บทที่ บทที่ 14 · ‘Le Roi est mort--vive le Roi.’

. ‘Le Roi est mort--vive le Roi.’

Toward daylight of the same morning, Tom Canty stirred out of a heavy

sleep and opened his eyes in the dark.  He lay silent a few moments,

trying to analyse his confused thoughts and impressions, and get some

sort of meaning out of them; then suddenly he burst out in a rapturous

but guarded voice--

“I see it all, I see it all!  Now God be thanked, I am indeed awake at

last!  Come, joy! vanish, sorrow!  Ho, Nan! Bet! kick off your straw and

hie ye hither to my side, till I do pour into your unbelieving ears the

wildest madcap dream that ever the spirits of night did conjure up to

astonish the soul of man withal! . . . Ho, Nan, I say!  Bet!”

A dim form appeared at his side, and a voice said--

“Wilt deign to deliver thy commands?”

“Commands? . . . O, woe is me, I know thy voice!  Speak thou--who am I?”

“Thou?  In sooth, yesternight wert thou the Prince of Wales; to-day art

thou my most gracious liege, Edward, King of England.”

Tom buried his head among his pillows, murmuring plaintively--

“Alack, it was no dream!  Go to thy rest, sweet sir--leave me to my

sorrows.”

Tom slept again, and after a time he had this pleasant dream.  He

thought it was summer, and he was playing, all alone, in the fair meadow

called Goodman’s Fields, when a dwarf only a foot high, with long red

whiskers and a humped back, appeared to him suddenly and said, “Dig by

that stump.”  He did so, and found twelve bright new pennies--wonderful

riches!  Yet this was not the best of it; for the dwarf said--

“I know thee.  Thou art a good lad, and a deserving; thy distresses

shall end, for the day of thy reward is come.  Dig here every seventh

day, and thou shalt find always the same treasure, twelve bright new

pennies. Tell none--keep the secret.”

Then the dwarf vanished, and Tom flew to Offal Court with his prize,

saying to himself, “Every night will I give my father a penny; he

will think I begged it, it will glad his heart, and I shall no more

be beaten. One penny every week the good priest that teacheth me shall

have; mother, Nan, and Bet the other four. We be done with hunger and

rags, now, done with fears and frets and savage usage.”

In his dream he reached his sordid home all out of breath, but with

eyes dancing with grateful enthusiasm; cast four of his pennies into his

mother’s lap and cried out--

“They are for thee!--all of them, every one!--for thee and Nan and

Bet--and honestly come by, not begged nor stolen!”

The happy and astonished mother strained him to her breast and

exclaimed--

“It waxeth late--may it please your Majesty to rise?”

Ah! that was not the answer he was expecting.  The dream had snapped

asunder--he was awake.

He opened his eyes--the richly clad First Lord of the Bedchamber was

kneeling by his couch.  The gladness of the lying dream faded away--the

poor boy recognised that he was still a captive and a king.  The room

was filled with courtiers clothed in purple mantles--the mourning

colour--and with noble servants of the monarch.  Tom sat up in bed and

gazed out from the heavy silken curtains upon this fine company.

The weighty business of dressing began, and one courtier after another

knelt and paid his court and offered to the little King his condolences

upon his heavy loss, whilst the dressing proceeded.  In the beginning, a

shirt was taken up by the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who passed it to the

First Lord of the Buckhounds, who passed it to the Second Gentleman of

the Bedchamber, who passed it to the Head Ranger of Windsor Forest,

who passed it to the Third Groom of the Stole, who passed it to the

Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, who passed it to the Master

of the Wardrobe, who passed it to Norroy King-at-Arms, who passed it to

the Constable of the Tower, who passed it to the Chief Steward of the

Household, who passed it to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, who passed it

to the Lord High Admiral of England, who passed it to the Archbishop of

Canterbury, who passed it to the First Lord of the Bedchamber, who took

what was left of it and put it on Tom.  Poor little wondering chap, it

reminded him of passing buckets at a fire.

Each garment in its turn had to go through this slow and solemn process;

consequently Tom grew very weary of the ceremony; so weary that he felt

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

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

thee and thy line for ever.”  Then he struck the boy a light blow on the

shoulder with the flat of his sword, exclaiming, “Rise, Humphrey Marlow,

Hereditary Grand Whipping-Boy to the Royal House of England!  Banish

sorrow--I will betake me to my books again, and study so ill that they

must in justice treble thy wage, so mightily shall the business of thine

office be augmented.”

The grateful Humphrey responded fervidly--

“Thanks, O most noble master, this princely lavishness doth far surpass

my most distempered dreams of fortune.  Now shall I be happy all my

days, and all the house of Marlow after me.”

Tom had wit enough to perceive that here was a lad who could be useful

to him.  He encouraged Humphrey to talk, and he was nothing loath.

He was delighted to believe that he was helping in Tom’s ‘cure’; for

always, as soon as he had finished calling back to Tom’s diseased mind

the various particulars of his experiences and adventures in the royal

school-room and elsewhere about the palace, he noticed that Tom was then

able to ‘recall’ the circumstances quite clearly.  At the end of an

hour Tom found himself well freighted with very valuable information

concerning personages and matters pertaining to the Court; so he

resolved to draw instruction from this source daily; and to this end he

would give order to admit Humphrey to the royal closet whenever he might

come, provided the Majesty of England was not engaged with other people.

Humphrey had hardly been dismissed when my Lord Hertford arrived with

more trouble for Tom.

He said that the Lords of the Council, fearing that some overwrought

report of the King’s damaged health might have leaked out and got

abroad, they deemed it wise and best that his Majesty should begin to

dine in public after a day or two--his wholesome complexion and vigorous

step, assisted by a carefully guarded repose of manner and ease and

grace of demeanour, would more surely quiet the general pulse--in case

any evil rumours _had_ gone about--than any other scheme that could be

devised.

Then the Earl proceeded, very delicately, to instruct Tom as to the

observances proper to the stately occasion, under the rather thin

disguise of ‘reminding’ him concerning things already known to him; but

to his vast gratification it turned out that Tom needed very little help

in this line--he had been making use of Humphrey in that direction, for

Humphrey had mentioned that within a few days he was to begin to dine

in public; having gathered it from the swift-winged gossip of the Court.

Tom kept these facts to himself, however.

Seeing the royal memory so improved, the Earl ventured to apply a

few tests to it, in an apparently casual way, to find out how far its

amendment had progressed.  The results were happy, here and there, in

spots--spots where Humphrey’s tracks remained--and on the whole my lord

was greatly pleased and encouraged.  So encouraged was he, indeed, that

he spoke up and said in a quite hopeful voice--

“Now am I persuaded that if your Majesty will but tax your memory yet

a little further, it will resolve the puzzle of the Great Seal--a loss

which was of moment yesterday, although of none to-day, since its term

of service ended with our late lord’s life. May it please your Grace to

make the trial?”

Tom was at sea--a Great Seal was something which he was totally

unacquainted with.  After a moment’s hesitation he looked up innocently

and asked--

“What was it like, my lord?”

The Earl started, almost imperceptibly, muttering to himself, “Alack,

his wits are flown again!--it was ill wisdom to lead him on to strain

them”--then he deftly turned the talk to other matters, with the purpose

of sweeping the unlucky seal out of Tom’s thoughts--a purpose which

easily succeeded.