The Prince and the Pauper Mark Twain (readict books .TXT) đ
- Author: Mark Twain
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The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud, and began to mutter. The king seized this opportunity to state his case; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness and apprehension. But the hermit went on muttering, and gave no heed. And still muttering, he approached the king and said impressivelyâ â
âSh! I will tell you a secret!â He bent down to impart it, but checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. After a moment or two he went on tiptoe to the window-opening, put his head out, and peered around in the gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again, put his face close down to the kingâs, and whisperedâ â
âI am an archangel!â
The king started violently, and said to himself, âWould God I were with the outlaws again; for lo, now am I the prisoner of a madman!â His apprehensions were heightened, and they showed plainly in his face. In a low excited voice the hermit continuedâ â
âI see you feel my atmosphere! Thereâs awe in your face! None may be in this atmosphere and not be thus affected; for it is the very atmosphere of heaven. I go thither and return, in the twinkling of an eye. I was made an archangel on this very spot, it is five years ago, by angels sent from heaven to confer that awful dignity. Their presence filled this place with an intolerable brightness. And they knelt to me, king! yes, they knelt to me! for I was greater than they. I have walked in the courts of heaven, and held speech with the patriarchs. Touch my handâ âbe not afraidâ âtouch it. Thereâ ânow thou hast touched a hand which has been clasped by Abraham and Isaac and Jacob! For I have walked in the golden courts; I have seen the Deity face to face!â He paused, to give this speech effect; then his face suddenly changed, and he started to his feet again saying, with angry energy, âYes, I am an archangel; a mere archangel!â âI that might have been pope! It is verily true. I was told it from heaven in a dream, twenty years ago; ah, yes, I was to be pope!â âand I should have been pope, for Heaven had said itâ âbut the king dissolved my religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended monk, was cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty destiny!â Here he began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in futile rage, with his fist; now and then articulating a venomous curse, and now and then a pathetic âWherefore I am nought but an archangelâ âI that should have been pope!â
So he went on, for an hour, whilst the poor little king sat and suffered. Then all at once the old manâs frenzy departed, and he became all gentleness. His voice softened, he came down out of his clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so humanly, that he soon won the kingâs heart completely. The old devotee moved the boy nearer to the fire and made him comfortable; doctored his small bruises and abrasions with a deft and tender hand; and then set about preparing and cooking a supperâ âchatting pleasantly all the time, and occasionally stroking the ladâs cheek or patting his head, in such a gently caressing way that in a little while all the fear and repulsion inspired by the archangel were changed to reverence and affection for the man.
This happy state of things continued while the two ate the supper; then, after a prayer before the shrine, the hermit put the boy to bed, in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly and lovingly as a mother might; and so, with a parting caress, left him and sat down by the fire, and began to poke the brands about in an absent and aimless way. Presently he paused; then tapped his forehead several times with his fingers, as if trying to recall some thought which had escaped from his mind. Apparently he was unsuccessful. Now he started quickly up, and entered his guestâs room, and saidâ â
âThou art king?â
âYes,â was the response, drowsily uttered.
âWhat king?â
âOf England.â
âOf England? Then Henry is gone!â
âAlack, it is so. I am his son.â
A black frown settled down upon the hermitâs face, and he clenched his bony hands with a vindictive energy. He stood a few moments, breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a husky voiceâ â
âDost know it was he that turned us out into the world houseless and homeless?â
There was no response. The old man bent down and scanned the boyâs reposeful face and listened to his placid breathing. âHe sleepsâ âsleeps soundly;â and the frown vanished away and gave place to an expression of evil satisfaction. A smile flitted across the dreaming boyâs features. The hermit muttered, âSoâ âhis heart is happy;â and he turned away. He went stealthily about the place, seeking here and there for something; now and then halting to listen, now and then jerking his head around and casting a quick glance toward the bed; and always muttering, always mumbling to himself. At last he found what he seemed to wantâ âa rusty old butcher knife and a whetstone. Then he crept to his place by the fire,
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