The Prince and The Pauper E-Book

Mark Twain

• Herausgeber: Andura Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

An unforgettable classic from the legendary and beloved American author, Mark Twain.

Das E-Book wird angeboten von und wurde mit folgenden Begriffen kategorisiert:

Leseprobe

The Prince and The Pauper

By Mark Twain

The Great Seal

I will set down a tale as it was told to me by one who had it of his

father, which latter had it of HIS father, this last having in like

manner had it of HIS father--and so on, back and still back, three

hundred years and more, the fathers transmitting it to the sons and so

preserving it.  It may be history, it may be only a legend, a tradition.

It may have happened, it may not have happened:  but it COULD have

happened.  It may be that the wise and the learned believed it in the

old days; it may be that only the unlearned and the simple loved it and

credited it.

CONTENTS

    I.          The birth of the Prince and the Pauper.

    II.  Tom’s early life.

    III.    Tom’s meeting with the Prince.

    IV.  The Prince’s troubles begin.

    V.          Tom as a patrician.

    VI.  Tom receives instructions.

    VII.    Tom’s first royal dinner.

    VIII.    The question of the Seal.

    IX.  The river pageant.

    X.          The Prince in the toils.

    XI.  At Guildhall.

    XII.  The Prince and his deliverer.

    XIII.    The disappearance of the Prince.

    XIV.  ‘Le Roi est mort--vive le Roi.’

    XV.  Tom as King.

    XVI.  The state dinner.

    XVII.    Foo-foo the First.

    XVIII.    The Prince with the tramps.

    XIX.  The Prince with the peasants.

    XX.  The Prince and the hermit.

    XXI.  Hendon to the rescue.

    XXII.  A victim of treachery.

    XXIII.    The Prince a prisoner.

    XXIV.  The escape.

    XXV.  Hendon Hall.

    XXVI.  Disowned.

    XXVII.  In prison.

    XXVIII.    The sacrifice.

    XXIX.  To London.

    XXX.  Tom’s progress.

    XXXI.  The Recognition procession.

    XXXII.  Coronation Day.

    XXXIII.  Edward as King.

    CONCLUSION.    Justice and Retribution.

       Notes.

CHAPTER I. The birth of the Prince and the Pauper.

In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second

quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the

name of Canty, who did not want him.  On the same day another English

child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him.

All England wanted him too.  England had so longed for him, and hoped

for him, and prayed God for him, that, now that he was really come, the

people went nearly mad for joy.  Mere acquaintances hugged and kissed

each other and cried. Everybody took a holiday, and high and low, rich

and poor, feasted and danced and sang, and got very mellow; and they

kept this up for days and nights together.  By day, London was a sight

to see, with gay banners waving from every balcony and housetop, and

splendid pageants marching along.  By night, it was again a sight

to see, with its great bonfires at every corner, and its troops of

revellers making merry around them.  There was no talk in all England

but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay lapped in

silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss, and not knowing that

great lords and ladies were tending him and watching over him--and not

caring, either.  But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty,

lapped in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had

just come to trouble with his presence.

CHAPTER II. Tom’s early life.

Let us skip a number of years.

London was fifteen hundred years old, and was a great town--for that

day. It had a hundred thousand inhabitants--some think double as many.

 The streets were very narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the

part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge.  The

houses were of wood, with the second story projecting over the first,

and the third sticking its elbows out beyond the second.  The higher

the houses grew, the broader they grew.  They were skeletons of strong

criss-cross beams, with solid material between, coated with plaster.

 The beams were painted red or blue or black, according to the owner’s

taste, and this gave the houses a very picturesque look.  The windows

were small, glazed with little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened

outward, on hinges, like doors.

The house which Tom’s father lived in was up a foul little pocket called

Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane.  It was small, decayed, and rickety,

but it was packed full of wretchedly poor families. Canty’s tribe

occupied a room on the third floor.  The mother and father had a sort of

bedstead in the corner; but Tom, his grandmother, and his two sisters,

Bet and Nan, were not restricted--they had all the floor to themselves,

and might sleep where they chose.  There were the remains of a blanket

or two, and some bundles of ancient and dirty straw, but these could not

rightly be called beds, for they were not organised; they were kicked

into a general pile, mornings, and selections made from the mass at

night, for service.

Bet and Nan were fifteen years old--twins.  They were good-hearted

girls, unclean, clothed in rags, and profoundly ignorant.  Their mother

was like them.  But the father and the grandmother were a couple of

fiends.  They got drunk whenever they could; then they fought each other

or anybody else who came in the way; they cursed and swore always, drunk

or sober; John Canty was a thief, and his mother a beggar.  They made

beggars of the children, but failed to make thieves of them.  Among,

but not of, the dreadful rabble that inhabited the house, was a good old

priest whom the King had turned out of house and home with a pension of

a few farthings, and he used to get the children aside and teach them

right ways secretly. Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin, and

how to read and write; and would have done the same with the girls,

but they were afraid of the jeers of their friends, who could not have

endured such a queer accomplishment in them.

All Offal Court was just such another hive as Canty’s house.

Drunkenness, riot and brawling were the order, there, every night and

nearly all night long.  Broken heads were as common as hunger in that

place.  Yet little Tom was not unhappy.  He had a hard time of it, but

did not know it.  It was the sort of time that all the Offal Court boys

had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and comfortable thing.

 When he came home empty-handed at night, he knew his father would

curse him and thrash him first, and that when he was done the awful

grandmother would do it all over again and improve on it; and that away

in the night his starving mother would slip to him stealthily with any

miserable scrap or crust she had been able to save for him by going

hungry herself, notwithstanding she was often caught in that sort of

treason and soundly beaten for it by her husband.

No, Tom’s life went along well enough, especially in summer.  He only

begged just enough to save himself, for the laws against mendicancy were

stringent, and the penalties heavy; so he put in a good deal of his time

listening to good Father Andrew’s charming old tales and legends

about giants and fairies, dwarfs and genii, and enchanted castles, and

gorgeous kings and princes.  His head grew to be full of these wonderful

things, and many a night as he lay in the dark on his scant and

offensive straw, tired, hungry, and smarting from a thrashing, he

unleashed his imagination and soon forgot his aches and pains in

delicious picturings to himself of the charmed life of a petted prince

in a regal palace.  One desire came in time to haunt him day and night:

 it was to see a real prince, with his own eyes.  He spoke of it once to

some of his Offal Court comrades; but they jeered him and scoffed him so

unmercifully that he was glad to keep his dream to himself after that.

He often read the priest’s old books and got him to explain and enlarge

upon them.  His dreamings and readings worked certain changes in him,

by-and-by.  His dream-people were so fine that he grew to lament his

shabby clothing and his dirt, and to wish to be clean and better clad.

 He went on playing in the mud just the same, and enjoying it, too; but,

instead of splashing around in the Thames solely for the fun of it,

he began to find an added value in it because of the washings and

cleansings it afforded.

Tom could always find something going on around the Maypole in

Cheapside, and at the fairs; and now and then he and the rest of London

had a chance to see a military parade when some famous unfortunate was

carried prisoner to the Tower, by land or boat. One summer’s day he saw

poor Anne Askew and three men burned at the stake in Smithfield, and

heard an ex-Bishop preach a sermon to them which did not interest him.

Yes, Tom’s life was varied and pleasant enough, on the whole.

By-and-by Tom’s reading and dreaming about princely life wrought such a

strong effect upon him that he began to _act_ the prince, unconsciously.

His speech and manners became curiously ceremonious and courtly, to the

vast admiration and amusement of his intimates.  But Tom’s influence

among these young people began to grow now, day by day; and in time he

came to be looked up to, by them, with a sort of wondering awe, as a

superior being.  He seemed to know so much! and he could do and say such

marvellous things! and withal, he was so deep and wise!  Tom’s remarks,

and Tom’s performances, were reported by the boys to their elders; and

these, also, presently began to discuss Tom Canty, and to regard him

as a most gifted and extraordinary creature.  Full-grown people brought

their perplexities to Tom for solution, and were often astonished at the

wit and wisdom of his decisions.  In fact he was become a hero to all

who knew him except his own family--these, only, saw nothing in him.

Privately, after a while, Tom organised a royal court!  He was the

prince; his special comrades were guards, chamberlains, equerries, lords

and ladies in waiting, and the royal family.  Daily the mock prince was

received with elaborate ceremonials borrowed by Tom from his romantic

readings; daily the great affairs of the mimic kingdom were discussed

in the royal council, and daily his mimic highness issued decrees to his

imaginary armies, navies, and viceroyalties.

After which, he would go forth in his rags and beg a few farthings, eat

his poor crust, take his customary cuffs and abuse, and then stretch

himself upon his handful of foul straw, and resume his empty grandeurs

in his dreams.

And still his desire to look just once upon a real prince, in the flesh,

grew upon him, day by day, and week by week, until at last it absorbed

all other desires, and became the one passion of his life.

One January day, on his usual begging tour, he tramped despondently up

and down the region round about Mincing Lane and Little East Cheap, hour

after hour, bare-footed and cold, looking in at cook-shop windows and

longing for the dreadful pork-pies and other deadly inventions displayed

there--for to him these were dainties fit for the angels; that is,

judging by the smell, they were--for it had never been his good luck to

own and eat one. There was a cold drizzle of rain; the atmosphere was

murky; it was a melancholy day.  At night Tom reached home so wet and

tired and hungry that it was not possible for his father and grandmother

to observe his forlorn condition and not be moved--after their fashion;

wherefore they gave him a brisk cuffing at once and sent him to bed.

 For a long time his pain and hunger, and the swearing and fighting

going on in the building, kept him awake; but at last his thoughts

drifted away to far, romantic lands, and he fell asleep in the company

of jewelled and gilded princelings who live in vast palaces, and had

servants salaaming before them or flying to execute their orders.  And

then, as usual, he dreamed that _he_ was a princeling himself.

All night long the glories of his royal estate shone upon him; he moved

among great lords and ladies, in a blaze of light, breathing perfumes,

drinking in delicious music, and answering the reverent obeisances of

the glittering throng as it parted to make way for him, with here a

smile, and there a nod of his princely head.

And when he awoke in the morning and looked upon the wretchedness

about him, his dream had had its usual effect--it had intensified the

sordidness of his surroundings a thousandfold.  Then came bitterness,

and heart-break, and tears.

CHAPTER III. Tom’s meeting with the Prince.

Tom got up hungry, and sauntered hungry away, but with his thoughts busy

with the shadowy splendours of his night’s dreams. He wandered here

and there in the city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what

was happening around him.  People jostled him, and some gave him rough

speech; but it was all lost on the musing boy.  By-and-by he found

himself at Temple Bar, the farthest from home he had ever travelled in

that direction.  He stopped and considered a moment, then fell into his

imaginings again, and passed on outside the walls of London.  The Strand

had ceased to be a country-road then, and regarded itself as a street,

but by a strained construction; for, though there was a tolerably

compact row of houses on one side of it, there were only some scattered

great buildings on the other, these being palaces of rich nobles, with

ample and beautiful grounds stretching to the river--grounds that are

now closely packed with grim acres of brick and stone.

Tom discovered Charing Village presently, and rested himself at the

beautiful cross built there by a bereaved king of earlier days; then

idled down a quiet, lovely road, past the great cardinal’s

stately palace, toward a far more mighty and majestic palace

beyond--Westminster. Tom stared in glad wonder at the vast pile of

masonry, the wide-spreading wings, the frowning bastions and turrets,

the huge stone gateway, with its gilded bars and its magnificent array

of colossal granite lions, and other the signs and symbols of English

royalty.  Was the desire of his soul to be satisfied at last?  Here,

indeed, was a king’s palace.  Might he not hope to see a prince now--a

prince of flesh and blood, if Heaven were willing?

At each side of the gilded gate stood a living statue--that is to say,

an erect and stately and motionless man-at-arms, clad from head to heel

in shining steel armour.  At a respectful distance were many country

folk, and people from the city, waiting for any chance glimpse of

royalty that might offer.  Splendid carriages, with splendid people

in them and splendid servants outside, were arriving and departing by

several other noble gateways that pierced the royal enclosure.

Poor little Tom, in his rags, approached, and was moving slowly and

timidly past the sentinels, with a beating heart and a rising hope, when

all at once he caught sight through the golden bars of a spectacle that

almost made him shout for joy.  Within was a comely boy, tanned and

brown with sturdy outdoor sports and exercises, whose clothing was all

of lovely silks and satins, shining with jewels; at his hip a little

jewelled sword and dagger; dainty buskins on his feet, with red heels;

and on his head a jaunty crimson cap, with drooping plumes fastened

with a great sparkling gem.  Several gorgeous gentlemen stood near--his

servants, without a doubt.  Oh! he was a prince--a prince, a living

prince, a real prince--without the shadow of a question; and the prayer

of the pauper-boy’s heart was answered at last.

Tom’s breath came quick and short with excitement, and his eyes grew big

with wonder and delight.  Everything gave way in his mind instantly

to one desire:  that was to get close to the prince, and have a good,

devouring look at him.  Before he knew what he was about, he had his

face against the gate-bars.  The next instant one of the soldiers

snatched him rudely away, and sent him spinning among the gaping crowd

of country gawks and London idlers.  The soldier said,--

“Mind thy manners, thou young beggar!”

The crowd jeered and laughed; but the young prince sprang to the gate

with his face flushed, and his eyes flashing with indignation, and cried

out,--

“How dar’st thou use a poor lad like that?  How dar’st thou use the King

my father’s meanest subject so?  Open the gates, and let him in!”

You should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their hats then.

You should have heard them cheer, and shout, “Long live the Prince of

Wales!”

The soldiers presented arms with their halberds, opened the gates,

and presented again as the little Prince of Poverty passed in, in his

fluttering rags, to join hands with the Prince of Limitless Plenty.

Edward Tudor said--

“Thou lookest tired and hungry:  thou’st been treated ill.  Come with

me.”

Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to--I don’t know what; interfere,

no doubt.  But they were waved aside with a right royal gesture, and

they stopped stock still where they were, like so many statues.  Edward

took Tom to a rich apartment in the palace, which he called his cabinet.

 By his command a repast was brought such as Tom had never encountered

before except in books.  The prince, with princely delicacy and

breeding, sent away the servants, so that his humble guest might not be

embarrassed by their critical presence; then he sat near by, and asked

questions while Tom ate.

“What is thy name, lad?”

“Tom Canty, an’ it please thee, sir.”

“‘Tis an odd one.  Where dost live?”

“In the city, please thee, sir.  Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane.”

“Offal Court!  Truly ’tis another odd one.  Hast parents?”

“Parents have I, sir, and a grand-dam likewise that is but indifferently

precious to me, God forgive me if it be offence to say it--also twin

sisters, Nan and Bet.”

“Then is thy grand-dam not over kind to thee, I take it?”

“Neither to any other is she, so please your worship.  She hath a wicked

heart, and worketh evil all her days.”

“Doth she mistreat thee?”

“There be times that she stayeth her hand, being asleep or overcome with

drink; but when she hath her judgment clear again, she maketh it up to

me with goodly beatings.”

A fierce look came into the little prince’s eyes, and he cried out--

“What!  Beatings?”

“Oh, indeed, yes, please you, sir.”

“_Beatings_!--and thou so frail and little.  Hark ye:  before the night

come, she shall hie her to the Tower.  The King my father”--

“In sooth, you forget, sir, her low degree.  The Tower is for the great

alone.”

“True, indeed.  I had not thought of that.  I will consider of her

punishment.  Is thy father kind to thee?”

“Not more than Gammer Canty, sir.”

“Fathers be alike, mayhap.  Mine hath not a doll’s temper.  He smiteth

with a heavy hand, yet spareth me:  he spareth me not always with his

tongue, though, sooth to say.  How doth thy mother use thee?”

“She is good, sir, and giveth me neither sorrow nor pain of any sort.

And Nan and Bet are like to her in this.”

“How old be these?”

“Fifteen, an’ it please you, sir.”

“The Lady Elizabeth, my sister, is fourteen, and the Lady Jane Grey,

my cousin, is of mine own age, and comely and gracious withal; but

my sister the Lady Mary, with her gloomy mien and--Look you:  do thy

sisters forbid their servants to smile, lest the sin destroy their

souls?”

“They?  Oh, dost think, sir, that _they_ have servants?”

The little prince contemplated the little pauper gravely a moment, then

said--

“And prithee, why not?  Who helpeth them undress at night?  Who attireth

them when they rise?”

“None, sir.  Would’st have them take off their garment, and sleep

without--like the beasts?”

“Their garment!  Have they but one?”

“Ah, good your worship, what would they do with more?  Truly they have

not two bodies each.”

“It is a quaint and marvellous thought!  Thy pardon, I had not meant

to laugh.  But thy good Nan and thy Bet shall have raiment and lackeys

enow, and that soon, too:  my cofferer shall look to it.  No, thank me

not; ’tis nothing.  Thou speakest well; thou hast an easy grace in it.

 Art learned?”

“I know not if I am or not, sir.  The good priest that is called Father

Andrew taught me, of his kindness, from his books.”

“Know’st thou the Latin?”

“But scantly, sir, I doubt.”

“Learn it, lad:  ’tis hard only at first.  The Greek is harder; but

neither these nor any tongues else, I think, are hard to the Lady

Elizabeth and my cousin.  Thou should’st hear those damsels at it!  But

tell me of thy Offal Court.  Hast thou a pleasant life there?”

“In truth, yes, so please you, sir, save when one is hungry. There

be Punch-and-Judy shows, and monkeys--oh such antic creatures! and so

bravely dressed!--and there be plays wherein they that play do shout

and fight till all are slain, and ’tis so fine to see, and costeth but

a farthing--albeit ’tis main hard to get the farthing, please your

worship.”

“Tell me more.”

“We lads of Offal Court do strive against each other with the cudgel,

like to the fashion of the ‘prentices, sometimes.”

The prince’s eyes flashed.  Said he--

“Marry, that would not I mislike.  Tell me more.”

“We strive in races, sir, to see who of us shall be fleetest.”

“That would I like also.  Speak on.”

“In summer, sir, we wade and swim in the canals and in the river, and

each doth duck his neighbour, and splatter him with water, and dive and

shout and tumble and--”

“‘Twould be worth my father’s kingdom but to enjoy it once! Prithee go

on.”

“We dance and sing about the Maypole in Cheapside; we play in the sand,

each covering his neighbour up; and times we make mud pastry--oh

the lovely mud, it hath not its like for delightfulness in all the

world!--we do fairly wallow in the mud, sir, saving your worship’s

presence.”

“Oh, prithee, say no more, ’tis glorious!  If that I could but clothe me

in raiment like to thine, and strip my feet, and revel in the mud once,

just once, with none to rebuke me or forbid, meseemeth I could forego

the crown!”

“And if that I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art clad--just

once--”

“Oho, would’st like it?  Then so shall it be.  Doff thy rags, and don

these splendours, lad!  It is a brief happiness, but will be not less

keen for that.  We will have it while we may, and change again before

any come to molest.”

A few minutes later the little Prince of Wales was garlanded with Tom’s

fluttering odds and ends, and the little Prince of Pauperdom was tricked

out in the gaudy plumage of royalty.  The two went and stood side by

side before a great mirror, and lo, a miracle: there did not seem to

have been any change made!  They stared at each other, then at the

glass, then at each other again.  At last the puzzled princeling said--

“What dost thou make of this?”

“Ah, good your worship, require me not to answer.  It is not meet that

one of my degree should utter the thing.”

“Then will _I_ utter it.  Thou hast the same hair, the same eyes, the

same voice and manner, the same form and stature, the same face and

countenance that I bear.  Fared we forth naked, there is none could

say which was you, and which the Prince of Wales.  And, now that I

am clothed as thou wert clothed, it seemeth I should be able the more

nearly to feel as thou didst when the brute soldier--Hark ye, is not

this a bruise upon your hand?”

“Yes; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the poor

man-at-arms--”

“Peace!  It was a shameful thing and a cruel!” cried the little prince,

stamping his bare foot.  “If the King--Stir not a step till I come

again! It is a command!”

In a moment he had snatched up and put away an article of national

importance that lay upon a table, and was out at the door and flying

through the palace grounds in his bannered rags, with a hot face and

glowing eyes.  As soon as he reached the great gate, he seized the bars,

and tried to shake them, shouting--

“Open!  Unbar the gates!”

The soldier that had maltreated Tom obeyed promptly; and as the prince

burst through the portal, half-smothered with royal wrath, the soldier

fetched him a sounding box on the ear that sent him whirling to the

roadway, and said--

“Take that, thou beggar’s spawn, for what thou got’st me from his

Highness!”

The crowd roared with laughter.  The prince picked himself out of the

mud, and made fiercely at the sentry, shouting--

“I am the Prince of Wales, my person is sacred; and thou shalt hang for

laying thy hand upon me!”

The soldier brought his halberd to a present-arms and said mockingly--

“I salute your gracious Highness.”  Then angrily--“Be off, thou crazy

rubbish!”

Here the jeering crowd closed round the poor little prince, and hustled

him far down the road, hooting him, and shouting--

“Way for his Royal Highness!  Way for the Prince of Wales!”

CHAPTER IV. The Prince’s troubles begin.

After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was

at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself.  As long as he had

been able to rage against the mob, and threaten it royally, and

royally utter commands that were good stuff to laugh at, he was very

entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be silent, he was

no longer of use to his tormentors, and they sought amusement elsewhere.

He looked about him, now, but could not recognise the locality.  He

was within the city of London--that was all he knew.  He moved on,

aimlessly, and in a little while the houses thinned, and the passers-by

were infrequent.  He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook which flowed

then where Farringdon Street now is; rested a few moments, then passed

on, and presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered

houses in it, and a prodigious church.  He recognised this church.

 Scaffoldings were about, everywhere, and swarms of workmen; for it was

undergoing elaborate repairs.  The prince took heart at once--he felt

that his troubles were at an end, now.  He said to himself, “It is the

ancient Grey Friars’ Church, which the king my father hath taken from

the monks and given for a home for ever for poor and forsaken children,

and new-named it Christ’s Church.  Right gladly will they serve the son

of him who hath done so generously by them--and the more that that son

is himself as poor and as forlorn as any that be sheltered here this

day, or ever shall be.”

He was soon in the midst of a crowd of boys who were running, jumping,

playing at ball and leap-frog, and otherwise disporting themselves, and

right noisily, too.  They were all dressed alike, and in the fashion

which in that day prevailed among serving-men and ‘prentices{1}--that

is to say, each had on the crown of his head a flat black cap about the

size of a saucer, which was not useful as a covering, it being of such

scanty dimensions, neither was it ornamental; from beneath it the hair

fell, unparted, to the middle of the forehead, and was cropped straight

around; a clerical band at the neck; a blue gown that fitted closely

and hung as low as the knees or lower; full sleeves; a broad red belt;

bright yellow stockings, gartered above the knees; low shoes with large

metal buckles. It was a sufficiently ugly costume.

The boys stopped their play and flocked about the prince, who said with

native dignity--

“Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales desireth

speech with him.”

A great shout went up at this, and one rude fellow said--

“Marry, art thou his grace’s messenger, beggar?”

The prince’s face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his

hip, but there was nothing there.  There was a storm of laughter, and

one boy said--

“Didst mark that?  He fancied he had a sword--belike he is the prince

himself.”

This sally brought more laughter.  Poor Edward drew himself up proudly

and said--

“I am the prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the king my

father’s bounty to use me so.”

This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified.  The youth who had

first spoken, shouted to his comrades--

“Ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace’s princely father, where be

your manners?  Down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do reverence to

his kingly port and royal rags!”

With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees in a body and did

mock homage to their prey.  The prince spurned the nearest boy with his

foot, and said fiercely--

“Take thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee a gibbet!”

Ah, but this was not a joke--this was going beyond fun.  The laughter

ceased on the instant, and fury took its place.  A dozen shouted--

“Hale him forth!  To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond!  Where be the

dogs?  Ho, there, Lion! ho, Fangs!”

Then followed such a thing as England had never seen before--the sacred

person of the heir to the throne rudely buffeted by plebeian hands, and

set upon and torn by dogs.

As night drew to a close that day, the prince found himself far down in

the close-built portion of the city.  His body was bruised, his hands

were bleeding, and his rags were all besmirched with mud.  He wandered

on and on, and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired and faint

he could hardly drag one foot after the other.  He had ceased to ask

questions of anyone, since they brought him only insult instead of

information.  He kept muttering to himself, “Offal Court--that is the

name; if I can but find it before my strength is wholly spent and I

drop, then am I saved--for his people will take me to the palace and

prove that I am none of theirs, but the true prince, and I shall have

mine own again.”  And now and then his mind reverted to his treatment

by those rude Christ’s Hospital boys, and he said, “When I am king, they

shall not have bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books;

for a full belly is little worth where the mind is starved, and the

heart.  I will keep this diligently in my remembrance, that this day’s

lesson be not lost upon me, and my people suffer thereby; for learning

softeneth the heart and breedeth gentleness and charity.” {1}

The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and a

raw and gusty night set in.  The houseless prince, the homeless heir to

the throne of England, still moved on, drifting deeper into the maze

of squalid alleys where the swarming hives of poverty and misery were

massed together.

Suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said--

“Out to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing home,

I warrant me!  If it be so, an’ I do not break all the bones in thy lean

body, then am I not John Canty, but some other.”

The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his profaned

shoulder, and eagerly said--

“Oh, art _his_ father, truly?  Sweet heaven grant it be so--then wilt

thou fetch him away and restore me!”

“_His_ father?  I know not what thou mean’st; I but know I am _thy_

father, as thou shalt soon have cause to--”

“Oh, jest not, palter not, delay not!--I am worn, I am wounded, I can

bear no more.  Take me to the king my father, and he will make thee rich

beyond thy wildest dreams.  Believe me, man, believe me!--I speak no

lie, but only the truth!--put forth thy hand and save me!  I am indeed

the Prince of Wales!”

The man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head and

muttered--

“Gone stark mad as any Tom o’ Bedlam!”--then collared him once more,

and said with a coarse laugh and an oath, “But mad or no mad, I and thy

Gammer Canty will soon find where the soft places in thy bones lie, or

I’m no true man!”

With this he dragged the frantic and struggling prince away, and

disappeared up a front court followed by a delighted and noisy swarm of

human vermin.

CHAPTER V. Tom as a Patrician.

Tom Canty, left alone in the prince’s cabinet, made good use of his

opportunity.  He turned himself this way and that before the great

mirror, admiring his finery; then walked away, imitating the prince’s

high-bred carriage, and still observing results in the glass.  Next he

drew the beautiful sword, and bowed, kissing the blade, and laying it

across his breast, as he had seen a noble knight do, by way of salute to

the lieutenant of the Tower, five or six weeks before, when delivering

the great lords of Norfolk and Surrey into his hands for captivity.  Tom

played with the jewelled dagger that hung upon his thigh; he examined

the costly and exquisite ornaments of the room; he tried each of the

sumptuous chairs, and thought how proud he would be if the Offal Court

herd could only peep in and see him in his grandeur.  He wondered if

they would believe the marvellous tale he should tell when he got home,

or if they would shake their heads, and say his overtaxed imagination

had at last upset his reason.

At the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him that the prince

was gone a long time; then right away he began to feel lonely; very

soon he fell to listening and longing, and ceased to toy with the

pretty things about him; he grew uneasy, then restless, then distressed.

Suppose some one should come, and catch him in the prince’s clothes, and

the prince not there to explain.  Might they not hang him at once,

and inquire into his case afterward?  He had heard that the great

were prompt about small matters.  His fear rose higher and higher; and

trembling he softly opened the door to the antechamber, resolved to

fly and seek the prince, and, through him, protection and release.  Six

gorgeous gentlemen-servants and two young pages of high degree, clothed

like butterflies, sprang to their feet and bowed low before him.  He

stepped quickly back and shut the door.  He said--

“Oh, they mock at me!  They will go and tell.  Oh! why came I here to

cast away my life?”

He walked up and down the floor, filled with nameless fears, listening,

starting at every trifling sound.  Presently the door swung open, and a

silken page said--

“The Lady Jane Grey.”

The door closed and a sweet young girl, richly clad, bounded toward him.

But she stopped suddenly, and said in a distressed voice--

“Oh, what aileth thee, my lord?”

Tom’s breath was nearly failing him; but he made shift to stammer out--

“Ah, be merciful, thou!  In sooth I am no lord, but only poor Tom Canty

of Offal Court in the city.  Prithee let me see the prince, and he will

of his grace restore to me my rags, and let me hence unhurt.  Oh, be

thou merciful, and save me!”

By this time the boy was on his knees, and supplicating with his eyes

and uplifted hands as well as with his tongue.  The young girl seemed

horror-stricken.  She cried out--

“O my lord, on thy knees?--and to _me_!”

Then she fled away in fright; and Tom, smitten with despair, sank down,

murmuring--

“There is no help, there is no hope.  Now will they come and take me.”

Whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful tidings were speeding

through the palace.  The whisper--for it was whispered always--flew from

menial to menial, from lord to lady, down all the long corridors, from

story to story, from saloon to saloon, “The prince hath gone mad, the

prince hath gone mad!”  Soon every saloon, every marble hall, had its

groups of glittering lords and ladies, and other groups of dazzling

lesser folk, talking earnestly together in whispers, and every face

had in it dismay. Presently a splendid official came marching by these

groups, making solemn proclamation--

“IN THE NAME OF THE KING!

Let none list to this false and foolish matter, upon pain of death, nor

discuss the same, nor carry it abroad.  In the name of the King!”

The whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers had been

stricken dumb.

Soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of “The prince! See,

the prince comes!”

Poor Tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing groups, trying to

bow in return, and meekly gazing upon his strange surroundings with

bewildered and pathetic eyes.  Great nobles walked upon each side of

him, making him lean upon them, and so steady his steps. Behind him

followed the court-physicians and some servants.

Presently Tom found himself in a noble apartment of the palace and heard

the door close behind him.  Around him stood those who had come with

him. Before him, at a little distance, reclined a very large and very

fat man, with a wide, pulpy face, and a stern expression.  His large

head was very grey; and his whiskers, which he wore only around his

face, like a frame, were grey also.  His clothing was of rich stuff,

but old, and slightly frayed in places.  One of his swollen legs had a

pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages.  There was silence now;

and there was no head there but was bent in reverence, except this

man’s.  This stern-countenanced invalid was the dread Henry VIII.  He

said--and his face grew gentle as he began to speak--

“How now, my lord Edward, my prince?  Hast been minded to cozen me, the

good King thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a

sorry jest?”

Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him,

to the beginning of this speech; but when the words ‘me, the good King’

fell upon his ear, his face blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon

his knees as if a shot had brought him there. Lifting up his hands, he

exclaimed--

“Thou the _King_?  Then am I undone indeed!”

This speech seemed to stun the King.  His eyes wandered from face to

face aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, upon the boy before him.  Then

he said in a tone of deep disappointment--

“Alack, I had believed the rumour disproportioned to the truth; but I

fear me ’tis not so.”  He breathed a heavy sigh, and said in a gentle

voice, “Come to thy father, child:  thou art not well.”

Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Majesty of England,

humble and trembling.  The King took the frightened face between his

hands, and gazed earnestly and lovingly into it awhile, as if seeking

some grateful sign of returning reason there, then pressed the curly

head against his breast, and patted it tenderly.  Presently he said--

“Dost not know thy father, child?  Break not mine old heart; say thou

know’st me.  Thou _dost_ know me, dost thou not?”

“Yea:  thou art my dread lord the King, whom God preserve!”

“True, true--that is well--be comforted, tremble not so; there is none

here would hurt thee; there is none here but loves thee. Thou art better

now; thy ill dream passeth--is’t not so?  Thou wilt not miscall thyself

again, as they say thou didst a little while agone?”

“I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak the truth, most

dread lord; for I am the meanest among thy subjects, being a pauper

born, and ’tis by a sore mischance and accident I am here, albeit I was

therein nothing blameful.  I am but young to die, and thou canst save me

with one little word.  Oh speak it, sir!”

“Die?  Talk not so, sweet prince--peace, peace, to thy troubled

heart--thou shalt not die!”

Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry--

“God requite thy mercy, O my King, and save thee long to bless thy

land!” Then springing up, he turned a joyful face toward the two lords

in waiting, and exclaimed, “Thou heard’st it!  I am not to die:  the

King hath said it!”  There was no movement, save that all bowed with

grave respect; but no one spoke.  He hesitated, a little confused, then

turned timidly toward the King, saying, “I may go now?”