Chapter XX. The Prince and the hermit.

by Mark Twain

　　The high hedge hid him from the house, now; and so, under theimpulse of a deadly fright, he let out all his forces and spedtoward a wood in the distance. He never looked back until he hadalmost gained the shelter of the forest; then he turned anddescried two figures in the distance. That was sufficient; he didnot wait to scan them critically, but hurried on, and never abatedhis pace till he was far within the twilight depths of the wood.Then he stopped; being persuaded that he was now tolerably safe.He listened intently, but the stillness was profound and solemn--awful, even, and depressing to the spirits. At wide intervals hisstraining ear did detect sounds, but they were so remote, andhollow, and mysterious, that they seemed not to be real sounds,but only the moaning and complaining ghosts of departed ones. Sothe sounds were yet more dreary than the silence which theyinterrupted.It was his purpose, in the beginning, to stay where he was therest of the day; but a chill soon invaded his perspiring body, andhe was at last obliged to resume movement in order to get warm.He struck straight through the forest, hoping to pierce to a roadpresently, but he was disappointed in this. He travelled on andon; but the farther he went, the denser the wood became,apparently. The gloom began to thicken, by-and-by, and the Kingrealised that the night was coming on. It made him shudder tothink of spending it in such an uncanny place; so he tried tohurry faster, but he only made the less speed, for he could notnow see well enough to choose his steps judiciously; consequentlyhe kept tripping over roots and tangling himself in vines andbriers.And how glad he was when at last he caught the glimmer of a light!He approached it warily, stopping often to look about him andlisten. It came from an unglazed window-opening in a shabbylittle hut. He heard a voice, now, and felt a disposition to runand hide; but he changed his mind at once, for this voice waspraying, evidently. He glided to the one window of the hut,raised himself on tiptoe, and stole a glance within. The room wassmall; its floor was the natural earth, beaten hard by use; in acorner was a bed of rushes and a ragged blanket or two; near itwas a pail, a cup, a basin, and two or three pots and pans; therewas a short bench and a three-legged stool; on the hearth theremains of a faggot fire were smouldering; before a shrine, whichwas lighted by a single candle, knelt an aged man, and on an oldwooden box at his side lay an open book and a human skull. Theman was of large, bony frame; his hair and whiskers were very longand snowy white; he was clothed in a robe of sheepskins whichreached from his neck to his heels."A holy hermit!" said the King to himself; "now am I indeedfortunate."The hermit rose from his knees; the King knocked. A deep voiceresponded--"Enter!--but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shaltstand is holy!"The King entered, and paused. The hermit turned a pair ofgleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said--"Who art thou?""I am the King," came the answer, with placid simplicity."Welcome, King!" cried the hermit, with enthusiasm. Then,bustling about with feverish activity, and constantly saying,"Welcome, welcome," he arranged his bench, seated the King on it,by the hearth, threw some faggots on the fire, and finally fell topacing the floor with a nervous stride."Welcome! Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were notworthy, and were turned away. But a King who casts his crownaway, and despises the vain splendours of his office, and clotheshis body in rags, to devote his life to holiness and themortification of the flesh--he is worthy, he is welcome!--hereshall he abide all his days till death come." The King hastenedto interrupt and explain, but the hermit paid no attention to him--did not even hear him, apparently, but went right on with histalk, with a raised voice and a growing energy. "And thou shaltbe at peace here. None shall find out thy refuge to disquiet theewith supplications to return to that empty and foolish life whichGod hath moved thee to abandon. Thou shalt pray here; thou shaltstudy the Book; thou shalt meditate upon the follies and delusionsof this world, and upon the sublimities of the world to come; thoushalt feed upon crusts and herbs, and scourge thy body with whips,daily, to the purifying of thy soul. Thou shalt wear a hair shirtnext thy skin; thou shalt drink water only; and thou shalt be atpeace; yes, wholly at peace; for whoso comes to seek thee shall gohis way again, baffled; he shall not find thee, he shall notmolest thee."The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud,and began to mutter. The King seized this opportunity to statehis case; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasinessand apprehension. But the hermit went on muttering, and gave noheed. And still muttering, he approached the King and saidimpressively--"'Sh! I will tell you a secret!" He bent down to impart it, butchecked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. After a momentor 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 King's, and whispered--"I am an archangel!"The King started violently, and said to himself, "Would God I werewith the outlaws again; for lo, now am I the prisoner of amadman!" His apprehensions were heightened, and they showedplainly in his face. In a low excited voice the hermit continued--"I see you feel my atmosphere! There's awe in your face! Nonemay be in this atmosphere and not be thus affected; for it is thevery atmosphere of heaven. I go thither and return, in thetwinkling of an eye. I was made an archangel on this very spot,it is five years ago, by angels sent from heaven to confer thatawful dignity. Their presence filled this place with anintolerable brightness. And they knelt to me, King! yes, theyknelt to me! for I was greater than they. I have walked in thecourts of heaven, and held speech with the patriarchs. Touch myhand--be not afraid--touch it. There--now thou hast touched ahand which has been clasped by Abraham and Isaac and Jacob! For Ihave walked in the golden courts; I have seen the Deity face toface!" He paused, to give this speech effect; then his facesuddenly changed, and he started to his feet again saying, withangry energy, "Yes, I am an archangel; a mere archangel!--I thatmight have been pope! It is verily true. I was told it fromheaven in a dream, twenty years ago; ah, yes, I was to be pope!--and I should have been pope, for Heaven had said it--but the Kingdissolved my religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended monk,was cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty destiny!"Here he began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in futilerage, with his fist; now and then articulating a venomous curse,and now and then a pathetic "Wherefore I am nought but anarchangel--I that should have been pope!"So he went on, for an hour, whilst the poor little King sat andsuffered. Then all at once the old man's frenzy departed, and hebecame all gentleness. His voice softened, he came down out ofhis clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so humanly,that he soon won the King's heart completely. The old devoteemoved the boy nearer to the fire and made him comfortable;doctored his small bruises and abrasions with a deft and tenderhand; and then set about preparing and cooking a supper--chattingpleasantly all the time, and occasionally stroking the lad's cheekor patting his head, in such a gently caressing way that in alittle while all the fear and repulsion inspired by the archangelwere 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 tobed, in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly andlovingly as a mother might; and so, with a parting caress, lefthim and sat down by the fire, and began to poke the brands aboutin an absent and aimless way. Presently he paused; then tappedhis forehead several times with his fingers, as if trying torecall some thought which had escaped from his mind. Apparentlyhe was unsuccessful. Now he started quickly up, and entered hisguest's room, and said--"Thou art King?""Yes," was the response, drowsily uttered."What King?""Of England.""Of England? Then Henry is gone!""Alack, it is so. I am his son."A black frown settled down upon the hermit's face, and he clenchedhis bony hands with a vindictive energy. He stood a few moments,breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a huskyvoice--"Dost know it was he that turned us out into the world houselessand homeless?"There was no response. The old man bent down and scanned theboy's reposeful face and listened to his placid breathing. "Hesleeps--sleeps soundly;" and the frown vanished away and gaveplace to an expression of evil satisfaction. A smile flittedacross the dreaming boy's features. The hermit muttered, "So--hisheart is happy;" and he turned away. He went stealthily about theplace, seeking here and there for something; now and then haltingto listen, now and then jerking his head around and casting aquick glance toward the bed; and always muttering, always mumblingto himself. At last he found what he seemed to want--a rusty oldbutcher knife and a whetstone. Then he crept to his place by thefire, sat himself down, and began to whet the knife softly on thestone, still muttering, mumbling, ejaculating. The winds sighedaround the lonely place, the mysterious voices of the nightfloated by out of the distances. The shining eyes of venturesomemice and rats peered out at the old man from cracks and coverts,but he went on with his work, rapt, absorbed, and noted none ofthese things.At long intervals he drew his thumb along the edge of his knife,and nodded his head with satisfaction. "It grows sharper," hesaid; "yes, it grows sharper."He took no note of the flight of time, but worked tranquilly on,entertaining himself with his thoughts, which broke outoccasionally in articulate speech--"His father wrought us evil, he destroyed us--and is gone downinto the eternal fires! Yes, down into the eternal fires! Heescaped us--but it was God's will, yes it was God's will, we mustnot repine. But he hath not escaped the fires! No, he hath notescaped the fires, the consuming, unpitying, remorseless fires--and they are everlasting!"And so he wrought, and still wrought--mumbling, chuckling a lowrasping chuckle at times--and at times breaking again into words--"It was his father that did it all. I am but an archangel; butfor him I should be pope!"The King stirred. The hermit sprang noiselessly to the bedside,and went down upon his knees, bending over the prostrate form withhis knife uplifted. The boy stirred again; his eyes came open foran instant, but there was no speculation in them, they sawnothing; the next moment his tranquil breathing showed that hissleep was sound once more.The hermit watched and listened, for a time, keeping his positionand scarcely breathing; then he slowly lowered his arms, andpresently crept away, saying,--"It is long past midnight; it is not best that he should cry out,lest by accident someone be passing."He glided about his hovel, gathering a rag here, a thong there,and another one yonder; then he returned, and by careful andgentle handling he managed to tie the King's ankles togetherwithout waking him. Next he essayed to tie the wrists; he madeseveral attempts to cross them, but the boy always drew one handor the other away, just as the cord was ready to be applied; butat last, when the archangel was almost ready to despair, the boycrossed his hands himself, and the next moment they were bound.Now a bandage was passed under the sleeper's chin and brought upover his head and tied fast--and so softly, so gradually, and sodeftly were the knots drawn together and compacted, that the boyslept peacefully through it all without stirring.