Mark Twain: Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, The Prince and the Pauper & A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Марк Твен
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.
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.”
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