wreaths of blue smoke to stream away on the wind; the

clergyman lifted his hands and began a prayer—just then two young girls

came flying through the great gate, uttering piercing screams, and threw

themselves upon the women at the stake. Instantly they were torn away by

the officers, and one of them was kept in a tight grip, but the other

broke loose, saying she would die with her mother; and before she could

be stopped she had flung her arms about her mother’s neck again. She was

torn away once more, and with her gown on fire. Two or three men held

her, and the burning portion of her gown was snatched off and thrown

flaming aside, she struggling all the while to free herself, and saying

she would be alone in the world, now; and begging to be allowed to die

with her mother. Both the girls screamed continually, and fought for

freedom; but suddenly this tumult was drowned under a volley of heart-piercing shrieks of mortal agony—the King glanced from the frantic girls

to the stake, then turned away and leaned his ashen face against the

wall, and looked no more. He said, “That which I have seen, in that one

little moment, will never go out from my memory, but will abide there;

and I shall see it all the days, and dream of it all the nights, till I

die. Would God I had been blind!”

Hendon was watching the King. He said to himself, with satisfaction,

“His disorder mendeth; he hath changed, and groweth gentler. If he had

followed his wont, he would have stormed at these varlets, and said he

was King, and commanded that the women be turned loose unscathed. Soon

his delusion will pass away and be forgotten, and his poor mind will be

whole again. God speed the day!”

That same day several prisoners were brought in to remain over night, who

were being conveyed, under guard, to various places in the kingdom, to

undergo punishment for crimes committed. The King conversed with these—

he had made it a point, from the beginning, to instruct himself for the

kingly office by questioning prisoners whenever the opportunity offered—

and the tale of their woes wrung his heart. One of them was a poor half-witted woman who had stolen a yard or two of cloth from a weaver—she was

to be hanged for it. Another was a man who had been accused of stealing

a horse; he said the proof had failed, and he had imagined that he was

safe from the halter; but no—he was hardly free before he was arraigned

for killing a deer in the King’s park; this was proved against him,