Lord St. John, in conversation with the Earl of Hertford, personifies Tom’s “madness”:
“Seemth it not strange that madness could so change his port and manner? [...] Seemth 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?”
St. John is the only person in the castle who suspects Tom might be telling the truth when he says he is not the prince. In discussing the matter, St. John contradicts the King’s edict not to speak about his son’s potential madness, which is perhaps why St. John chooses his words so carefully. Isn’t it “strange,” he says (not “impossible”) that madness could “change” someone so completely who was normal the day before?
St. John asks whether Hertford thinks it possible that “madness” could “filch” (steal) from the prince’s memory entire languages, codes of conduct, and his father’s face. The agency given to Tom’s apparent “madness” is outsized on purpose: St. John doubts mental illness alone could make Tom (as “Edward”) forget almost everything about his life.
Interestingly, St. John does not suggest that “Edward” is playing a trick on them, or lying on purpose for some other reason. The urgency of Tom’s delivery (“It haunteth me, his saying he was not the prince [...]”) also moves St. John to doubt the power of his apparent insanity. When he discusses this with the Earl of Hertford, Hertford objects to St. John’s position, saying that no one sane would ever lie about being a beggar when he could live as a prince. Lord St. John is unique in the narrative in that he can both see past Tom’s royal appearance, and past any prejudice based on wealth, to consider that Tom may be telling the truth about his origins.
After Edward escapes from the band of thieves, he finds shelter in a barn in the countryside. As he lays down to sleep, Edward listens to the world around him, which Twain’s narration personifies:
The night wind was rising [...] [it] went moaning and wailing around corners and projections, but it was all music to the king, now that he was snug and comfortable: let it blow and rage, let it batter and bang, let it moan and wail, he minded it not, he only enjoyed it. [...] The distant dogs wailed, the melancholy kine complained, and the winds went on raging [...] but the Majesty of England slept on, undisturbed [...]
The wind “moans,” “wails,” and “rages,” while Edward remains unaffected. The dogs and “kine” (cattle) both “complain,” but Edward is totally at peace. The personification of these animals and elements of nature invests these non-human forces with power and autonomy, reflecting Edward’s perspective as a child far from home. Edward is totally alone in the world, and discovering much of it for the first time. The forces around him seem greater and more powerful than they are because they are so new to him. Edward has known about the existence of dogs, cows, and wind, but he has never experienced them in the immediate way that he does in the barn, living among them.
The personification in this scene also helps the reader understand just how totally Edward's fortune has reversed, and how much he has changed as a result. Previously, Edward spent his time in a castle, isolated from the world in perfect comfort. His initial brushes with the outside world were frightening and trying. However, at this point in the narrative, Edward has found a way to comfort himself in the unregulated, wild world of his kingdom. Though the wind, the dogs, and the kine may “blow and rage,” he remains calm. His continued tranquility in spite of these forces shows tremendous personal growth and a new adaptability from the young king.
