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A Connecticut Yankee in
King Arthur's Court

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CHAPTER XXVI

THE FIRST NEWSPAPER

When I told the king I was going out disguised as a petty freeman to scour the country and familiarize myself with the humbler life of the people, he was all afire with the novelty of the thing in a minute, and was bound to take a chance in the adventure himself—nothing should stop him—he would drop everything and go along—it was the prettiest idea he had run across for many a day.  He wanted to glide out the back way and start at once; but I showed him that that wouldn’t answer.  You see, he was billed for the king’s-evil—to touch for it, I mean—and it wouldn’t be right to disappoint the house and it wouldn’t make a delay worth considering, anyway, it was only a one-night stand.  And I thought he ought to tell the queen he was going away.  He clouded up at that and looked sad.  I was sorry I had spoken, especially when he said mournfully:

“Thou forgettest that Launcelot is here; and where Launcelot is, she noteth not the going forth of the king, nor what day he returneth.”

Of course, I changed the Subject.  Yes, Guenever was beautiful, it is true, but take her all around she was pretty slack.  I never meddled in these matters, they weren’t my affair, but I did hate to see the way things were going on, and I don’t mind saying that much.  Many’s the time she had asked me, “Sir Boss, hast seen Sir Launcelot about?” but if ever she went fretting around for the king I didn’t happen to be around at the time.

There was a very good lay-out for the king’s-evil business—very tidy and creditable.  The king sat under a canopy of state; about him were clustered a large body of the clergy in full canonicals. Conspicuous, both for location and personal outfit, stood Marinel, a hermit of the quack-doctor species, to introduce the sick.  All abroad over the spacious floor, and clear down to the doors, in a thick jumble, lay or sat the scrofulous, under a strong light. It was as good as a tableau; in fact, it had all the look of being gotten up for that, though it wasn’t.  There were eight hundred sick people present.  The work was slow; it lacked the interest of novelty for me, because I had seen the ceremonies before; the thing soon became tedious, but the proprieties required me to stick it out.  The doctor was there for the reason that in all such crowds there were many people who only imagined something was the matter with them, and many who were consciously sound but wanted the immortal honor of fleshly contact with a king, and yet others who pretended to illness in order to get the piece of coin that went with the touch.  Up to this time this coin had been a wee little gold piece worth about a third of a dollar.  When you consider how much that amount of money would buy, in that age and country, and how usual it was to be scrofulous, when not dead, you would understand that the annual king’s-evil appropriation was just the River and Harbor bill of that government for the grip it took on the treasury and the chance it afforded for skinning the surplus.  So I had privately concluded to touch the treasury itself for the king’s-evil.  I covered six-sevenths of the appropriation into the treasury a week before starting from Camelot on my adventures, and ordered that the other seventh be inflated into five-cent nickels and delivered into the hands of the head clerk of the King’s Evil Department; a nickel to take the place of each gold coin, you see, and do its work for it.  It might strain the nickel some, but I judged it could stand it.  As a rule, I do not approve of watering stock, but I considered it square enough in this case, for it was just a gift, anyway.  Of course, you can water a gift as much as you want to; and I generally do.  The old gold and silver coins of the country were of ancient and unknown origin, as a rule, but some of them were Roman; they were ill-shapen, and seldom rounder than a moon that is a week past the full; they were hammered, not minted, and they were so worn with use that the devices upon them were as illegible as blisters, and looked like them.  I judged that a sharp, bright new nickel, with a first-rate likeness of the king on one side of it and Guenever on the other, and a blooming pious motto, would take the tuck out of scrofula as handy as a nobler coin and please the scrofulous fancy more; and I was right.  This batch was the first it was tried on, and it worked to a charm.  The saving in expense was a notable economy.  You will see that by these figures:  We touched a trifle over 700 of the 800 patients; at former rates, this would have cost the government about $240; at the new rate we pulled through for about $35, thus saving upward of $200 at one swoop. To appreciate the full magnitude of this stroke, consider these other figures:  the annual expenses of a national government amount to the equivalent of a contribution of three days’ average wages of every individual of the population, counting every individual as if he were a man.  If you take a nation of 60,000,000, where average wages are $2 per day, three days’ wages taken from each individual will provide $360,000,000 and pay the government’s expenses.  In my day, in my own country, this money was collected from imposts, and the citizen imagined that the foreign importer paid it, and it made him comfortable to think so; whereas, in fact, it was paid by the American people, and was so equally and exactly distributed among them that the annual cost to the 100-millionaire and the annual cost to the sucking child of the day-laborer was precisely the same—each paid $6.  Nothing could be equaler than that, I reckon.  Well, Scotland and Ireland were tributary to Arthur, and the united populations of the British Islands amounted to something less than 1,000,000.  A mechanic’s average wage was 3 cents a day, when he paid his own keep.  By this rule the national government’s expenses were $90,000 a year, or about $250 a day. Thus, by the substitution of nickels for gold on a king’s-evil day, I not only injured no one, dissatisfied no one, but pleased all concerned and saved four-fifths of that day’s national expense into the bargain—a saving which would have been the equivalent of $800,000 in my day in America.  In making this substitution I had drawn upon the wisdom of a very remote source—the wisdom of my boyhood—for the true statesman does not despise any wisdom, howsoever lowly may be its origin:  in my boyhood I had always saved my pennies and contributed buttons to the foreign missionary cause.  The buttons would answer the ignorant savage as well as the coin, the coin would answer me better than the buttons; all hands were happy and nobody hurt.

Marinel took the patients as they came.  He examined the candidate; if he couldn’t qualify he was warned off; if he could he was passed along to the king.  A priest pronounced the words, “They shall lay their hands on the sick, and they shall recover.”  Then the king stroked the ulcers, while the reading continued; finally, the patient graduated and got his nickel—the king hanging it around his neck himself—and was dismissed.  Would you think that that would cure?  It certainly did.  Any mummery will cure if the patient’s faith is strong in it.  Up by Astolat there was a chapel where the Virgin had once appeared to a girl who used to herd geese around there—the girl said so herself—and they built the chapel upon that spot and hung a picture in it representing the occurrence—a picture which you would think it dangerous for a sick person to approach; whereas, on the contrary, thousands of the lame and the sick came and prayed before it every year and went away whole and sound; and even the well could look upon it and live. Of course, when I was told these things I did not believe them; but when I went there and saw them I had to succumb.  I saw the cures effected myself; and they were real cures and not questionable. I saw cripples whom I had seen around Camelot for years on crutches, arrive and pray before that picture, and put down their crutches and walk off without a limp.  There were piles of crutches there which had been left by such people as a testimony.

In other places people operated on a patient’s mind, without saying a word to him, and cured him.  In others, experts assembled patients in a room and prayed over them, and appealed to their faith, and those patients went away cured.  Wherever you find a king who can’t cure the king’s-evil you can be sure that the most valuable superstition that supports his throne—the subject’s belief in the divine appointment of his sovereign—has passed away.  In my youth the monarchs of England had ceased to touch for the evil, but there was no occasion for this diffidence:  they could have cured it forty-nine times in fifty.

Well, when the priest had been droning for three hours, and the good king polishing the evidences, and the sick were still pressing forward as plenty as ever, I got to feeling intolerably bored. I was sitting by an open window not far from the canopy of state. For the five hundredth time a patient stood forward to have his repulsivenesses stroked; again those words were being droned out: “they shall lay their hands on the sick”—when outside there rang clear as a clarion a note that enchanted my soul and tumbled thirteen worthless centuries about my ears:  "Camelot Weekly Hosannah and Literary Volcano!—latest irruption—only two cents—all about the big miracle in the Valley of Holiness!”  One greater than kings had arrived—the newsboy.  But I was the only person in all that throng who knew the meaning of this mighty birth, and what this imperial magician was come into the world to do.

I dropped a nickel out of the window and got my paper; the Adam-newsboy of the world went around the corner to get my change; is around the corner yet.  It was delicious to see a newspaper again, yet I was conscious of a secret shock when my eye fell upon the first batch of display head-lines.  I had lived in a clammy atmosphere of reverence, respect, deference, so long that they sent a quivery little cold wave through me.

Yes, it was too loud.  Once I could have enjoyed it and seen nothing out of the way about it, but now its note was discordant.  It was good Arkansas journalism, but this was not Arkansas.  Moreover, the next to the last line was calculated to give offense to the hermits, and perhaps lose us their advertising. Indeed, there was too lightsome a tone of flippancy all through the paper.  It was plain I had undergone a considerable change without noticing it.  I found myself unpleasantly affected by pert little irreverencies which would have seemed but proper and airy graces of speech at an earlier period of my life.  There was an abundance of the following breed of items, and they discomforted me:
LOCAL SMOKE AND CINDERS.

Sir Launcelot met up with old King Agrivance of Ireland unexpectedly last weok over on the moor south of Sir Balmoral le Merveilleuse’s hog dasture. The widow has been notified.

Expedition No. 3 will start adout the first of mext month on a search f8r Sir Sagramour le Desirous. It is in com-and of the renowned Knight of the Red Lawns, assissted by Sir Persant of Inde, who is compete9t. intelligent, courteous, and in every way a brick, and fur-tHer assisted by Sir Palamides the Sara-cen, who is no huckleberry hinself. This is no pic-nic, these boys mean busine&s.

The readers of the Hosannah will re-gret to learn that the hadndsome and popular Sir Charolais of Gaul, who dur-ing his four weeks’ stay at the Bull and Halibut, this city, has won every heart by his polished manners and elegantcPnversation, will pUll out to-day for home. Give us another call, Charley!

The bdsiness end of the funeral of the late Sir Dalliance the duke’s son of Cornwall, killed in an encounter with the Giant of the Knotted Bludgeon last Tuesday on the borders of the Plain of Enchantment was in the hands of the ever affable and efficient Mumble, prince of un3ertakers, then whom there exists none by whom it were a more satisfying pleasure to have the last sad offices performed. Give him a trial.

The cordial thanks of the Hosannah office are due, from editor down to devil, to the ever courteous and thought-ful Lord High Stew d of the Palace’s Third Assistant V t for several sau-ceTs of ice crEam a quality calculated to make the ey of the recipients hu-mid with grt ude; and it done it. When this administration wants to chalk up a desirable name for early promotion, the Hosannah would like a
chance to sudgest.

The Demoiselle Irene Dewlap, of South Astolat, is visiting her uncle, the popular host of the Cattlemen’s Board-ing Ho&se, Liver Lane, this city.

Young Barker the bellows-mender is hoMe again, and looks much improved by his vacation round-up among the out-lying smithies. See his ad.

Of course it was good enough journalism for a beginning; I knew that quite well, and yet it was somehow disappointing.  The “Court Circular” pleased me better; indeed, its simple and dignified respectfulness was a distinct refreshment to me after all those disgraceful familiarities.  But even it could have been improved. Do what one may, there is no getting an air of variety into a court circular, I acknowledge that.  There is a profound monotonousness about its facts that baffles and defeats one’s sincerest efforts to make them sparkle and enthuse.  The best way to manage—in fact, the only sensible way—is to disguise repetitiousness of fact under variety of form:  skin your fact each time and lay on a new cuticle of words.  It deceives the eye; you think it is a new fact; it gives you the idea that the court is carrying on like everything; this excites you, and you drain the whole column, with a good appetite, and perhaps never notice that it’s a barrel of soup made out of a single bean.  Clarence’s way was good, it was simple, it was dignified, it was direct and business-like; all I say is, it was not the best way.

However, take the paper by and large, I was vastly pleased with it. Little crudities of a mechanical sort were observable here and there, but there were not enough of them to amount to anything, and it was good enough Arkansas proof-reading, anyhow, and better than was needed in Arthur’s day and realm.  As a rule, the grammar was leaky and the construction more or less lame; but I did not much mind these things.  They are common defects of my own, and one mustn’t criticise other people on grounds where he can’t stand perpendicular himself.

I was hungry enough for literature to want to take down the whole paper at this one meal, but I got only a few bites, and then had to postpone, because the monks around me besieged me so with eager questions:  What is this curious thing?  What is it for?  Is it a handkerchief?—saddle blanket?—part of a shirt?  What is it made of? How thin it is, and how dainty and frail; and how it rattles. Will it wear, do you think, and won’t the rain injure it?  Is it writing that appears on it, or is it only ornamentation?  They suspected it was writing, because those among them who knew how to read Latin and had a smattering of Greek, recognized some of the letters, but they could make nothing out of the result as a whole.  I put my information in the simplest form I could:

“It is a public journal; I will explain what that is, another time. It is not cloth, it is made of paper; some time I will explain what paper is.  The lines on it are reading matter; and not written by hand, but printed; by and by I will explain what printing is. A thousand of these sheets have been made, all exactly like this, in every minute detail—they can’t be told apart.”  Then they all broke out with exclamations of surprise and admiration:

“A thousand!  Verily a mighty work—a year’s work for many men.”

“No—merely a day’s work for a man and a boy.”

They crossed themselves, and whiffed out a protective prayer or two.

“Ah-h—a miracle, a wonder!  Dark work of enchantment.”

I let it go at that.  Then I read in a low voice, to as many as could crowd their shaven heads within hearing distance, part of the account of the miracle of the restoration of the well, and was accompanied by astonished and reverent ejaculations all through: “Ah-h-h!”  "How true!”  "Amazing, amazing!”  "These be the very haps as they happened, in marvelous exactness!”  And might they take this strange thing in their hands, and feel of it and examine it?—they would be very careful.  Yes.  So they took it, handling it as cautiously and devoutly as if it had been some holy thing come from some supernatural region; and gently felt of its texture, caressed its pleasant smooth surface with lingering touch, and scanned the mysterious characters with fascinated eyes.  These grouped bent heads, these charmed faces, these speaking eyes—how beautiful to me!  For was not this my darling, and was not all this mute wonder and interest and homage a most eloquent tribute and unforced compliment to it?  I knew, then, how a mother feels when women, whether strangers or friends, take her new baby, and close themselves about it with one eager impulse, and bend their heads over it in a tranced adoration that makes all the rest of the universe vanish out of their consciousness and be as if it were not, for that time.  I knew how she feels, and that there is no other satisfied ambition, whether of king, conqueror, or poet, that ever reaches half-way to that serene far summit or yields half so divine a contentment.

During all the rest of the seance my paper traveled from group to group all up and down and about that huge hall, and my happy eye was upon it always, and I sat motionless, steeped in satisfaction, drunk with enjoyment.  Yes, this was heaven; I was tasting it once, if I might never taste it more.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE YANKEE AND THE KING TRAVEL INCOGNITO

About bedtime I took the king to my private quarters to cut his hair and help him get the hang of the lowly raiment he was to wear. The high classes wore their hair banged across the forehead but hanging to the shoulders the rest of the way around, whereas the lowest ranks of commoners were banged fore and aft both; the slaves were bangless, and allowed their hair free growth.  So I inverted a bowl over his head and cut away all the locks that hung below it. I also trimmed his whiskers and mustache until they were only about a half-inch long; and tried to do it inartistically, and succeeded.  It was a villainous disfigurement.  When he got his lubberly sandals on, and his long robe of coarse brown linen cloth, which hung straight from his neck to his ankle-bones, he was no longer the comeliest man in his kingdom, but one of the unhandsomest and most commonplace and unattractive.  We were dressed and barbered alike, and could pass for small farmers, or farm bailiffs, or shepherds, or carters; yes, or for village artisans, if we chose, our costume being in effect universal among the poor, because of its strength and cheapness.  I don’t mean that it was really cheap to a very poor person, but I do mean that it was the cheapest material there was for male attire—manufactured material, you understand.

We slipped away an hour before dawn, and by broad sun-up had made eight or ten miles, and were in the midst of a sparsely settled country.  I had a pretty heavy knapsack; it was laden with provisions—provisions for the king to taper down on, till he could take to the coarse fare of the country without damage.

I found a comfortable seat for the king by the roadside, and then gave him a morsel or two to stay his stomach with.  Then I said I would find some water for him, and strolled away.  Part of my project was to get out of sight and sit down and rest a little myself.  It had always been my custom to stand when in his presence; even at the council board, except upon those rare occasions when the sitting was a very long one, extending over hours; then I had a trifling little backless thing which was like a reversed culvert and was as comfortable as the toothache.  I didn’t want to break him in suddenly, but do it by degrees.  We should have to sit together now when in company, or people would notice; but it would not be good politics for me to be playing equality with him when there was no necessity for it.

I found the water some three hundred yards away, and had been resting about twenty minutes, when I heard voices.  That is all right, I thought—peasants going to work; nobody else likely to be stirring this early.  But the next moment these comers jingled into sight around a turn of the road—smartly clad people of quality, with luggage-mules and servants in their train!  I was off like a shot, through the bushes, by the shortest cut.  For a while it did seem that these people would pass the king before I could get to him; but desperation gives you wings, you know, and I canted my body forward, inflated my breast, and held my breath and flew. I arrived.  And in plenty good enough time, too.

“Pardon, my king, but it’s no time for ceremony—jump!  Jump to your feet—some quality are coming!”

“Is that a marvel?  Let them come.”

“But my liege!  You must not be seen sitting.  Rise!—and stand in humble posture while they pass.  You are a peasant, you know.”

“True—I had forgot it, so lost was I in planning of a huge war with Gaul”—he was up by this time, but a farm could have got up quicker, if there was any kind of a boom in real estate—“and right-so a thought came randoming overthwart this majestic dream the which—”

“A humbler attitude, my lord the king—and quick!  Duck your head!—more!—still more!—droop it!”

He did his honest best, but lord, it was no great things.  He looked as humble as the leaning tower at Pisa.  It is the most you could say of it.  Indeed, it was such a thundering poor success that it raised wondering scowls all along the line, and a gorgeous flunkey at the tail end of it raised his whip; but I jumped in time and was under it when it fell; and under cover of the volley of coarse laughter which followed, I spoke up sharply and warned the king to take no notice.  He mastered himself for the moment, but it was a sore tax; he wanted to eat up the procession.  I said:

“It would end our adventures at the very start; and we, being without weapons, could do nothing with that armed gang.  If we are going to succeed in our emprise, we must not only look the peasant but act the peasant.”

“It is wisdom; none can gainsay it.  Let us go on, Sir Boss. I will take note and learn, and do the best I may.”

He kept his word.  He did the best he could, but I’ve seen better. If you have ever seen an active, heedless, enterprising child going diligently out of one mischief and into another all day long, and an anxious mother at its heels all the while, and just saving it by a hair from drowning itself or breaking its neck with each new experiment, you’ve seen the king and me.

If I could have foreseen what the thing was going to be like, I should have said, No, if anybody wants to make his living exhibiting a king as a peasant, let him take the layout; I can do better with a menagerie, and last longer.  And yet, during the first three days I never allowed him to enter a hut or other dwelling.  If he could pass muster anywhere during his early novitiate it would be in small inns and on the road; so to these places we confined ourselves.  Yes, he certainly did the best he could, but what of that?  He didn’t improve a bit that I could see.

He was always frightening me, always breaking out with fresh astonishers, in new and unexpected places.  Toward evening on the second day, what does he do but blandly fetch out a dirk from inside his robe!

“Great guns, my liege, where did you get that?”

“From a smuggler at the inn, yester eve.”

“What in the world possessed you to buy it?”

“We have escaped divers dangers by wit—thy wit—but I have bethought me that it were but prudence if I bore a weapon, too. Thine might fail thee in some pinch.”

“But people of our condition are not allowed to carry arms.  What would a lord say—yes, or any other person of whatever condition—if he caught an upstart peasant with a dagger on his person?”

It was a lucky thing for us that nobody came along just then. I persuaded him to throw the dirk away; and it was as easy as persuading a child to give up some bright fresh new way of killing itself.  We walked along, silent and thinking.  Finally the king said:

“When ye know that I meditate a thing inconvenient, or that hath a peril in it, why do you not warn me to cease from that project?”

It was a startling question, and a puzzler.  I didn’t quite know how to take hold of it, or what to say, and so, of course, I ended by saying the natural thing:

“But, sire, how can I know what your thoughts are?”

The king stopped dead in his tracks, and stared at me.

“I believed thou wert greater than Merlin; and truly in magic thou art.  But prophecy is greater than magic.  Merlin is a prophet.”

I saw I had made a blunder.  I must get back my lost ground. After a deep reflection and careful planning, I said:

“Sire, I have been misunderstood.  I will explain.  There are two kinds of prophecy.  One is the gift to foretell things that are but a little way off, the other is the gift to foretell things that are whole ages and centuries away.  Which is the mightier gift, do you think?”

“Oh, the last, most surely!”

“True.  Does Merlin possess it?”

“Partly, yes.  He foretold mysteries about my birth and future kingship that were twenty years away.”

“Has he ever gone beyond that?”

“He would not claim more, I think.”

“It is probably his limit.  All prophets have their limit.  The limit of some of the great prophets has been a hundred years.”

“These are few, I ween.”

“There have been two still greater ones, whose limit was four hundred and six hundred years, and one whose limit compassed even seven hundred and twenty.”

“Gramercy, it is marvelous!”

“But what are these in comparison with me?  They are nothing.”

“What?  Canst thou truly look beyond even so vast a stretch of time as—”

“Seven hundred years?  My liege, as clear as the vision of an eagle does my prophetic eye penetrate and lay bare the future of this world for nearly thirteen centuries and a half!”

My land, you should have seen the king’s eyes spread slowly open, and lift the earth’s entire atmosphere as much as an inch!  That settled Brer Merlin.  One never had any occasion to prove his facts, with these people; all he had to do was to state them.  It never occurred to anybody to doubt the statement.

“Now, then,” I continued, “I could work both kinds of prophecy—the long and the short—if I chose to take the trouble to keep in practice; but I seldom exercise any but the long kind, because the other is beneath my dignity.  It is properer to Merlin’s sort—stump-tail prophets, as we call them in the profession.  Of course, I whet up now and then and flirt out a minor prophecy, but not often—hardly ever, in fact.  You will remember that there was great talk, when you reached the Valley of Holiness, about my having prophesied your coming and the very hour of your arrival, two or three days beforehand.”

“Indeed, yes, I mind it now.”

“Well, I could have done it as much as forty times easier, and piled on a thousand times more detail into the bargain, if it had been five hundred years away instead of two or three days.”

“How amazing that it should be so!”

“Yes, a genuine expert can always foretell a thing that is five hundred years away easier than he can a thing that’s only five hundred seconds off.”

“And yet in reason it should clearly be the other way; it should be five hundred times as easy to foretell the last as the first, for, indeed, it is so close by that one uninspired might almost see it.  In truth, the law of prophecy doth contradict the likelihoods, most strangely making the difficult easy, and the easy difficult.”

It was a wise head.  A peasant’s cap was no safe disguise for it; you could know it for a king’s under a diving-bell, if you could hear it work its intellect.

I had a new trade now, and plenty of business in it.  The king was as hungry to find out everything that was going to happen during the next thirteen centuries as if he were expecting to live in them.  From that time out, I prophesied myself bald-headed trying to supply the demand.  I have done some indiscreet things in my day, but this thing of playing myself for a prophet was the worst.  Still, it had its ameliorations.  A prophet doesn’t have to have any brains.  They are good to have, of course, for the ordinary exigencies of life, but they are no use in professional work.  It is the restfulest vocation there is.  When the spirit of prophecy comes upon you, you merely take your intellect and lay it off in a cool place for a rest, and unship your jaw and leave it alone; it will work itself:  the result is prophecy.

Every day a knight-errant or so came along, and the sight of them fired the king’s martial spirit every time.  He would have forgotten himself, sure, and said something to them in a style a suspicious shade or so above his ostensible degree, and so I always got him well out of the road in time.  Then he would stand and look with all his eyes; and a proud light would flash from them, and his nostrils would inflate like a war-horse’s, and I knew he was longing for a brush with them.  But about noon of the third day I had stopped in the road to take a precaution which had been suggested by the whip-stroke that had fallen to my share two days before; a precaution which I had afterward decided to leave untaken, I was so loath to institute it; but now I had just had a fresh reminder:  while striding heedlessly along, with jaw spread and intellect at rest, for I was prophesying, I stubbed my toe and fell sprawling.  I was so pale I couldn’t think for a moment; then I got softly and carefully up and unstrapped my knapsack. I had that dynamite bomb in it, done up in wool in a box.  It was a good thing to have along; the time would come when I could do a valuable miracle with it, maybe, but it was a nervous thing to have about me, and I didn’t like to ask the king to carry it. Yet I must either throw it away or think up some safe way to get along with its society.  I got it out and slipped it into my scrip, and just then here came a couple of knights.  The king stood, stately as a statue, gazing toward them—had forgotten himself again, of course—and before I could get a word of warning out, it was time for him to skip, and well that he did it, too.  He supposed they would turn aside.  Turn aside to avoid trampling peasant dirt under foot?  When had he ever turned aside himself—or ever had the chance to do it, if a peasant saw him or any other noble knight in time to judiciously save him the trouble?  The knights paid no attention to the king at all; it was his place to look out himself, and if he hadn’t skipped he would have been placidly ridden down, and laughed at besides.

The king was in a flaming fury, and launched out his challenge and epithets with a most royal vigor.  The knights were some little distance by now.  They halted, greatly surprised, and turned in their saddles and looked back, as if wondering if it might be worth while to bother with such scum as we.  Then they wheeled and started for us.  Not a moment must be lost.  I started for them . I passed them at a rattling gait, and as I went by I flung out a hair-lifting soul-scorching thirteen-jointed insult which made the king’s effort poor and cheap by comparison.  I got it out of the nineteenth century where they know how.  They had such headway that they were nearly to the king before they could check up; then, frantic with rage, they stood up their horses on their hind hoofs and whirled them around, and the next moment here they came, breast to breast.  I was seventy yards off, then, and scrambling up a great bowlder at the roadside.  When they were within thirty yards of me they let their long lances droop to a level, depressed their mailed heads, and so, with their horse-hair plumes streaming straight out behind, most gallant to see, this lightning express came tearing for me!  When they were within fifteen yards, I sent that bomb with a sure aim, and it struck the ground just under the horses’ noses.

Yes, it was a neat thing, very neat and pretty to see.  It resembled a steamboat explosion on the Mississippi; and during the next fifteen minutes we stood under a steady drizzle of microscopic fragments of knights and hardware and horse-flesh.  I say we, for the king joined the audience, of course, as soon as he had got his breath again.  There was a hole there which would afford steady work for all the people in that region for some years to come—in trying to explain it, I mean; as for filling it up, that service would be comparatively prompt, and would fall to the lot of a select few—peasants of that seignory; and they wouldn’t get anything for it, either.

But I explained it to the king myself. I said it was done with a dynamite bomb.  This information did him no damage, because it left him as intelligent as he was before.  However, it was a noble miracle, in his eyes, and was another settler for Merlin.  I thought it well enough to explain that this was a miracle of so rare a sort that it couldn’t be done except when the atmospheric conditions were just right.  Otherwise he would be encoring it every time we had a good subject, and that would be inconvenient, because I hadn’t any more bombs along.




CHAPTER XXVIII

DRILLING THE KING

On the morning of the fourth day, when it was just sunrise, and we had been tramping an hour in the chill dawn, I came to a resolution: the king must be drilled; things could not go on so, he must be taken in hand and deliberately and conscientiously drilled, or we couldn’t ever venture to enter a dwelling; the very cats would know this masquerader for a humbug and no peasant.  So I called a halt and said:

“Sire, as between clothes and countenance, you are all right, there is no discrepancy; but as between your clothes and your bearing, you are all wrong, there is a most noticeable discrepancy.  Your soldierly stride, your lordly port—these will not do.  You stand too straight, your looks are too high, too confident.  The cares of a kingdom do not stoop the shoulders, they do not droop the chin, they do not depress the high level of the eye-glance, they do not put doubt and fear in the heart and hang out the signs of them in slouching body and unsure step.  It is the sordid cares of the lowly born that do these things.  You must learn the trick; you must imitate the trademarks of poverty, misery, oppression, insult, and the other several and common inhumanities that sap the manliness out of a man and make him a loyal and proper and approved subject and a satisfaction to his masters, or the very infants will know you for better than your disguise, and we shall go to pieces at the first hut we stop at.  Pray try to walk like this.”

The king took careful note, and then tried an imitation.

“Pretty fair—pretty fair.  Chin a little lower, please—there, very good.  Eyes too high; pray don’t look at the horizon, look at the ground, ten steps in front of you.  Ah—that is better, that is very good.  Wait, please; you betray too much vigor, too much decision; you want more of a shamble.  Look at me, please—this is what I mean....  Now you are getting it; that is the idea—at least, it sort of approaches it....  Yes, that is pretty fair.  But! There is a great big something wanting, I don’t quite know what it is.  Please walk thirty yards, so that I can get a perspective on the thing....  Now, then—your head’s right, speed’s right, shoulders right, eyes right, chin right, gait, carriage, general style right—everything’s right!  And yet the fact remains, the aggregate’s wrong.  The account don’t balance.  Do it again, please....  Now I think I begin to see what it is.  Yes, I’ve struck it.  You see, the genuine spiritlessness is wanting; that’s what’s the trouble.  It’s all amateur—mechanical details all right, almost to a hair; everything about the delusion perfect, except that it don’t delude.”

“What, then, must one do, to prevail?”

“Let me think... I can’t seem to quite get at it.  In fact, there isn’t anything that can right the matter but practice.  This is a good place for it:  roots and stony ground to break up your stately gait, a region not liable to interruption, only one field and one hut in sight, and they so far away that nobody could see us from there.  It will be well to move a little off the road and put in the whole day drilling you, sire.”

After the drill had gone on a little while, I said:

“Now, sire, imagine that we are at the door of the hut yonder, and the family are before us.  Proceed, please—accost the head of the house.”

The king unconsciously straightened up like a monument, and said, with frozen austerity:

“Varlet, bring a seat; and serve to me what cheer ye have.”

“Ah, your grace, that is not well done.”

“In what lacketh it?”

“These people do not call each other varlets.”

“Nay, is that true?”

“Yes; only those above them call them so.”

“Then must I try again.  I will call him villein.”

“No-no; for he may be a freeman.”

“Ah—so.  Then peradventure I should call him goodman.”

“That would answer, your grace, but it would be still better if you said friend, or brother.”

“Brother!—to dirt like that?”

“Ah, but we are pretending to be dirt like that, too.”

“It is even true.  I will say it.  Brother, bring a seat, and thereto what cheer ye have, withal.  Now ’tis right.”

“Not quite, not wholly right.  You have asked for one, not us—for one, not both; food for one, a seat for one.”

The king looked puzzled—he wasn’t a very heavy weight, intellectually. His head was an hour-glass; it could stow an idea, but it had to do it a grain at a time, not the whole idea at once.

“Would you have a seat also—and sit?”

“If I did not sit, the man would perceive that we were only pretending to be equals—and playing the deception pretty poorly, too.”

“It is well and truly said!  How wonderful is truth, come it in whatsoever unexpected form it may!  Yes, he must bring out seats and food for both, and in serving us present not ewer and napkin with more show of respect to the one than to the other.”

“And there is even yet a detail that needs correcting.  He must bring nothing outside; we will go in—in among the dirt, and possibly other repulsive things,—and take the food with the household, and after the fashion of the house, and all on equal terms, except the man be of the serf class; and finally, there will be no ewer and no napkin, whether he be serf or free.  Please walk again, my liege.  There—it is better—it is the best yet; but not perfect.  The shoulders have known no ignobler burden than iron mail, and they will not stoop.”

“Give me, then, the bag.  I will learn the spirit that goeth with burdens that have not honor.  It is the spirit that stoopeth the shoulders, I ween, and not the weight; for armor is heavy, yet it is a proud burden, and a man standeth straight in it.... Nay, but me no buts, offer me no objections.  I will have the thing. Strap it upon my back.”

He was complete now with that knapsack on, and looked as little like a king as any man I had ever seen.  But it was an obstinate pair of shoulders; they could not seem to learn the trick of stooping with any sort of deceptive naturalness.  The drill went on, I prompting and correcting:

“Now, make believe you are in debt, and eaten up by relentless creditors; you are out of work—which is horse-shoeing, let us say—and can get none; and your wife is sick, your children are crying because they are hungry—”

And so on, and so on.  I drilled him as representing in turn all sorts of people out of luck and suffering dire privations and misfortunes.  But lord, it was only just words, words—they meant nothing in the world to him, I might just as well have whistled. Words realize nothing, vivify nothing to you, unless you have suffered in your own person the thing which the words try to describe.  There are wise people who talk ever so knowingly and complacently about “the working classes,” and satisfy themselves that a day’s hard intellectual work is very much harder than a day’s hard manual toil, and is righteously entitled to much bigger pay.  Why, they really think that, you know, because they know all about the one, but haven’t tried the other.  But I know all about both; and so far as I am concerned, there isn’t money enough in the universe to hire me to swing a pickaxe thirty days, but I will do the hardest kind of intellectual work for just as near nothing as you can cipher it down—and I will be satisfied, too.

Intellectual “work” is misnamed; it is a pleasure, a dissipation, and is its own highest reward.  The poorest paid architect, engineer, general, author, sculptor, painter, lecturer, advocate, legislator, actor, preacher, singer is constructively in heaven when he is at work; and as for the musician with the fiddle-bow in his hand who sits in the midst of a great orchestra with the ebbing and flowing tides of divine sound washing over him—why, certainly, he is at work, if you wish to call it that, but lord, it’s a sarcasm just the same.  The law of work does seem utterly unfair—but there it is, and nothing can change it:  the higher the pay in enjoyment the worker gets out of it, the higher shall be his pay in cash, also.  And it’s also the very law of those transparent swindles, transmissible nobility and kingship.



CHAPTER XXIX

THE SMALLPOX HUT

When we arrived at that hut at mid-afternoon, we saw no signs of life about it.  The field near by had been denuded of its crop some time before, and had a skinned look, so exhaustively had it been harvested and gleaned.  Fences, sheds, everything had a ruined look, and were eloquent of poverty.  No animal was around anywhere, no living thing in sight.  The stillness was awful, it was like the stillness of death.  The cabin was a one-story one, whose thatch was black with age, and ragged from lack of repair.

The door stood a trifle ajar.  We approached it stealthily—on tiptoe and at half-breath—for that is the way one’s feeling makes him do, at such a time.  The king knocked.  We waited.  No answer.  Knocked again.  No answer.  I pushed the door softly open and looked in. I made out some dim forms, and a woman started up from the ground and stared at me, as one does who is wakened from sleep.  Presently she found her voice:

“Have mercy!” she pleaded.  "All is taken, nothing is left.”

“I have not come to take anything, poor woman.”

“You are not a priest?”

“No.”

“Nor come not from the lord of the manor?”

“No, I am a stranger.”

“Oh, then, for the fear of God, who visits with misery and death such as be harmless, tarry not here, but fly!  This place is under his curse—and his Church’s.”

“Let me come in and help you—you are sick and in trouble.”

I was better used to the dim light now.  I could see her hollow eyes fixed upon me.  I could see how emaciated she was.

“I tell you the place is under the Church’s ban.  Save yourself—and go, before some straggler see thee here, and report it.”

“Give yourself no trouble about me; I don’t care anything for the Church’s curse.  Let me help you.”

“Now all good spirits—if there be any such—bless thee for that word.  Would God I had a sup of water!—but hold, hold, forget I said it, and fly; for there is that here that even he that feareth not the Church must fear:  this disease whereof we die. Leave us, thou brave, good stranger, and take with thee such whole and sincere blessing as them that be accursed can give.”

But before this I had picked up a wooden bowl and was rushing past the king on my way to the brook.  It was ten yards away. When I got back and entered, the king was within, and was opening the shutter that closed the window-hole, to let in air and light. The place was full of a foul stench.  I put the bowl to the woman’s lips, and as she gripped it with her eager talons the shutter came open and a strong light flooded her face.  Smallpox!

I sprang to the king, and said in his ear:

“Out of the door on the instant, sire! the woman is dying of that disease that wasted the skirts of Camelot two years ago.”

He did not budge.

“Of a truth I shall remain—and likewise help.”

I whispered again:

“King, it must not be.  You must go.”

“Ye mean well, and ye speak not unwisely.  But it were shame that a king should know fear, and shame that belted knight should withhold his hand where be such as need succor.  Peace, I will not go.  It is you who must go.  The Church’s ban is not upon me, but it forbiddeth you to be here, and she will deal with you with a heavy hand an word come to her of your trespass.”

It was a desperate place for him to be in, and might cost him his life, but it was no use to argue with him.  If he considered his knightly honor at stake here, that was the end of argument; he would stay, and nothing could prevent it; I was aware of that. And so I dropped the subject.  The woman spoke:

“Fair sir, of your kindness will ye climb the ladder there, and bring me news of what ye find?  Be not afraid to report, for times can come when even a mother’s heart is past breaking—being already broke.”

“Abide,” said the king, “and give the woman to eat.  I will go.” And he put down the knapsack.

I turned to start, but the king had already started.  He halted, and looked down upon a man who lay in a dim light, and had not noticed us thus far, or spoken.

“Is it your husband?” the king asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he asleep?”

“God be thanked for that one charity, yes—these three hours. Where shall I pay to the full, my gratitude! for my heart is bursting with it for that sleep he sleepeth now.”

I said:

“We will be careful.  We will not wake him.”

“Ah, no, that ye will not, for he is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, what triumph it is to know it!  None can harm him, none insult him more.  He is in heaven now, and happy; or if not there, he bides in hell and is content; for in that place he will find neither abbot nor yet bishop.  We were boy and girl together; we were man and wife these five and twenty years, and never separated till this day.  Think how long that is to love and suffer together. This morning was he out of his mind, and in his fancy we were boy and girl again and wandering in the happy fields; and so in that innocent glad converse wandered he far and farther, still lightly gossiping, and entered into those other fields we know not of, and was shut away from mortal sight.  And so there was no parting, for in his fancy I went with him; he knew not but I went with him, my hand in his—my young soft hand, not this withered claw.  Ah, yes, to go, and know it not; to separate and know it not; how could one go peace—fuller than that?  It was his reward for a cruel life patiently borne.”

There was a slight noise from the direction of the dim corner where the ladder was.  It was the king descending.  I could see that he was bearing something in one arm, and assisting himself with the other.  He came forward into the light; upon his breast lay a slender girl of fifteen.  She was but half conscious; she was dying of smallpox.  Here was heroism at its last and loftiest possibility, its utmost summit; this was challenging death in the open field unarmed, with all the odds against the challenger, no reward set upon the contest, and no admiring world in silks and cloth of gold to gaze and applaud; and yet the king’s bearing was as serenely brave as it had always been in those cheaper contests where knight meets knight in equal fight and clothed in protecting steel.  He was great now; sublimely great.  The rude statues of his ancestors in his palace should have an addition—I would see to that; and it would not be a mailed king killing a giant or a dragon, like the rest, it would be a king in commoner’s garb bearing death in his arms that a peasant mother might look her last upon her child and be comforted.

He laid the girl down by her mother, who poured out endearments and caresses from an overflowing heart, and one could detect a flickering faint light of response in the child’s eyes, but that was all.  The mother hung over her, kissing her, petting her, and imploring her to speak, but the lips only moved and no sound came. I snatched my liquor flask from my knapsack, but the woman forbade me, and said:

“No—she does not suffer; it is better so.  It might bring her back to life.  None that be so good and kind as ye are would do her that cruel hurt.  For look you—what is left to live for?  Her brothers are gone, her father is gone, her mother goeth, the Church’s curse is upon her, and none may shelter or befriend her even though she lay perishing in the road.  She is desolate.  I have not asked you, good heart, if her sister be still on live, here overhead; I had no need; ye had gone back, else, and not left the poor thing forsaken—”

“She lieth at peace,” interrupted the king, in a subdued voice.

“I would not change it.  How rich is this day in happiness!  Ah, my Annis, thou shalt join thy sister soon—thou’rt on thy way, and these be merciful friends that will not hinder.”

And so she fell to murmuring and cooing over the girl again, and softly stroking her face and hair, and kissing her and calling her by endearing names; but there was scarcely sign of response now in the glazing eyes.  I saw tears well from the king’s eyes, and trickle down his face.  The woman noticed them, too, and said:

“Ah, I know that sign:  thou’st a wife at home, poor soul, and you and she have gone hungry to bed, many’s the time, that the little ones might have your crust; you know what poverty is, and the daily insults of your betters, and the heavy hand of the Church and the king.”

The king winced under this accidental home-shot, but kept still; he was learning his part; and he was playing it well, too, for a pretty dull beginner.  I struck up a diversion.  I offered the woman food and liquor, but she refused both.  She would allow nothing to come between her and the release of death.  Then I slipped away and brought the dead child from aloft, and laid it by her. This broke her down again, and there was another scene that was full of heartbreak.  By and by I made another diversion, and beguiled her to sketch her story.

“Ye know it well yourselves, having suffered it—for truly none of our condition in Britain escape it.  It is the old, weary tale. We fought and struggled and succeeded; meaning by success, that we lived and did not die; more than that is not to be claimed.  No troubles came that we could not outlive, till this year brought them; then came they all at once, as one might say, and overwhelmed us.  Years ago the lord of the manor planted certain fruit trees on our farm; in the best part of it, too—a grievous wrong and shame—”

“But it was his right,” interrupted the king.

“None denieth that, indeed; an the law mean anything, what is the lord’s is his, and what is mine is his also.  Our farm was ours by lease, therefore ’twas likewise his, to do with it as he would.  Some little time ago, three of those trees were found hewn down.  Our three grown sons ran frightened to report the crime. Well, in his lordship’s dungeon there they lie, who saith there shall they lie and rot till they confess.  They have naught to confess, being innocent, wherefore there will they remain until they die.

Ye know that right well, I ween.  Think how this left us; a man, a woman and two children, to gather a crop that was planted by so much greater force, yes, and protect it night and day from pigeons and prowling animals that be sacred and must not be hurt by any of our sort.  When my lord’s crop was nearly ready for the harvest, so also was ours; when his bell rang to call us to his fields to harvest his crop for nothing, he would not allow that I and my two girls should count for our three captive sons, but for only two of them; so, for the lacking one were we daily fined. All this time our own crop was perishing through neglect; and so both the priest and his lordship fined us because their shares of it were suffering through damage.  In the end the fines ate up our crop—and they took it all; they took it all and made us harvest it for them, without pay or food, and we starving.  Then the worst came when I, being out of my mind with hunger and loss of my boys, and grief to see my husband and my little maids in rags and misery and despair, uttered a deep blasphemy—oh! a thousand of them!—against the Church and the Church’s ways.  It was ten days ago. I had fallen sick with this disease, and it was to the priest I said the words, for he was come to chide me for lack of due humility under the chastening hand of God.  He carried my trespass to his betters; I was stubborn; wherefore, presently upon my head and upon all heads that were dear to me, fell the curse of Rome.

“Since that day we are avoided, shunned with horror.  None has come near this hut to know whether we live or not.  The rest of us were taken down.  Then I roused me and got up, as wife and mother will.  It was little they could have eaten in any case; it was less than little they had to eat.  But there was water, and I gave them that.  How they craved it! and how they blessed it!  But the end came yesterday; my strength broke down.  Yesterday was the last time I ever saw my husband and this youngest child alive. I have lain here all these hours—these ages, ye may say—listening, listening for any sound up there that—”

She gave a sharp quick glance at her eldest daughter, then cried out, “Oh, my darling!” and feebly gathered the stiffening form to her sheltering arms.  She had recognized the death-rattle.



CHAPTER XXX

THE TRAGEDY OF THE MANOR-HOUSE

At midnight all was over, and we sat in the presence of four corpses.  We covered them with such rags as we could find, and started away, fastening the door behind us.  Their home must be these people’s grave, for they could not have Christian burial, or be admitted to consecrated ground.  They were as dogs, wild beasts, lepers, and no soul that valued its hope of eternal life would throw it away by meddling in any sort with these rebuked and smitten outcasts.

We had not moved four steps when I caught a sound as of footsteps upon gravel.  My heart flew to my throat.  We must not be seen coming from that house.  I plucked at the king’s robe and we drew back and took shelter behind the corner of the cabin.

“Now we are safe,” I said, “but it was a close call—so to speak. If the night had been lighter he might have seen us, no doubt, he seemed to be so near.”

“Mayhap it is but a beast and not a man at all.”

“True.  But man or beast, it will be wise to stay here a minute and let it get by and out of the way.”

“Hark!  It cometh hither.”

True again.  The step was coming toward us—straight toward the hut. It must be a beast, then, and we might as well have saved our trepidation.  I was going to step out, but the king laid his hand upon my arm.  There was a moment of silence, then we heard a soft knock on the cabin door.  It made me shiver.  Presently the knock was repeated, and then we heard these words in a guarded voice:

“Mother!  Father!  Open—we have got free, and we bring news to pale your cheeks but glad your hearts; and we may not tarry, but must fly!  And—but they answer not.  Mother! father!—”

I drew the king toward the other end of the hut and whispered:

“Come—now we can get to the road.”

The king hesitated, was going to demur; but just then we heard the door give way, and knew that those desolate men were in the presence of their dead.

“Come, my liege! in a moment they will strike a light, and then will follow that which it would break your heart to hear.”

He did not hesitate this time.  The moment we were in the road I ran; and after a moment he threw dignity aside and followed. I did not want to think of what was happening in the hut—I couldn’t bear it; I wanted to drive it out of my mind; so I struck into the first subject that lay under that one in my mind:

“I have had the disease those people died of, and so have nothing to fear; but if you have not had it also—”

He broke in upon me to say he was in trouble, and it was his conscience that was troubling him:

“These young men have got free, they say—but how ?  It is not likely that their lord hath set them free.”

“Oh, no, I make no doubt they escaped.”

“That is my trouble; I have a fear that this is so, and your suspicion doth confirm it, you having the same fear.”

“I should not call it by that name though.  I do suspect that they escaped, but if they did, I am not sorry, certainly.”

“I am not sorry, I think—but—”

“What is it?  What is there for one to be troubled about?”

“If they did escape, then are we bound in duty to lay hands upon them and deliver them again to their lord; for it is not seemly that one of his quality should suffer a so insolent and high-handed outrage from persons of their base degree.”

There it was again.  He could see only one side of it.  He was born so, educated so, his veins were full of ancestral blood that was rotten with this sort of unconscious brutality, brought down by inheritance from a long procession of hearts that had each done its share toward poisoning the stream.  To imprison these men without proof, and starve their kindred, was no harm, for they were merely peasants and subject to the will and pleasure of their lord, no matter what fearful form it might take; but for these men to break out of unjust captivity was insult and outrage, and a thing not to be countenanced by any conscientious person who knew his duty to his sacred caste.

I worked more than half an hour before I got him to change the subject—and even then an outside matter did it for me.  This was a something which caught our eyes as we struck the summit of a small hill—a red glow, a good way off.

“That’s a fire,” said I.

Fires interested me considerably, because I was getting a good deal of an insurance business started, and was also training some horses and building some steam fire-engines, with an eye to a paid fire department by and by.  The priests opposed both my fire and life insurance, on the ground that it was an insolent attempt to hinder the decrees of God; and if you pointed out that they did not hinder the decrees in the least, but only modified the hard consequences of them if you took out policies and had luck, they retorted that that was gambling against the decrees of God, and was just as bad.  So they managed to damage those industries more or less, but I got even on my accident business.  As a rule, a knight is a lummux, and some times even a labrick, and hence open to pretty poor arguments when they come glibly from a superstition-monger, but even he could see the practical side of a thing once in a while; and so of late you couldn’t clean up a tournament and pile the result without finding one of my accident-tickets in every helmet.

We stood there awhile, in the thick darkness and stillness, looking toward the red blur in the distance, and trying to make out the meaning of a far-away murmur that rose and fell fitfully on the night.  Sometimes it swelled up and for a moment seemed less remote; but when we were hopefully expecting it to betray its cause and nature, it dulled and sank again, carrying its mystery with it. We started down the hill in its direction, and the winding road plunged us at once into almost solid darkness—darkness that was packed and crammed in between two tall forest walls.  We groped along down for half a mile, perhaps, that murmur growing more and more distinct all the time.  The coming storm threatening more and more, with now and then a little shiver of wind, a faint show of lightning, and dull grumblings of distant thunder.  I was in the lead.  I ran against something—a soft heavy something which gave, slightly, to the impulse of my weight; at the same moment the lightning glared out, and within a foot of my face was the writhing face of a man who was hanging from the limb of a tree!  That is, it seemed to be writhing, but it was not.  It was a grewsome sight. Straightway there was an ear-splitting explosion of thunder, and the bottom of heaven fell out; the rain poured down in a deluge. No matter, we must try to cut this man down, on the chance that there might be life in him yet, mustn’t we?  The lightning came quick and sharp now, and the place was alternately noonday and midnight.  One moment the man would be hanging before me in an intense light, and the next he was blotted out again in the darkness. I told the king we must cut him down.  The king at once objected.

“If he hanged himself, he was willing to lose his property to his lord; so let him be.  If others hanged him, belike they had the right—let him hang.”

“But—”

“But me no buts, but even leave him as he is.  And for yet another reason.  When the lightning cometh again—there, look abroad.”

Two others hanging, within fifty yards of us!

“It is not weather meet for doing useless courtesies unto dead folk. They are past thanking you.  Come—it is unprofitable to tarry here.”

There was reason in what he said, so we moved on.  Within the next mile we counted six more hanging forms by the blaze of the lightning, and altogether it was a grisly excursion.  That murmur was a murmur no longer, it was a roar; a roar of men’s voices.  A man came flying by now, dimly through the darkness, and other men chasing him. They disappeared.  Presently another case of the kind occurred, and then another and another.  Then a sudden turn of the road brought us in sight of that fire—it was a large manor-house, and little or nothing was left of it—and everywhere men were flying and other men raging after them in pursuit.

I warned the king that this was not a safe place for strangers. We would better get away from the light, until matters should improve.  We stepped back a little, and hid in the edge of the wood.  From this hiding-place we saw both men and women hunted by the mob.  The fearful work went on until nearly dawn.  Then, the fire being out and the storm spent, the voices and flying footsteps presently ceased, and darkness and stillness reigned again.

We ventured out, and hurried cautiously away; and although we were worn out and sleepy, we kept on until we had put this place some miles behind us.  Then we asked hospitality at the hut of a charcoal burner, and got what was to be had.  A woman was up and about, but the man was still asleep, on a straw shake-down, on the clay floor. The woman seemed uneasy until I explained that we were travelers and had lost our way and been wandering in the woods all night. She became talkative, then, and asked if we had heard of the terrible goings-on at the manor-house of Abblasoure.  Yes, we had heard of them, but what we wanted now was rest and sleep.  The king broke in:

“Sell us the house and take yourselves away, for we be perilous company, being late come from people that died of the Spotted Death.”

It was good of him, but unnecessary.  One of the commonest decorations of the nation was the waffle-iron face.  I had early noticed that the woman and her husband were both so decorated.  She made us entirely welcome, and had no fears; and plainly she was immensely impressed by the king’s proposition; for, of course, it was a good deal of an event in her life to run across a person of the king’s humble appearance who was ready to buy a man’s house for the sake of a night’s lodging.  It gave her a large respect for us, and she strained the lean possibilities of her hovel to the utmost to make us comfortable.

We slept till far into the afternoon, and then got up hungry enough to make cotter fare quite palatable to the king, the more particularly as it was scant in quantity.  And also in variety; it consisted solely of onions, salt, and the national black bread made out of horse-feed.  The woman told us about the affair of the evening before.  At ten or eleven at night, when everybody was in bed, the manor-house burst into flames.  The country-side swarmed to the rescue, and the family were saved, with one exception, the master.  He did not appear.  Everybody was frantic over this loss, and two brave yeomen sacrificed their lives in ransacking the burning house seeking that valuable personage.  But after a while he was found—what was left of him—which was his corpse.  It was in a copse three hundred yards away, bound, gagged, stabbed in a dozen places.

Who had done this?  Suspicion fell upon a humble family in the neighborhood who had been lately treated with peculiar harshness by the baron; and from these people the suspicion easily extended itself to their relatives and familiars.  A suspicion was enough; my lord’s liveried retainers proclaimed an instant crusade against these people, and were promptly joined by the community in general. The woman’s husband had been active with the mob, and had not returned home until nearly dawn.  He was gone now to find out what the general result had been.  While we were still talking he came back from his quest.  His report was revolting enough.  Eighteen persons hanged or butchered, and two yeomen and thirteen prisoners lost in the fire.

“And how many prisoners were there altogether in the vaults?”

“Thirteen.”

“Then every one of them was lost?”

“Yes, all.”

“But the people arrived in time to save the family; how is it they could save none of the prisoners?”

The man looked puzzled, and said:

“Would one unlock the vaults at such a time?  Marry, some would have escaped.”

“Then you mean that nobody did unlock them?”

“None went near them, either to lock or unlock.  It standeth to reason that the bolts were fast; wherefore it was only needful to establish a watch, so that if any broke the bonds he might not escape, but be taken. None were taken.”

“Natheless, three did escape,” said the king, “and ye will do well to publish it and set justice upon their track, for these murthered the baron and fired the house.”

I was just expecting he would come out with that.  For a moment the man and his wife showed an eager interest in this news and an impatience to go out and spread it; then a sudden something else betrayed itself in their faces, and they began to ask questions. I answered the questions myself, and narrowly watched the effects produced.  I was soon satisfied that the knowledge of who these three prisoners were had somehow changed the atmosphere; that our hosts’ continued eagerness to go and spread the news was now only pretended and not real.  The king did not notice the change, and I was glad of that.  I worked the conversation around toward other details of the night’s proceedings, and noted that these people were relieved to have it take that direction.

The painful thing observable about all this business was the alacrity with which this oppressed community had turned their cruel hands against their own class in the interest of the common oppressor.  This man and woman seemed to feel that in a quarrel between a person of their own class and his lord, it was the natural and proper and rightful thing for that poor devil’s whole caste to side with the master and fight his battle for him, without ever stopping to inquire into the rights or wrongs of the matter.  This man had been out helping to hang his neighbors, and had done his work with zeal, and yet was aware that there was nothing against them but a mere suspicion, with nothing back of it describable as evidence, still neither he nor his wife seemed to see anything horrible about it.

This was depressing—to a man with the dream of a republic in his head.  It reminded me of a time thirteen centuries away, when the “poor whites” of our South who were always despised and frequently insulted by the slave-lords around them, and who owed their base condition simply to the presence of slavery in their midst, were yet pusillanimously ready to side with the slave-lords in all political moves for the upholding and perpetuating of slavery, and did also finally shoulder their muskets and pour out their lives in an effort to prevent the destruction of that very institution which degraded them.  And there was only one redeeming feature connected with that pitiful piece of history; and that was, that secretly the “poor white” did detest the slave-lord, and did feel his own shame.  That feeling was not brought to the surface, but the fact that it was there and could have been brought out, under favoring circumstances, was something—in fact, it was enough; for it showed that a man is at bottom a man, after all, even if it doesn’t show on the outside.

Well, as it turned out, this charcoal burner was just the twin of the Southern “poor white” of the far future.  The king presently showed impatience, and said:

“An ye prattle here all the day, justice will miscarry.  Think ye the criminals will abide in their father’s house?  They are fleeing, they are not waiting.  You should look to it that a party of horse be set upon their track.”

The woman paled slightly, but quite perceptibly, and the man looked flustered and irresolute.  I said:

“Come, friend, I will walk a little way with you, and explain which direction I think they would try to take.  If they were merely resisters of the gabelle or some kindred absurdity I would try to protect them from capture; but when men murder a person of high degree and likewise burn his house, that is another matter.”

The last remark was for the king—to quiet him.  On the road the man pulled his resolution together, and began the march with a steady gait, but there was no eagerness in it.  By and by I said:

“What relation were these men to you—cousins?”

He turned as white as his layer of charcoal would let him, and stopped, trembling.

“Ah, my God, how know ye that?”

“I didn’t know it; it was a chance guess.”

“Poor lads, they are lost.  And good lads they were, too.”

“Were you actually going yonder to tell on them?”

He didn’t quite know how to take that; but he said, hesitatingly:

“Ye-s.”

“Then I think you are a damned scoundrel!”

It made him as glad as if I had called him an angel.

“Say the good words again, brother! for surely ye mean that ye would not betray me an I failed of my duty.”

“Duty?  There is no duty in the matter, except the duty to keep still and let those men get away.  They’ve done a righteous deed.”

He looked pleased; pleased, and touched with apprehension at the same time.  He looked up and down the road to see that no one was coming, and then said in a cautious voice:

“From what land come you, brother, that you speak such perilous words, and seem not to be afraid?”

“They are not perilous words when spoken to one of my own caste, I take it.  You would not tell anybody I said them?”

“I?  I would be drawn asunder by wild horses first.”

“Well, then, let me say my say.  I have no fears of your repeating it.  I think devil’s work has been done last night upon those innocent poor people.  That old baron got only what he deserved. If I had my way, all his kind should have the same luck.”

Fear and depression vanished from the man’s manner, and gratefulness and a brave animation took their place:

“Even though you be a spy, and your words a trap for my undoing, yet are they such refreshment that to hear them again and others like to them, I would go to the gallows happy, as having had one good feast at least in a starved life.  And I will say my say now, and ye may report it if ye be so minded.  I helped to hang my neighbors for that it were peril to my own life to show lack of zeal in the master’s cause; the others helped for none other reason. All rejoice to-day that he is dead, but all do go about seemingly sorrowing, and shedding the hypocrite’s tear, for in that lies safety.  I have said the words, I have said the words! the only ones that have ever tasted good in my mouth, and the reward of that taste is sufficient.  Lead on, an ye will, be it even to the scaffold, for I am ready.”

There it was, you see.  A man is a man, at bottom.  Whole ages of abuse and oppression cannot crush the manhood clear out of him. Whoever thinks it a mistake is himself mistaken.  Yes, there is plenty good enough material for a republic in the most degraded people that ever existed—even the Russians; plenty of manhood in them—even in the Germans—if one could but force it out of its timid and suspicious privacy, to overthrow and trample in the mud any throne that ever was set up and any nobility that ever supported it.  We should see certain things yet, let us hope and believe.  First, a modified monarchy, till Arthur’s days were done, then the destruction of the throne, nobility abolished, every member of it bound out to some useful trade, universal suffrage instituted, and the whole government placed in the hands of the men and women of the nation there to remain.  Yes, there was no occasion to give up my dream yet a while.