Produced by David Widger. The earliest PG edition was prepared by Les Bowler 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. Â It may be history, it may be only a legend, a tradition. It may have happened, it may not have happened: Â but it COULD have happened. Â 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. Tomâs early life. III.Â Â Tomâs meeting with the Prince. IV. The Princeâs troubles begin. V. Tom as a patrician. VI. Tom receives instructions. VII.Â Â Tomâs first royal dinner. VIII.Â Â 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.Â Â The disappearance of the Prince. XIV. âLe Roi est mort--vive le Roi.â XV. Tom as King. XVI. The state dinner. XVII.Â Â Foo-foo the First. XVIII.Â Â 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.Â Â The Prince a prisoner. XXIV. The escape. XXV. Hendon Hall. XXVI. Disowned. XXVII. In prison. XXVIII.Â Â The sacrifice. XXIX. To London. XXX. Tomâs progress. XXXI. The Recognition procession. XXXII. Coronation Day. XXXIII. Edward as King. CONCLUSION. Â Justice and Retribution. Â Notes. ILLUSTRATIONS THE GREAT SEAL (frontispiece) THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER âSPLENDID PAGEANTS AND GREAT BONFIRESâ TOMâS EARLY LIFE OFFAL COURT âWITH ANY MISERABLE CRUSTâ âHE OFTEN READ THE PRIESTâS BOOKSâ âSAW POOR ANNE ASKEW BURNEDâ âBROUGHT THEIR PERPLEXITIES TO TOMâ âLONGING FOR THE PORK-PIESâ TOMâS MEETING WITH THE PRINCE âAT TEMPLE BARâ âLET HIM INâ âHOW OLD BE THESE âDOFF THY RAGS, AND DON THESE SPLENDORSâ Â âI SALUTE YOUR GRACIOUS HIGHNESS!â THE PRINCEâS TROUBLES BEGIN âSET UPON BY DOGSâ âA DRUNKEN RUFFIAN COLLARED HIMâ TOM AS A PATRICIAN âNEXT HE DREW THE SWORDâ âRESOLVED TO FLYâ âTHE BOY WAS ON HIS KNEESâ âNOBLES WALKED UPON EACH SIDE OF HIMâ âHE DROPPED UPON HIS KNEESâ âHE TURNED WITH JOYFUL FACEâ âTHE PHYSICIAN BOWED LOWâ âTHE KING FELL BACK UPON HIS COUCHâ âIS THIS MAN TO LIVE FOREVER?â TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS âPRITHEE, INSIST NOTâ âTHE LORD ST. JOHN MADE REVERENCEâ HERTFORD AND THE PRINCESSES âSHE MADE REVERENCEâ âOFFERED IT TO HIM ON A GOLDEN SALVERâ âTHEY MUSED A WHILEâ âPEACE MY LORD, THOU UTTEREST TREASON!â âHE BEGAN TO PACE THE FLOORâ TOMâS FIRST ROYAL DINNER âFASTENED A NAPKIN ABOUT HIS NECKâ âTOM ATE WITH HIS FINGERSâ âHE GRAVELY TOOK A DRAUGHTâ âTOM PUT ON THE GREAVESâ THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL âEASED HIM BACK UPON HIS PILLOWSâ THE RIVER PAGEANT âHALBERDIERS APPEARED IN THE GATEWAYâ âTOM CANTY STEPPED INTO VIEWâ THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS âA DIM FORM SANK TO THE GROUNDâ âWHO ART THOU?â âINTO GOOD WIFE CANTYâS ARMSâ âBENT HEEDFULLY AND WARILY OVER HIMâ âTHE PRINCE SPRANG UPâ âHURRIED HIM ALONG THE DARK WAYâ âHE WASTE NO TIMEâ AT GUILDHALL âA RICH CANOPY OF STATEâ âBEGAN TO LAY ABOUT HIMâ âLONG LIVE THE KING!â THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER âOUR FRIENDS THREADED THEIR WAYâ âOBJECT LESSONSâ IN ENGLISH HISTORY âJOHN CANTY MOVED OFFâ âSMOOTHING BACK THE TANGLED CURLSâ âPRITHEE, POUR THE WATERâ âGO ON--TELL ME THY STORY âTHOU HAST BEEN SHAMEFULLY ABUSEDâ âHE DROPPED ON ONE KNEEâ âRISE, SIR MILES HENDON, BARONETâ THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PRINCE âHE DROPPED ASLEEPâ âTHESE BE VERY GOOD AND SOUNDâ âEXPLAIN, THOU LIMB OF SATANâ âHENDON FOLLOWED AFTER HIMâ âLE ROI EST MORT-VIVE LE ROIâ âWILT DEIGN TO DELIVER THY COMMANDS?â âLORD OF THE BEDCHAMBERâ âA SECRETARY OF STATEâ âSTOOD AT GRACEFUL EASEâ ââTIS I THAT TAKE THEMâ âBUT TAX YOUR MEMORYâ TOM AS KING âTOM HAD WANDERED TO A WINDOWâ âTOM SCANNED THE PRISONERSâ âLET THE PRISONER GO FREE!â âWHAT IS IT THAT THESE HAVE DONE?â âNODDED THEIR RECOGNITIONâ THE STATE DINNER âA GENTLEMAN BEARING A RODâ âTHE CHANCELLOR BETWEEN TWOâ âI THANK YOU MY GOOD PEOPLEâ âIN THE MIDST OF HIS PAGEANTâ FOO-FOO THE FIRST âRUFFIAN FOLLOWED THEIR STEPSâ âHE SEIZED A BILLET OF WOODâ âHE WAS SOON ABSORBED IN THINKINGâ âA GRIM AND UNSIGHTLY PICTUREâ âTHEY ROARED OUT A ROLLICKING DITTYâ âWHILST THE FLAMES LICKED UPWARDSâ âTHEY WERE WHIPPED AT THE CARTâS TAILâ âTHOU SHALT NOTâ âKNOCKING HOBBS DOWNâ âTHRONE HIMâ THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS âTROOP OF VAGABONDS SET FORWARDâ âTHEY THREW BONES AND VEGETABLES âWRITHE AND WALLOW IN THE DIRTâ âKING FLED IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTIONâ âHE STUMBLED ALONGâ âWHAT SEEMED TO BE A WARM ROPEâ âCUDDLED UP TO THE CALFâ THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS âTOOK A GOOD SATISFYING STAREâ âMOTHER RECEIVED THE KING KINDLYâ âBROUGHT THE KING OUT OF HIS DREAMSâ âGAVE HIM A BUTCHER KNIFE TO GRINDâ THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT âHE TURNED AND DESCRIED TWO FIGURESâ âTHE KING ENTERED AND PAUSEDâ âI WILL TELL YOU A SECRETâ âCHATTING PLEASANTLY ALL THE TIMEâ âDREW HIS THUMB ALONG THE EDGEâ âTHE NEXT MOMENT THEY WERE BOUNDâ HENDON TO THE RESCUE âSUNK UPON HIS KNEESâ âGOD MADE EVERY CREATURE BUT YOU!â âTHE FETTERED LITTLE KINGâ A VICTIM OF TREACHERY âHUGO STOOD NO CHANCEâ âBOUND THE POULTICE TIGHT AND FASTâ âTARRY HERE TILL I COME AGAIN âKING SPRANG TO HIS DELIVERERâS SIDEâ THE PRINCE A PRISONER âGENTLY, GOOD FRIENDâ âSHE SPRANG TO HER FEETâ THE ESCAPE âTHE PIG MAY COST THY NECK, MANâ âBEAR ME UP, BEAR ME UP, SWEET SIR!â HENDON HALL âJOGGING EASTWARD ON SORRY STEEDSâ âTHERE IS THE VILLAGE, MY PRINCE!â ââEMBRACE ME, HUGH,â HE CRIEDâ âHUGH PUT UP HIS HAND IN DISSENTâ âA BEAUTIFUL LADY, RICHLY CLOTHEDâ âHUGH WAS PINNED TO THE WALLâ DISOWNED âOBEY, AND HAVE NO FEARâ âAM I MILES HENDON?â IN PRISON âCHAINED IN A LARGE ROOMâ âTHE OLD MAN LOOKED HENDON OVERâ âINFORMATION DELIVERED IN A LOW VOICEâ âTHE KING!â HE CRIED. âWHAT KING?â âTWO WOMEN CHAINED TO POSTSâ âTORN AWAY BY THE OFFICERSâ âTHE KING WAS FURIOUSâ THE SACRIFICE âHE CONFRONTED THE OFFICER IN CHARGEâ âWHILE THE LASH WAS APPLIEDâ âSIR HUGH SPURRED AWAYâ TO LONDON âMOUNTED AND RODE OFF WITH THE KINGâ âMIDST OF A JAM OF HOWLING PEOPLEâ TOMâS PROGRESS âTO KISS HIS HAND AT PARTINGâ âCOMMANDED HER TO GO TO HER CLOSETâ THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION THE START FOR THE TOWER âWELCOME, O KING!â âA LARGESS! A LARGESS!â âSHE WAS AT HIS SIDEâ âIT IS AN ILL TIME FOR DREAMINGâ âSHE WAS MY MOTHERâ CORONATION DAY âGATHERS UP THE LADYâS LONG TRAINâ âTOM CANTY APPEAREDâ âAND FELL ON HIS KNEES BEFORE HIMâ âTHE GREAT SEAL--FETCH IT HITHERâ âSIRE, THE SEAL IS NOT THEREâ âBETHINK THEE, MY KINGâ âLONG LIVE THE TRUE KING!â âTO CRACK NUTS WITHâ EDWARD AS KING âHE STRETCHED HIMSELF ON THE GROUNDâ âARRESTED AS A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTERâ âIT IS HIS RIGHTâ âSTRIP THIS ROBBERâ âTOM ROSE AND KISSED THE KINGâS HANDâ 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. Â 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. Â 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. Â 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. Â By day, London was a sight to see, with gay banners waving from every balcony and housetop, and splendid pageants marching along. Â 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. Â 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. Â 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. Tomâs 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. Â The streets were very narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge. Â The houses were of wood, with the second story projecting over the first, and the third sticking its elbows out beyond the second. Â The higher the houses grew, the broader they grew. Â They were skeletons of strong criss-cross beams, with solid material between, coated with plaster. Â The beams were painted red or blue or black, according to the ownerâs taste, and this gave the houses a very picturesque look. Â The windows were small, glazed with little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened outward, on hinges, like doors. The house which Tomâs father lived in was up a foul little pocket called Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane. Â It was small, decayed, and rickety, but it was packed full of wretchedly poor families. Cantyâs tribe occupied a room on the third floor. Â 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. Â 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. Â They were good-hearted girls, unclean, clothed in rags, and profoundly ignorant. Â Their mother was like them. Â But the father and the grandmother were a couple of fiends. Â 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. Â They made beggars of the children, but failed to make thieves of them. Â 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 Cantyâs house. Drunkenness, riot and brawling were the order, there, every night and nearly all night long. Â Broken heads were as common as hunger in that place. Â Yet little Tom was not unhappy. Â He had a hard time of it, but did not know it. Â It was the sort of time that all the Offal Court boys had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and comfortable thing. Â 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, Tomâs life went along well enough, especially in summer. Â 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 Andrewâs charming old tales and legends about giants and fairies, dwarfs and genii, and enchanted castles, and gorgeous kings and princes. Â 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. Â One desire came in time to haunt him day and night: Â it was to see a real prince, with his own eyes. Â 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 priestâs old books and got him to explain and enlarge upon them. Â His dreamings and readings worked certain changes in him, by-and-by. Â 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. Â 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 summerâs 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, Tomâs life was varied and pleasant enough, on the whole. By-and-by Tomâs 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. Â But Tomâs 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. Â He seemed to know so much! and he could do and say such marvellous things! and withal, he was so deep and wise! Â Tomâs remarks, and Tomâs 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. Â Full-grown people brought their perplexities to Tom for solution, and were often astonished at the wit and wisdom of his decisions. Â 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! Â He was the prince; his special comrades were guards, chamberlains, equerries, lords and ladies in waiting, and the royal family. Â 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. Â 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. Â 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. Â 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. Â Then came bitterness, and heart-break, and tears. CHAPTER III. Tomâs meeting with the Prince. Tom got up hungry, and sauntered hungry away, but with his thoughts busy with the shadowy splendours of his nightâs dreams. He wandered here and there in the city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what was happening around him. Â People jostled him, and some gave him rough speech; but it was all lost on the musing boy. Â By-and-by he found himself at Temple Bar, the farthest from home he had ever travelled in that direction. Â He stopped and considered a moment, then fell into his imaginings again, and passed on outside the walls of London. Â 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 cardinalâs 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. Â Was the desire of his soul to be satisfied at last? Â Here, indeed, was a kingâs palace. Â 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. Â At a respectful distance were many country folk, and people from the city, waiting for any chance glimpse of royalty that might offer. Â 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. Â 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. Â Several gorgeous gentlemen stood near--his servants, without a doubt. Â 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-boyâs heart was answered at last. Tomâs breath came quick and short with excitement, and his eyes grew big with wonder and delight. Â Everything gave way in his mind instantly to one desire: Â that was to get close to the prince, and have a good, devouring look at him. Â Before he knew what he was about, he had his face against the gate-bars. Â 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. Â The soldier said,-- âMind thy manners, thou young beggar!â 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,-- âHow darâst thou use a poor lad like that? Â How darâst thou use the King my fatherâs meanest subject so? Â Open the gates, and let him in!â You should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their hats then. You should have heard them cheer, and shout, âLong live the Prince of Wales!â 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-- âThou lookest tired and hungry: Â thouâst been treated ill. Â Come with me.â Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to--I donât know what; interfere, no doubt. Â But they were waved aside with a right royal gesture, and they stopped stock still where they were, like so many statues. Â Edward took Tom to a rich apartment in the palace, which he called his cabinet. Â By his command a repast was brought such as Tom had never encountered before except in books. Â 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. âWhat is thy name, lad?â âTom Canty, anâ it please thee, sir.â ââTis an odd one. Â Where dost live?â âIn the city, please thee, sir. Â Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane.â âOffal Court! Â Truly âtis another odd one. Â Hast parents?â âParents 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.â âThen is thy grand-dam not over kind to thee, I take it?â âNeither to any other is she, so please your worship. Â She hath a wicked heart, and worketh evil all her days.â âDoth she mistreat thee?â âThere 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.â A fierce look came into the little princeâs eyes, and he cried out-- âWhat! Â Beatings?â âOh, indeed, yes, please you, sir.â â_Beatings_!--and thou so frail and little. Â Hark ye: Â before the night come, she shall hie her to the Tower. Â The King my fatherâ-- âIn sooth, you forget, sir, her low degree. Â The Tower is for the great alone.â âTrue, indeed. Â I had not thought of that. Â I will consider of her punishment. Â Is thy father kind to thee?â âNot more than Gammer Canty, sir.â âFathers be alike, mayhap. Â Mine hath not a dollâs temper. Â He smiteth with a heavy hand, yet spareth me: Â he spareth me not always with his tongue, though, sooth to say. Â How doth thy mother use thee?â âShe is good, sir, and giveth me neither sorrow nor pain of any sort. And Nan and Bet are like to her in this.â âHow old be these?â âFifteen, anâ it please you, sir.â âThe 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: Â do thy sisters forbid their servants to smile, lest the sin destroy their souls?â âThey? Â Oh, dost think, sir, that _they_ have servants?â The little prince contemplated the little pauper gravely a moment, then said-- âAnd prithee, why not? Â Who helpeth them undress at night? Â Who attireth them when they rise?â âNone, sir. Â Wouldâst have them take off their garment, and sleep without--like the beasts?â âTheir garment! Â Have they but one?â âAh, good your worship, what would they do with more? Â Truly they have not two bodies each.â âIt is a quaint and marvellous thought! Â Thy pardon, I had not meant to laugh. Â But thy good Nan and thy Bet shall have raiment and lackeys enow, and that soon, too: Â my cofferer shall look to it. Â No, thank me not; âtis nothing. Â Thou speakest well; thou hast an easy grace in it. Â Art learned?â âI know not if I am or not, sir. Â The good priest that is called Father Andrew taught me, of his kindness, from his books.â âKnowâst thou the Latin?â âBut scantly, sir, I doubt.â âLearn it, lad: âtis hard only at first. Â The Greek is harder; but neither these nor any tongues else, I think, are hard to the Lady Elizabeth and my cousin. Â Thou shouldâst hear those damsels at it! Â But tell me of thy Offal Court. Â Hast thou a pleasant life there?â âIn 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 âtis so fine to see, and costeth but a farthing--albeit âtis main hard to get the farthing, please your worship.â âTell me more.â âWe lads of Offal Court do strive against each other with the cudgel, like to the fashion of the âprentices, sometimes.â The princeâs eyes flashed. Â Said he-- âMarry, that would not I mislike. Â Tell me more.â âWe strive in races, sir, to see who of us shall be fleetest.â âThat would I like also. Â Speak on.â âIn 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--â ââTwould be worth my fatherâs kingdom but to enjoy it once! Prithee go on.â âWe 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 worshipâs presence.â âOh, prithee, say no more, âtis glorious! Â 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!â âAnd if that I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art clad--just once--â âOho, wouldâst like it? Â Then so shall it be. Â Doff thy rags, and don these splendours, lad! Â It is a brief happiness, but will be not less keen for that. Â We will have it while we may, and change again before any come to molest.â A few minutes later the little Prince of Wales was garlanded with Tomâs fluttering odds and ends, and the little Prince of Pauperdom was tricked out in the gaudy plumage of royalty. Â 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! Â They stared at each other, then at the glass, then at each other again. Â At last the puzzled princeling said-- âWhat dost thou make of this?â âAh, good your worship, require me not to answer. Â It is not meet that one of my degree should utter the thing.â âThen will _I_ utter it. Â 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. Â Fared we forth naked, there is none could say which was you, and which the Prince of Wales. Â 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?â âYes; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the poor man-at-arms--â âPeace! Â It was a shameful thing and a cruel!â cried the little prince, stamping his bare foot. âIf the King--Stir not a step till I come again! It is a command!â 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. Â As soon as he reached the great gate, he seized the bars, and tried to shake them, shouting-- âOpen! Â Unbar the gates!â 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-- âTake that, thou beggarâs spawn, for what thou gotâst me from his Highness!â The crowd roared with laughter. Â The prince picked himself out of the mud, and made fiercely at the sentry, shouting-- âI am the Prince of Wales, my person is sacred; and thou shalt hang for laying thy hand upon me!â The soldier brought his halberd to a present-arms and said mockingly-- âI salute your gracious Highness.â Â Then angrily--âBe off, thou crazy rubbish!â Here the jeering crowd closed round the poor little prince, and hustled him far down the road, hooting him, and shouting-- âWay for his Royal Highness! Â Way for the Prince of Wales!â CHAPTER IV. The Princeâs troubles begin. After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself. Â 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. Â He was within the city of London--that was all he knew. Â He moved on, aimlessly, and in a little while the houses thinned, and the passers-by were infrequent. Â 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. Â He recognised this church. Â Scaffoldings were about, everywhere, and swarms of workmen; for it was undergoing elaborate repairs. Â The prince took heart at once--he felt that his troubles were at an end, now. Â He said to himself, âIt is the ancient Grey Friarsâ 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 Christâs Church. Â 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.â 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. Â They were all dressed alike, and in the fashion which in that day prevailed among serving-men and âprentices{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-- âGood lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales desireth speech with him.â A great shout went up at this, and one rude fellow said-- âMarry, art thou his graceâs messenger, beggar?â The princeâs face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. Â There was a storm of laughter, and one boy said-- âDidst mark that? Â He fancied he had a sword--belike he is the prince himself.â This sally brought more laughter. Â Poor Edward drew himself up proudly and said-- âI am the prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the king my fatherâs bounty to use me so.â This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified. Â The youth who had first spoken, shouted to his comrades-- âHo, swine, slaves, pensioners of his graceâs princely father, where be your manners? Â Down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do reverence to his kingly port and royal rags!â With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees in a body and did mock homage to their prey. Â The prince spurned the nearest boy with his foot, and said fiercely-- âTake thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee a gibbet!â Ah, but this was not a joke--this was going beyond fun. Â The laughter ceased on the instant, and fury took its place. Â A dozen shouted-- âHale him forth! Â To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond! Â Where be the dogs? Â Ho, there, Lion! ho, Fangs!â 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. Â His body was bruised, his hands were bleeding, and his rags were all besmirched with mud. Â 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. Â He had ceased to ask questions of anyone, since they brought him only insult instead of information. Â He kept muttering to himself, âOffal 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.â Â And now and then his mind reverted to his treatment by those rude Christâs Hospital boys, and he said, âWhen 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. Â I will keep this diligently in my remembrance, that this dayâs lesson be not lost upon me, and my people suffer thereby; for learning softeneth the heart and breedeth gentleness and charity.â {1} The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and a raw and gusty night set in. Â 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-- âOut to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing home, I warrant me! Â If it be so, anâ I do not break all the bones in thy lean body, then am I not John Canty, but some other.â The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his profaned shoulder, and eagerly said-- âOh, art _his_ father, truly? Â Sweet heaven grant it be so--then wilt thou fetch him away and restore me!â â_His_ father? Â I know not what thou meanâst; I but know I am _thy_ father, as thou shalt soon have cause to--â âOh, jest not, palter not, delay not!--I am worn, I am wounded, I can bear no more. Â Take me to the king my father, and he will make thee rich beyond thy wildest dreams. Â Believe me, man, believe me!--I speak no lie, but only the truth!--put forth thy hand and save me! Â I am indeed the Prince of Wales!â The man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head and muttered-- âGone stark mad as any Tom oâ Bedlam!â--then collared him once more, and said with a coarse laugh and an oath, âBut mad or no mad, I and thy Gammer Canty will soon find where the soft places in thy bones lie, or Iâm no true man!â 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 princeâs cabinet, made good use of his opportunity. Â He turned himself this way and that before the great mirror, admiring his finery; then walked away, imitating the princeâs high-bred carriage, and still observing results in the glass. Â 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. Â 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. Â 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 princeâs clothes, and the prince not there to explain. Â Might they not hang him at once, and inquire into his case afterward? Â He had heard that the great were prompt about small matters. Â 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. Â Six gorgeous gentlemen-servants and two young pages of high degree, clothed like butterflies, sprang to their feet and bowed low before him. Â He stepped quickly back and shut the door. Â He said-- âOh, they mock at me! Â They will go and tell. Â Oh! why came I here to cast away my life?â He walked up and down the floor, filled with nameless fears, listening, starting at every trifling sound. Â Presently the door swung open, and a silken page said-- âThe Lady Jane Grey.â The door closed and a sweet young girl, richly clad, bounded toward him. But she stopped suddenly, and said in a distressed voice-- âOh, what aileth thee, my lord?â Tomâs breath was nearly failing him; but he made shift to stammer out-- âAh, be merciful, thou! Â In sooth I am no lord, but only poor Tom Canty of Offal Court in the city. Â Prithee let me see the prince, and he will of his grace restore to me my rags, and let me hence unhurt. Â Oh, be thou merciful, and save me!â By this time the boy was on his knees, and supplicating with his eyes and uplifted hands as well as with his tongue. Â The young girl seemed horror-stricken. Â She cried out-- âO my lord, on thy knees?--and to _me_!â Then she fled away in fright; and Tom, smitten with despair, sank down, murmuring-- âThere is no help, there is no hope. Â Now will they come and take me.â Whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful tidings were speeding through the palace. Â 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, âThe prince hath gone mad, the prince hath gone mad!â Â 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-- âIN 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. Â In the name of the King!â The whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers had been stricken dumb. Soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of âThe prince! See, the prince comes!â 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. Â 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. Â 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. Â His large head was very grey; and his whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame, were grey also. Â His clothing was of rich stuff, but old, and slightly frayed in places. Â One of his swollen legs had a pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages. Â There was silence now; and there was no head there but was bent in reverence, except this manâs. Â This stern-countenanced invalid was the dread Henry VIII. Â He said--and his face grew gentle as he began to speak-- âHow now, my lord Edward, my prince? Â Hast been minded to cozen me, the good King thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a sorry jest?â Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him, to the beginning of this speech; but when the words âme, the good Kingâ 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-- âThou the _King_? Â Then am I undone indeed!â This speech seemed to stun the King. Â His eyes wandered from face to face aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, upon the boy before him. Â Then he said in a tone of deep disappointment-- âAlack, I had believed the rumour disproportioned to the truth; but I fear me âtis not so.â Â He breathed a heavy sigh, and said in a gentle voice, âCome to thy father, child: Â thou art not well.â Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Majesty of England, humble and trembling. Â 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. Â Presently he said-- âDost not know thy father, child? Â Break not mine old heart; say thou knowâst me. Â Thou _dost_ know me, dost thou not?â âYea: Â thou art my dread lord the King, whom God preserve!â âTrue, 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--isât not so? Â Thou wilt not miscall thyself again, as they say thou didst a little while agone?â âI 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 âtis by a sore mischance and accident I am here, albeit I was therein nothing blameful. Â I am but young to die, and thou canst save me with one little word. Â Oh speak it, sir!â âDie? Â Talk not so, sweet prince--peace, peace, to thy troubled heart--thou shalt not die!â Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry-- âGod requite thy mercy, O my King, and save thee long to bless thy land!â Then springing up, he turned a joyful face toward the two lords in waiting, and exclaimed, âThou heardâst it! Â I am not to die: Â the King hath said it!â Â There was no movement, save that all bowed with grave respect; but no one spoke. Â He hesitated, a little confused, then turned timidly toward the King, saying, âI may go now?â âGo? Â Surely, if thou desirest. Â But why not tarry yet a little? Whither wouldâst go?â Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly-- âPeradventure I mistook; but I did think me free, and so was I moved to seek again the kennel where I was born and bred to misery, yet which harboureth my mother and my sisters, and so is home to me; whereas these pomps and splendours whereunto I am not used--oh, please you, sir, to let me go!â The King was silent and thoughtful a while, and his face betrayed a growing distress and uneasiness. Â Presently he
{'title': 'The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}