The Prince and the Pauper
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?”