Chapter V. Tom as a patrician.
Tom Canty, left alone in the prince's cabinet, made good
use of his opportunity. He turned himself this way and that
before the great mirror, admiring his finery; then walked
away, imitating the prince's high-bred carriage, and still
observing results in the glass. Next he drew the beautiful
sword, and bowed, kissing the blade, and laying it across
his breast, as he had seen a noble knight do, by way of
salute to the lieutenant of the Tower, five or six weeks
before, when delivering the great lords of Norfolk and
Surrey into his hands for captivity. Tom played with the
jewelled dagger that hung upon his thigh; he examined the
costly and exquisite ornaments of the room; he tried each of
the sumptuous chairs, and thought how proud he would be if
the Offal Court herd could only peep in and see him in his
grandeur. He wondered if they would believe the marvellous
tale he should tell when he got home, or if they would shake
their heads, and say his overtaxed imagination had at last
upset his reason.
At the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him
that the prince was gone a long time; then right away he
began to feel lonely; very soon he fell to listening and
longing, and ceased to toy with the pretty things about him;
he grew uneasy, then restless, then distressed. Suppose some
one should come, and catch him in the prince's clothes, and
the prince not there to explain. Might they not hang him at
once, and inquire into his case afterward? He had heard
that the great were prompt about small matters. His fear
rose higher and higher; and trembling he softly opened the
door to the antechamber, resolved to fly and seek the
prince, and, through him, protection and release. Six
gorgeous gentlemen-servants and two young pages of high
degree, clothed like butterflies, sprang to their feet and
bowed low before him. He stepped quickly back and shut the
door. He said—
"Oh, they mock at me! They will go and tell. Oh! why came I here to
cast away my life?"
He walked up and down the floor, filled with nameless
fears, listening, starting at every trifling sound.
Presently the door swung open, and a silken page said—
"The Lady Jane Grey."
The door closed and a sweet young girl, richly clad,
bounded toward him. But she stopped suddenly, and said in a
distressed voice—
"Oh, what aileth thee, my lord?"
Tom's breath was nearly failing him; but he made shift to
stammer out—
"Ah, be merciful, thou! In sooth I am no lord, but only
poor Tom Canty of Offal Court in the city. Prithee let me
see the prince, and he will of his grace restore to me my
rags, and let me hence unhurt. Oh, be thou merciful, and
save me!"
By this time the boy was on his knees, and supplicating
with his eyes and uplifted hands as well as with his tongue.
The young girl seemed horror-stricken. She cried out—
"O my lord, on thy knees?—and to ME!"
Then she fled away in fright; and Tom, smitten with
despair, sank down, murmuring—
"There is no help, there is no hope. Now will they come
and take me."
Whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful
tidings were speeding through the palace. The whisper—for
it was whispered always—flew from menial to menial, from
lord to lady, down all the long corridors, from story to
story, from saloon to saloon, "The prince hath gone mad, the
prince hath gone mad!" Soon every saloon, every marble
hall, had its groups of glittering lords and ladies, and
other groups of dazzling lesser folk, talking earnestly
together in whispers, and every face had in it dismay.
Presently a splendid official came marching by these groups,
making solemn proclamation—
"IN THE NAME OF THE KING!
Let none list to this false and foolish matter, upon pain
of death, nor discuss the same, nor carry it abroad. In the
name of the King!"
The whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers
had been stricken dumb.
Soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of
"The prince! See, the prince comes!"
Poor Tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing groups,
trying to bow in return, and meekly gazing upon his strange
surroundings with bewildered and pathetic eyes. Great
nobles walked upon each side of him, making him lean upon
them, and so steady his steps. Behind him followed the
court-physicians and some servants.
Presently Tom found himself in a noble apartment of the palace and
heard the door close behind him. Around him stood those who
had come with him. Before him, at a little distance,
reclined a very large and very fat man, with a wide, pulpy
face, and a stern expression. His large head was very grey;
and his whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a
frame, were grey also. His clothing was of rich stuff, but
old, and slightly frayed in places. One of his swollen legs
had a pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages. There
was silence now; and there was no head there but was bent in
reverence, except this man's. This stern-countenanced
invalid was the dread Henry VIII. He said—and his face grew
gentle as he began to speak—
"How now, my lord Edward, my prince? Hast been minded to
cozen me, the good King thy father, who loveth thee, and
kindly useth thee, with a sorry jest?"
Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties
would let him, to the beginning of this speech; but when the
words 'me, the good King' fell upon his ear, his face
blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon his knees as if a
shot had brought him there. Lifting up his hands, he
exclaimed—
"Thou the KING? Then am I undone indeed!"
This speech seemed to stun the King. His eyes wandered
from face to face aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, upon
the boy before him. Then he said in a tone of deep
disappointment—
"Alack, I had believed the rumour disproportioned to the
truth; but I fear me 'tis not so." He breathed a heavy
sigh, and said in a gentle voice, "Come to thy father,
child: thou art not well."
Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Majesty
of England, humble and trembling. The King took the
frightened face between his hands, and gazed earnestly and
lovingly into it awhile, as if seeking some grateful sign of
returning reason there, then pressed the curly head against
his breast, and patted it tenderly. Presently he said—
"Dost not know thy father, child? Break not mine old
heart; say thou know'st me. Thou DOST know me, dost thou
not?"
"Yea: thou art my dread lord the King, whom God
preserve!"
"True, true—that is well—be comforted, tremble not so;
there is none here would hurt thee; there is none here but
loves thee. Thou art better now; thy ill dream passeth—is't
not so? Thou wilt not miscall thyself again, as they say
thou didst a little while agone?"
"I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak the
truth, most dread lord; for I am the meanest among thy
subjects, being a pauper born, and 'tis by a sore mischance
and accident I am here, albeit I was therein nothing
blameful. I am but young to die, and thou canst save me
with one little word. Oh speak it, sir!"
"Die? Talk not so, sweet prince—peace, peace, to thy
troubled heart—thou shalt not die!"
Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry—
"God requite thy mercy, O my King, and save thee long to
bless thy land!" Then springing up, he turned a joyful face
toward the two lords in waiting, and exclaimed, "Thou
heard'st it! I am not to die: the King hath said it!"
There was no movement, save that all bowed with grave
respect; but no one spoke. He hesitated, a little confused,
then turned timidly toward the King, saying, "I may go now?"
"Go? Surely, if thou desirest. But why not tarry yet a little?
Whither would'st go?"
Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly—
"Peradventure I mistook; but I did think me free, and so
was I moved to seek again the kennel where I was born and
bred to misery, yet which harboureth my mother and my
sisters, and so is home to me; whereas these pomps and
splendours whereunto I am not used—oh, please you, sir, to
let me go!"
The King was silent and thoughtful a while, and his face
betrayed a growing distress and uneasiness. Presently he
said, with something of hope in his voice—
"Perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and hath
his wits unmarred as toucheth other matter. God send it may
be so! We will make trial."
Then he asked Tom a question in Latin, and Tom answered
him lamely in the same tongue. The lords and doctors
manifested their gratification also. The King said—
"'Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but
showeth that his mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally.
How say you, sir?"
The physician addressed bowed low, and replied—
"It jumpeth with my own conviction, sire, that thou hast
divined aright."
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'er-wrought 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 play-fellows
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
phrase at Tom. The Princess Elizabeth's quick eye saw by
the serene blankness of the target's front that the shaft
was overshot; so she tranquilly delivered a return volley of
sounding Greek on Tom's behalf, and then straightway changed
the talk to other matters.
Time wore on pleasantly, and likewise smoothly, on the
whole. Snags and sandbars grew less and less frequent, and
Tom grew more and more at his ease, seeing that all were so
lovingly bent upon helping him and overlooking his mistakes.
When it came out that the little ladies were to accompany
him to the Lord Mayor's banquet in the evening, his heart
gave a bound of relief and delight, for he felt that he
should not be friendless, now, among that multitude of
strangers; whereas, an hour earlier, the idea of their going
with him would have been an insupportable terror to him.
Tom's guardian angels, the two lords, had had less
comfort in the interview than the other parties to it. They
felt much as if they were piloting a great ship through a
dangerous channel; they were on the alert constantly, and
found their office no child's play. Wherefore, at last, when
the ladies' visit was drawing to a close and the Lord
Guilford Dudley was announced, they not only felt that their
charge had been sufficiently taxed for the present, but also
that they themselves were not in the best condition to take
their ship back and make their anxious voyage all over
again. So they respectfully advised Tom to excuse himself,
which he was very glad to do, although a slight shade of
disappointment might have been observed upon my Lady Jane's
face when she heard the splendid stripling denied
admittance.
There was a pause now, a sort of waiting silence which Tom could not
understand. He glanced at Lord Hertford, who gave him a
sign—but he failed to understand that also. The ready
Elizabeth came to the rescue with her usual easy grace. She
made reverence and said—
"Have we leave of the prince's grace my brother to go?"
Tom said—
"Indeed your ladyships can have whatsoever of me they
will, for the asking; yet would I rather give them any other
thing that in my poor power lieth, than leave to take the
light and blessing of their presence hence. Give ye good
den, and God be with ye!" Then he smiled inwardly at the
thought, "'Tis not for nought I have dwelt but among princes
in my reading, and taught my tongue some slight trick of
their broidered and gracious speech withal!"
When the illustrious maidens were gone, Tom turned
wearily to his keepers and said—
"May it please your lordships to grant me leave to go
into some corner and rest me?"
Lord Hertford said—
"So please your highness, it is for you to command, it is
for us to obey. That thou should'st rest is indeed a needful
thing, since thou must journey to the city presently."
He touched a bell, and a page appeared, who was ordered
to desire the presence of Sir William Herbert. This
gentleman came straightway, and conducted Tom to an inner
apartment. Tom's first movement there was to reach for a
cup of water; but a silk-and-velvet servitor seized it,
dropped upon one knee, and offered it to him on a golden
salver.
Next the tired captive sat down and was going to take off his buskins,
timidly asking leave with his eye, but another
silk-and-velvet discomforter went down upon his knees and
took the office from him. He made two or three further
efforts to help himself, but being promptly forestalled each
time, he finally gave up, with a sigh of resignation and a
murmured "Beshrew me, but I marvel they do not require to
breathe for me also!" Slippered, and wrapped in a sumptuous
robe, he laid himself down at last to rest, but not to
sleep, for his head was too full of thoughts and the room
too full of people. He could not dismiss the former, so
they stayed; he did not know enough to dismiss the latter,
so they stayed also, to his vast regret—and theirs.
Tom's departure had left his two noble guardians alone.
They mused a while, with much head-shaking and walking the
floor, then Lord St. John said—
"Plainly, what dost thou think?"
"Plainly, then, this. The King is near his end; my
nephew is mad—mad will mount the throne, and mad remain.
God protect England, since she will need it!"
"Verily it promiseth so, indeed. But . . . have you no
misgivings as to . . . as to . . ."
The speaker hesitated, and finally stopped. He evidently
felt that he was upon delicate ground. Lord Hertford
stopped before him, looked into his face with a clear, frank
eye, and said—
"Speak on—there is none to hear but me. Misgivings as to
what?"
"I am full loth to word the thing that is in my mind, and
thou so near to him in blood, my lord. But craving pardon
if I do offend, seemeth it not strange that madness could so
change his port and manner?—not but that his port and speech
are princely still, but that they DIFFER, in one unweighty
trifle or another, from what his custom was aforetime.
Seemeth it not strange that madness should filch from his
memory his father's very lineaments; the customs and
observances that are his due from such as be about him; and,
leaving him his Latin, strip him of his Greek and French?
My lord, be not offended, but ease my mind of its disquiet
and receive my grateful thanks. It haunteth me, his saying
he was not the prince, and so—"
"Peace, my lord, thou utterest treason! Hast forgot the
King's command? Remember I am party to thy crime if I but
listen."
St. John paled, and hastened to say—
"I was in fault, I do confess it. Betray me not, grant
me this grace out of thy courtesy, and I will neither think
nor speak of this thing more. Deal not hardly with me, sir,
else am I ruined."
"I am content, my lord. So thou offend not again, here
or in the ears of others, it shall be as though thou hadst
not spoken. But thou need'st not have misgivings. He is my
sister's son; are not his voice, his face, his form,
familiar to me from his cradle? Madness can do all the odd
conflicting things thou seest in him, and more. Dost not
recall how that the old Baron Marley, being mad, forgot the
favour of his own countenance that he had known for sixty
years, and held it was another's; nay, even claimed he was
the son of Mary Magdalene, and that his head was made of
Spanish glass; and, sooth to say, he suffered none to touch
it, lest by mischance some heedless hand might shiver it?
Give thy misgivings easement, good my lord. This is the
very prince—I know him well—and soon will be thy king; it
may advantage thee to bear this in mind, and more dwell upon
it than the other."
After some further talk, in which the Lord St. John
covered up his mistake as well as he could by repeated
protests that his faith was thoroughly grounded now, and
could not be assailed by doubts again, the Lord Hertford
relieved his fellow-keeper, and sat down to keep watch and
ward alone. He was soon deep in meditation, and evidently
the longer he thought, the more he was bothered. By-and-by
he began to pace the floor and mutter.
"Tush, he MUST be the prince! Will any be in all the land maintain
there can be two, not of one blood and birth, so
marvellously twinned? And even were it so, 'twere yet a
stranger miracle that chance should cast the one into the
other's place. Nay, 'tis folly, folly, folly!"
Presently he said—
"Now were he impostor and called himself prince, look you
THAT would be natural; that would be reasonable. But lived
ever an impostor yet, who, being called prince by the king,
prince by the court, prince by all, DENIED his dignity and
pleaded against his exaltation? NO! By the soul of St.
Swithin, no! This is the true prince, gone mad!"
Chapter VII. Tom's first royal dinner.
Somewhat after one in the afternoon, Tom resignedly
underwent the ordeal of being dressed for dinner. He found
himself as finely clothed as before, but everything
different, everything changed, from his ruff to his
stockings. He was presently conducted with much state to a
spacious and ornate apartment, where a table was already set
for one. Its furniture was all of massy gold, and
beautified with designs which well-nigh made it priceless,
since they were the work of Benvenuto. The room was
half-filled with noble servitors. A chaplain said grace,
and Tom was about to fall to, for hunger had long been
constitutional with him, but was interrupted by my lord the
Earl of Berkeley, who fastened a napkin about his neck; for
the great post of Diaperers to the Prince of Wales was
hereditary in this nobleman's family. Tom's cupbearer was
present, and forestalled all his attempts to help himself to
wine. The Taster to his highness the Prince of Wales was
there also, prepared to taste any suspicious dish upon
requirement, and run the risk of being poisoned. He was
only an ornamental appendage at this time, and was seldom
called upon to exercise his function; but there had been
times, not many generations past, when the office of taster
had its perils, and was not a grandeur to be desired. Why
they did not use a dog or a plumber seems strange; but all
the ways of royalty are strange. My Lord d'Arcy, First
Groom of the Chamber, was there, to do goodness knows what;
but there he was—let that suffice. The Lord Chief Butler
was there, and stood behind Tom's chair, overseeing the
solemnities, under command of the Lord Great Steward and the
Lord Head Cook, who stood near. Tom had three hundred and
eighty-four servants beside these; but they were not all in
that room, of course, nor the quarter of them; neither was
Tom aware yet that they existed.
All those that were present had been well drilled within
the hour to remember that the prince was temporarily out of
his head, and to be careful to show no surprise at his
vagaries. These 'vagaries' were soon on exhibition before
them; but they only moved their compassion and their sorrow,
not their mirth. It was a heavy affliction to them to see
the beloved prince so stricken.
Poor Tom ate with his fingers mainly; but no one smiled
at it, or even seemed to observe it. He inspected his
napkin curiously, and with deep interest, for it was of a
very dainty and beautiful fabric, then said with simplicity—
"Prithee, take it away, lest in mine unheedfulness it be
soiled."
The Hereditary Diaperer took it away with reverent
manner, and without word or protest of any sort.
Tom examined the turnips and the lettuce with interest, and asked what
they were, and if they were to be eaten; for it was only
recently that men had begun to raise these things in England
in place of importing them as luxuries from Holland. {1}
His question was answered with grave respect, and no
surprise manifested. When he had finished his dessert, he
filled his pockets with nuts; but nobody appeared to be
aware of it, or disturbed by it. But the next moment he was
himself disturbed by it, and showed discomposure; for this
was the only service he had been permitted to do with his
own hands during the meal, and he did not doubt that he had
done a most improper and unprincely thing. At that moment
the muscles of his nose began to twitch, and the end of that
organ to lift and wrinkle. This continued, and Tom began to
evince a growing distress. He looked appealingly, first at
one and then another of the lords about him, and tears came
into his eyes. They sprang forward with dismay in their
faces, and begged to know his trouble. Tom said with
genuine anguish—
"I crave your indulgence: my nose itcheth cruelly. What
is the custom and usage in this emergence? Prithee, speed,
for 'tis but a little time that I can bear it."
None smiled; but all were sore perplexed, and looked one
to the other in deep tribulation for counsel. But behold,
here was a dead wall, and nothing in English history to tell
how to get over it. The Master of Ceremonies was not
present: there was no one who felt safe to venture upon
this uncharted sea, or risk the attempt to solve this solemn
problem. Alas! there was no Hereditary Scratcher. Meantime
the tears had overflowed their banks, and begun to trickle
down Tom's cheeks. His twitching nose was pleading more
urgently than ever for relief. At last nature broke down
the barriers of etiquette: Tom lifted up an inward prayer
for pardon if he was doing wrong, and brought relief to the
burdened hearts of his court by scratching his nose himself.
His meal being ended, a lord came and held before him a
broad, shallow, golden dish with fragrant rosewater in it,
to cleanse his mouth and fingers with; and my lord the
Hereditary Diaperer stood by with a napkin for his use. Tom
gazed at the dish a puzzled moment or two, then raised it to
his lips, and gravely took a draught. Then he returned it
to the waiting lord, and said—
"Nay, it likes me not, my lord: it hath a pretty
flavour, but it wanteth strength."
This new eccentricity of the prince's ruined mind made all the hearts
about him ache; but the sad sight moved none to merriment.
Tom's next unconscious blunder was to get up and leave
the table just when the chaplain had taken his stand behind
his chair, and with uplifted hands, and closed, uplifted
eyes, was in the act of beginning the blessing. Still
nobody seemed to perceive that the prince had done a thing
unusual.
By his own request our small friend was now conducted to his private
cabinet, and left there alone to his own devices. Hanging
upon hooks in the oaken wainscoting were the several pieces
of a suit of shining steel armour, covered all over with
beautiful designs exquisitely inlaid in gold. This martial
panoply belonged to the true prince—a recent present from
Madam Parr the Queen. Tom put on the greaves, the gauntlets,
the plumed helmet, and such other pieces as he could don
without assistance, and for a while was minded to call for
help and complete the matter, but bethought him of the nuts
he had brought away from dinner, and the joy it would be to
eat them with no crowd to eye him, and no Grand Hereditaries
to pester him with undesired services; so he restored the
pretty things to their several places, and soon was cracking
nuts, and feeling almost naturally happy for the first time
since God for his sins had made him a prince. When the nuts
were all gone, he stumbled upon some inviting books in a
closet, among them one about the etiquette of the English
court. This was a prize. He lay down upon a sumptuous
divan, and proceeded to instruct himself with honest zeal.
Let us leave him there for the present.
