The Prince and the Pauper
an almost gushing gratefulness when he at last saw his long silken hose
begin the journey down the line and knew that the end of the matter
was drawing near. But he exulted too soon. The First Lord of the
Bedchamber received the hose and was about to encase Tom’s legs in them,
when a sudden flush invaded his face and he hurriedly hustled the things
back into the hands of the Archbishop of Canterbury with an astounded
look and a whispered, “See, my lord!” pointing to a something connected
with the hose. The Archbishop paled, then flushed, and passed the
hose to the Lord High Admiral, whispering, “See, my lord!” The Admiral
passed the hose to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, and had hardly breath
enough in his body to ejaculate, “See, my lord!” The hose drifted
backward along the line, to the Chief Steward of the Household, the
Constable of the Tower, Norroy King-at-Arms, the Master of the Wardrobe,
the Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, the Third Groom of the
Stole, the Head Ranger of Windsor Forest, the Second Gentleman of the
Bedchamber, the First Lord of the Buckhounds,--accompanied always with
that amazed and frightened “See! see!”--till they finally reached the
hands of the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who gazed a moment, with a pallid
face, upon what had caused all this dismay, then hoarsely whispered,
“Body of my life, a tag gone from a truss-point!--to the Tower with
the Head Keeper of the King’s Hose!”--after which he leaned upon the
shoulder of the First Lord of the Buckhounds to regather his vanished
strength whilst fresh hose, without any damaged strings to them, were
brought.
But all things must have an end, and so in time Tom Canty was in a
condition to get out of bed. The proper official poured water, the
proper official engineered the washing, the proper official stood by
with a towel, and by-and-by Tom got safely through the purifying stage
and was ready for the services of the Hairdresser-royal. When he at
length emerged from this master’s hands, he was a gracious figure and
as pretty as a girl, in his mantle and trunks of purple satin, and
purple-plumed cap. He now moved in state toward his breakfast-room,
through the midst of the courtly assemblage; and as he passed, these
fell back, leaving his way free, and dropped upon their knees.
After breakfast he was conducted, with regal ceremony, attended by his
great officers and his guard of fifty Gentlemen Pensioners bearing gilt
battle-axes, to the throne-room, where he proceeded to transact business
of state. His ‘uncle,’ Lord Hertford, took his stand by the throne, to
assist the royal mind with wise counsel.
The body of illustrious men named by the late King as his executors
appeared, to ask Tom’s approval of certain acts of theirs--rather a
form, and yet not wholly a form, since there was no Protector as yet.
The Archbishop of Canterbury made report of the decree of the Council
of Executors concerning the obsequies of his late most illustrious
Majesty, and finished by reading the signatures of the Executors, to
wit: the Archbishop of Canterbury; the Lord Chancellor of England;
William Lord St. John; John Lord Russell; Edward Earl of Hertford; John
Viscount Lisle; Cuthbert Bishop of Durham--
Tom was not listening--an earlier clause of the document was puzzling
him. At this point he turned and whispered to Lord Hertford--
“What day did he say the burial hath been appointed for?”
“The sixteenth of the coming month, my liege.”
“‘Tis a strange folly. Will he keep?”
Poor chap, he was still new to the customs of royalty; he was used to
seeing the forlorn dead of Offal Court hustled out of the way with a
very different sort of expedition. However, the Lord Hertford set his
mind at rest with a word or two.
A secretary of state presented an order of the Council appointing the
morrow at eleven for the reception of the foreign ambassadors, and
desired the King’s assent.
Tom turned an inquiring look toward Hertford, who whispered--
“Your Majesty will signify consent. They come to testify their royal
masters’ sense of the heavy calamity which hath visited your Grace and
the realm of England.”
Tom did as he was bidden. Another secretary began to read a preamble
concerning the expenses of the late King’s household, which had amounted
to 28,000 pounds during the preceding six months--a sum so vast that it
made Tom Canty gasp; he gasped again when the fact appeared that 20,000
pounds of this money was still owing and unpaid; {4} and once more when
it appeared that the King’s coffers were about empty, and his twelve
hundred servants much embarrassed for lack of 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