The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain (desktop ebook reader TXT) 📖

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