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.

THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER

by Mark Twain

Part 2.

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?"

"Go? Surely, if thou desirest. But why not tarry yet a little? Whither

would'st go?"

Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly--

"Peradventure 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!"

The King was silent and thoughtful a while, and his face betrayed a

growing distress and uneasiness. Presently he said, with something of

hope in his voice--

"Perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and hath his wits unmarred

as toucheth other matter. God send it may be so! We will make trial."

Then he asked Tom a question in Latin, and Tom answered him lamely in the

same tongue. The lords and doctors manifested their gratification also.

The King said--

"'Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but showeth that his

mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally. How say you, sir?"

The physician addressed bowed low, and replied--

"It jumpeth with my own conviction, sire, that thou hast divined aright."

The King looked pleased with this encouragement, coming as it did from so

excellent authority, and continued with good heart--

"Now mark ye all: we will try him further."

He put a question to Tom in French. Tom stood silent a moment,

embarrassed by having so many eyes centred upon him, then said

diffidently--

"I have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your majesty."

The King fell back upon his couch. The attendants flew to his

assistance; but he put them aside, and said--

"Trouble me not--it is nothing but a scurvy faintness. Raise me! There,

'tis sufficient. Come hither, child; there, rest thy poor troubled head

upon thy father's heart, and be at peace. Thou'lt soon be well: 'tis

but a passing fantasy. Fear thou not; thou'lt soon be well." Then he

turned toward the company: his gentle manner changed, and baleful

lightnings began to play from his eyes. He said--

"List ye all! This my son is mad; but it is not permanent. Over-study

hath done this, and somewhat too much of confinement. Away with his

books and teachers! see ye to it. Pleasure him with sports, beguile him

in wholesome ways, so that his health come again." He raised himself

higher still, and went on with energy, "He is mad; but he is my son, and

England's heir; and, mad or sane, still shall he reign! And hear ye

further, and proclaim it: whoso speaketh of this his distemper worketh

against the peace and order of these realms, and shall to the gallows!

. . . Give me to drink--I burn: this sorrow sappeth my strength. . . .

There, take away the cup. . . . Support me. There, that is well. Mad,

is he? Were he a thousand times mad, yet is he Prince of Wales, and I the

King will confirm it. This very morrow shall he be installed in his

princely dignity in due and ancient form. Take instant order for it, my

lord Hertford."

One of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said--

"The King's majesty knoweth that the Hereditary Great Marshal of England

lieth attainted in the Tower. It were not meet that one attainted--"

"Peace! Insult not mine ears with his hated name. Is this man to live

for ever? Am I to be baulked of my will? Is the prince to tarry

uninstalled, because, forsooth, the realm lacketh an Earl Marshal free of

treasonable taint to invest him with his honours? No, by the splendour of

God! Warn my Parliament to bring me Norfolk's doom before the sun rise

again, else shall they answer for it grievously!" {1}

Lord Hertford said--

"The King's will is law;" and, rising, returned to his former place.

Gradually the wrath faded out of the old King's face, and he said--

"Kiss me, my prince. There . . . what fearest thou? Am I not thy loving

father?"

"Thou art good to me that am unworthy, O mighty and gracious lord: that

in truth I know. But--but--it grieveth me to think of him that is to

die, and--"

"Ah, 'tis like thee, 'tis like thee! I know thy heart is still the same,

even though thy mind hath suffered hurt, for thou wert ever of a gentle

spirit. But this duke standeth between thee and thine honours: I will

have another in his stead that shall bring no taint to his great office.

Comfort thee, my prince: trouble not thy poor head with this matter."

"But is it not I that speed him hence, my liege? How long might he not

live, but for me?"

"Take no thought of him, my prince: he is not worthy. Kiss me once

again, and go to thy trifles and amusements; for my malady distresseth

me. I am aweary, and would rest. Go with thine uncle Hertford and thy

people, and come again when my body is refreshed."

Tom, heavy-hearted, was conducted from the presence, for this last

sentence was a death-blow to the hope he had cherished that now he would

be set free. Once more he heard the buzz of low voices exclaiming, "The

prince, the prince comes!"

His spirits sank lower and lower as he moved between the glittering files

of bowing courtiers; for he recognised that he was indeed a captive now,

and might remain for ever shut up in this gilded cage, a forlorn and

friendless prince, except God in his mercy take pity on him and set him

free.

And, turn where he would, he seemed to see floating in the air the

severed head and the remembered face of the great Duke of Norfolk, the

eyes fixed on him reproachfully.

His old dreams had been so pleasant; but this reality was so dreary!

Chapter VI. Tom receives instructions.

Tom was conducted to the principal apartment of a noble suite, and made

to sit down--a thing which he was loth to do, since there were elderly

men and men of high degree about him. He begged them to be seated also,

but they only bowed their thanks or murmured them, and remained standing.

He would have insisted, but his 'uncle' the Earl of Hertford whispered in

his ear--

"Prithee, insist not, my lord; it is not meet that they sit in thy

presence."

The Lord St. John was announced, and after making obeisance to Tom, he

said--

"I come upon the King's errand, concerning a matter which requireth

privacy. Will it please your royal highness to dismiss all that attend

you here, save my lord the Earl of Hertford?"

Observing that Tom did not seem to know how to proceed, Hertford

whispered him to make a sign with his hand, and not trouble himself to

speak unless he chose. When the waiting gentlemen had retired, Lord St.

John said--

"His majesty commandeth, that for due and weighty reasons of state, the

prince's grace shall hide his infirmity in all ways that be within his

power, till it be passed and he be as he was before. To wit, that he

shall deny to none that he is the true prince, and heir to England's

greatness; that he shall uphold his princely dignity, and shall receive,

without word or sign of protest, that reverence and observance which unto

it do appertain of right and ancient usage; that he shall cease to speak

to any of that lowly birth and life his malady hath conjured out of the

unwholesome imaginings of o'er-wrought fancy; that he shall strive with

diligence to bring unto his memory again those faces which he was wont to

know--and where he faileth he shall hold his peace, neither betraying by

semblance of surprise or other sign that he hath forgot; that upon

occasions of state, whensoever any matter shall perplex him as to the

thing he should do or the utterance he should make, he shall show nought

of unrest to the curious that look on, but take advice in that matter of

the Lord Hertford, or my humble self, which are commanded of the King to

be upon this service and close at call, till this commandment be

dissolved. Thus saith the King's majesty, who sendeth greeting to your

royal highness, and prayeth that God will of His mercy quickly heal you

and have you now and ever in His holy keeping."

The Lord St. John made reverence and stood aside. Tom replied

resignedly--

"The King hath said it. None may palter with the King's command, or fit

it to his ease, where it doth chafe, with deft evasions. The King shall

be obeyed."

Lord Hertford said--

"Touching the King's majesty's ordainment concerning books and such like

serious matters, it may peradventure please your highness to ease your

time with lightsome entertainment, lest you go wearied to the banquet and

suffer harm thereby."

Tom's face showed inquiring surprise; and a blush followed when he saw

Lord St. John's eyes bent sorrowfully upon him. His lordship said--

"Thy memory still wrongeth thee, and thou hast shown surprise--but suffer

it not to trouble thee, for 'tis a matter that will not bide, but depart

with thy mending malady. My Lord of Hertford speaketh of the city's

banquet which the King's majesty did promise, some two months flown, your

highness should attend. Thou recallest it now?"

"It grieves me to confess it had indeed escaped me," said Tom, in a

hesitating voice; and blushed again.

At this moment the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey were announced.

The two lords exchanged significant glances, and Hertford stepped quickly

toward the door. As the young girls passed him, he said in a low voice--

"I pray ye, ladies, seem not to observe his humours, nor show surprise

when his memory doth lapse--it will grieve you to note how it doth stick

at every trifle."

Meantime Lord St. John was saying in Tom's ear--

"Please you, sir, keep diligently in mind his majesty's desire. Remember

all thou canst--SEEM to remember all else. Let them not perceive that

thou art much changed from thy wont, for thou knowest how tenderly thy

old play-fellows bear thee in their hearts and how 'twould grieve them.

Art willing, sir, that I remain?--and thine uncle?"

Tom signified assent with a gesture and a murmured word, for he was

already learning, and in his simple heart was resolved to acquit himself

as best he might, according to the King's command.

In spite of every precaution, the conversation among the young people

became a little embarrassing at times. More than once, in truth, Tom was

near to breaking down and confessing himself unequal to his tremendous

part; but the tact of the Princess Elizabeth saved him, or a word from

one or the other of the vigilant lords, thrown in apparently by chance,

had the same happy effect. Once the little Lady Jane turned to Tom and

dismayed him with this question,--

"Hast paid thy duty to the Queen's majesty to-day, my lord?"

Tom hesitated, looked distressed, and was about to stammer out something

at hazard, when Lord St. John took the word and answered for him with the

easy grace of a courtier accustomed to encounter delicate difficulties

and to be ready for them--

"He hath indeed, madam, and she did greatly hearten him, as touching his

majesty's condition; is it not so, your highness?"

Tom mumbled something that stood for assent, but felt that he was getting

upon dangerous ground. Somewhat later it was mentioned that Tom was to

study no more at present, whereupon her little ladyship exclaimed--

"'Tis a pity, 'tis a pity! Thou wert proceeding bravely. But bide thy

time in patience: it will not be for long. Thou'lt yet be graced with

learning like thy father, and make thy tongue master of as many languages

as his, good my prince."

"My father!" cried Tom, off his guard for the moment. "I trow he cannot

speak his own so that any but the swine that kennel in the styes may tell

his meaning; and as for learning of any sort soever--"

He looked up and encountered a solemn warning in my Lord St. John's eyes.

He stopped, blushed, then continued low and sadly: "Ah, my malady

persecuteth me again, and my mind wandereth. I meant the King's grace no

irreverence."

"We know it, sir," said the Princess Elizabeth, taking her 'brother's'

hand between her two palms, respectfully but caressingly; "trouble not

thyself as to that. The fault is none of thine, but thy distemper's."

"Thou'rt a gentle comforter, sweet lady," said Tom, gratefully, "and my

heart moveth me to thank thee for't, an' I may be so bold."

Once the giddy little Lady Jane fired a simple Greek phrase at Tom. The

Princess Elizabeth's quick eye saw by the serene blankness of the

target's front that the shaft was overshot; so she tranquilly delivered a

return volley of sounding Greek on Tom's behalf, and then straightway

changed the talk to other matters.

Time wore on pleasantly, and likewise smoothly, on the whole. Snags and

sandbars grew less and less frequent, and Tom grew more and more at his

ease, seeing that all were so lovingly bent upon helping him and

overlooking his mistakes. When it came out that the little ladies were

to accompany him to the Lord Mayor's banquet in the evening, his heart

gave a bound of relief and delight, for he felt that he should not be

friendless, now, among that multitude of strangers; whereas, an hour

earlier, the idea of their going with him would have been an

insupportable terror to him.

Tom's guardian angels, the two lords, had had less comfort in the

interview than the other parties to it. They felt much as if they were

piloting a great ship through a dangerous channel; they were on the alert

constantly, and found their office no child's play. Wherefore, at last,

when the ladies' visit was drawing to a close and the Lord Guilford

Dudley was announced, they not only felt that their charge had been

sufficiently taxed for the present, but also that they themselves were

not in the best condition to take their ship back and make their anxious

voyage all over again. So they respectfully advised Tom to excuse

himself, which he was very glad to do, although a slight shade of

disappointment might have been observed upon my Lady Jane's face when she

heard the splendid stripling denied admittance.

There was a pause now, a sort of waiting silence which Tom could not

understand. He glanced at Lord Hertford, who gave him a sign--but he

failed to understand that also. The ready Elizabeth came to the rescue

with her usual easy grace. She made reverence and said--

"Have we leave of the prince's grace my brother to go?"

Tom said--

"Indeed your ladyships can have whatsoever of me they will, for the

asking; yet would I rather give them any other thing that in my poor

power lieth, than leave to take the light and blessing of their presence

hence. Give ye good den, and God be with ye!" Then he smiled inwardly at

the thought, "'Tis not for nought I have dwelt but among princes in my

reading, and taught my tongue some slight trick of their broidered and

gracious speech withal!"

When the illustrious maidens were gone, Tom turned wearily to his keepers

and said--

"May it please your lordships to grant me leave to go into some corner

and rest me?"

Lord Hertford said--

"So please your highness, it is for you to command, it is for us to obey.

That thou should'st rest is indeed a needful thing, since thou must

journey to the city presently."

He touched a bell, and a page appeared, who was ordered to desire the

presence of Sir William Herbert. This gentleman came straightway, and

conducted Tom to an inner apartment. Tom's first movement there was to

reach for a cup of water; but a silk-and-velvet servitor seized it,

dropped upon one knee, and offered it to him on a golden salver.

Next the tired captive sat down and was going to take off his buskins,

timidly asking leave with his eye, but another silk-and-velvet

discomforter went down upon his knees and took the office from him. He

made two or three further efforts to help himself, but being promptly

forestalled each time, he finally gave up, with a sigh of resignation and

a murmured "Beshrew me, but I marvel they do not require to breathe for

me also!" Slippered, and wrapped in a sumptuous robe, he laid himself

down at last to rest, but not to sleep, for his head was too full of

thoughts and the room too full of people. He could not dismiss the

former, so they stayed; he did not know enough to dismiss the latter, so

they stayed also, to his vast regret--and theirs.

Tom's departure had left his two noble guardians alone. They mused a

while, with much head-shaking and walking the floor, then Lord St. John

said--

"Plainly, what dost thou think?"

"Plainly, then, this. The King is near his end; my nephew is mad--mad

will mount the throne, and mad remain. God protect England, since she

will need it!"

"Verily it promiseth so, indeed. But . . . have you no misgivings as to

. . . as to . . ."

The speaker hesitated, and finally stopped. He evidently felt that he

was upon delicate ground. Lord Hertford stopped before him, looked into

his face with a clear, frank eye, and said--

"Speak on--there is none to hear but me. Misgivings as to what?"

"I am full loth to word the thing that is in my mind, and thou so near to

him in blood, my lord. But craving pardon if I do offend, seemeth it not

strange that madness could so change his port and manner?--not but that

his port and speech are princely still, but that they DIFFER, in one

unweighty trifle or another, from what his custom was aforetime. Seemeth

it not strange that madness should filch from his memory his father's

very lineaments; the customs and observances that are his due from such

as be about him; and, leaving him his Latin, strip him of his Greek and

French? My lord, be not offended, but ease my mind of its disquiet and

receive my grateful thanks. It haunteth me, his saying he was not the

prince, and so--"

"Peace, my lord, thou utterest treason! Hast forgot the King's command?

Remember I am party to thy crime if I but listen."

St. John paled, and hastened to say--

"I was in fault, I do confess it. Betray me not, grant me this grace out

of thy courtesy, and I will neither think nor speak of this thing more.

Deal not hardly with me, sir, else am I ruined."

"I am content, my lord. So thou offend not again, here or in the ears of

others, it shall be as

Date: 2016-01-03; view: 862