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Laa diagrammes suivants illustrant la mAthode. >y errata sdto int na pelure, i9on A 1 2 S 32X 1 2 3 4 ' 5 6 ».W*-=-^'-~^'« ,77 ^ti THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER n P ©ALB FOR YOUNG PEOPLE OF ALL AGES BY MARK TWAIN # MONTREAL DAWSON BROTHERS 1881 fe- Enterki) according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year 1881, by Samuel L. Clemens, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture. I' -^3^^^ IX) THOSE GOOD-M.K\-NERF.D AND AGREEABLE CHILDREN^ SUSIE AND CLARA CLEMENS, IS AFFFXTIONATELY INSCRIBED KY THEIR FATHER. Mit.^ m v^ t ♦ . XI ^ 4 The quality of mercy ... is twice bloss'cl; It blesselh him that gives, and him that takes; 'Tis mightiest in the miglitiest: it becomes The tliron^d monarch better than his crown. Merchant of Venice, **' CONTENTS. CBAPTER I. The Dunn or the Puince and the Paupeu II. ToJi's Eaim.v Life .... III. ToM'h MicETINO -with the I'lUNCR IV. The Piu>'.stiiuctio>'» VII. To.^i's FiusT Roy A I. Din.veu. VITI. The Qiestion of the Seal IX. The ItivEit Paceant X. The Puince in the Toils . XI. At (ilILDHALL .... XII. The Puince and His Deliveueu . XIII. The DisAi'i-EAUANCK OF the Puince XIV. " Le Iloi EST mout — Vive le Koi " XV. Tom as Kino XVI. The State Dinneu .... XVII. Foo-Foo THE Fiust XVIII. The Puince with the Tuamps XIX. The Puince with the Peasants XX. The Puince and the IIeumit . XXI. Hendon to the Hescue XXII. A ' ictim of Tueacheuy . XXIII. The Puince a Pkisoner XXIV. The Escape XXV. Hendon Hall FAOB 11 l.'{ 19 28 .33 42 52 57 01 05 70 82 (Xi 102 110 130 lU 147 157 104 172 178 185 190 194 8 CONTENTS. CHAPTEU XXVI. Dhowned XXVII. IX PlllSON ..... XXVIII. Thk Sacuifice .... XXIX. To London .... XXX. Toai'm PiiooiiEss . . • . XXXI. The Rkcoomtion Procession XXXII. CoKONATiON Day .... XXXIII. Edwakd as Kino . CONCLUSION. Justice and Retribution • . . . • • PAUB 203 . 200 221 . 226 220 . 233 241 . 256 206 •<■ NOTES 271 r WILL set down a tulo as it was tol.I to me by one who had if. of Ills father, which latter had it of Itia father, this last having in like manner had it of f>i\ father — and so on, back and still back, thre.- hundred >cars and more, the fathers transniitfin-^' it to the sons and so preserving it. It may bo liistory, it may be oidy a legend, a tradition. It may have happened, it may not have happened: but it could have happened. It may be that the wise and the learned believed it in the old days ; it may be that only the unlearned and the simple loved it and credited it. 9 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. CHAPTER I. THE BIRTH OF THE PKINCE AND THE PAUPER. In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did not want him. On the same day another English child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him. All England wanted him too. England had so longed for him, nnd hoped for him, and prayed God for him, that, now that he TV as i-eally come, the people went nearly mad for joy. Mere acquaintances hugged and kissed each other and cried. Everybody took a holiday, and high and low, rich and poor, feasted and danced and sang, and got very mellow ; and they kept this up for days and nights together. By day, London was a sight to see, with gay banners waving from every balcony and housetop, and splendid pageants marching along. By night, it was again a sight to see, with its great bon- fires at every corner, and its troops of revellers mak- ing merry around them. There was no talk in all England but of the new bab- , Edward Tudor, Prince U 12 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. of Wales, who lay lapped in silks and satins, uncon- scious of all this fuss, and not knowing that great lords and ladies were tending him and watching over him — and not caring, either. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, lapped in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble with his presence. u I I to:m s eauly life. 13 CHAPTER II. TOM S EARLY LIFE. Let us skip a number of years. Loudon was fifteen hundred j^ears old, and was a great town — for that day. It had a hundred thousand inhabitants — some thiuk double as many. The streets were very narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge. The houses were of wood, with the second story projecting over the first, and the third sticking its elbows out beyond the second. The higher the houses grew, the broader they grew. They were skeletons of strong criss-cross beams, with solid mate- rial between, coated with plaster. The beams were painted red or blue or black, according to the owner's taste, and this gave the houses a very picturesque look. The windows were small, glazed with little diamond- shaped panes, and they opened outward, on hinges, like doors. The house which Tom's father lived in was up a foul little pocket called Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane. It was small, decayed, and rickety, but it was packed full of wretchedly poor families. Canty' s tribe occupied a room on the third floor. The mother and father had a sort of bedstead in the corner ; but Tom, his grandmother, and his two sisters, Bet and Nan, J:-^-^J^^L^ilt^iA:\'. 14 THE TRINCE AND THE PAUPER. were not restricted — they had all the floor to them- selves, aud might sleep where they chose. There were the remains of a blanket or two, and some l)undles of ancient and dirty straw, but these could not rightly be called beds, for they were not organized ; they were kicked into a general pile, mornings, and selections made from the mass at night, for service. Bet and Nan were fifteen years old — twins. They were good-hearted girls, unclean, clothed in rags, and profoundly ignorant. Their mother was like them. But the father and the grandmother were a couple of fiends. They got drunk whenever they could ; then they fought each other or auybotly else who came in the way ; they cursed and swore always, drunk or so- ber ; John Canty was a thief, and his mother a beggar. They made beggars of the children, but failed to make thieves of them. Among, but not of, the dreadful rabble that inhabited the house, was a good old priest whom the King had turned out of house and home with a pension of a few farthings, and he used to get the children aside and teach them right ways secretl3\ Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin, and how to read and write ; aud would have done the same with the girls, but they were afraid of the jeers of their friends, who could not have endured such a queer accomplishment in them. All Offal Court was just such another hive as Canty's house. Drunkenness, riot and brawling were the order, there, every night and nearly all night long. Broken heads were as common as hunger in that place. Yet little Tom was not imhappy. He had a hard time of it, but did not know it. It was the sort of time that all the Offal Comt boys had, therefore he supposed it i-> TOM S EARLY LIFE. 16 ^> was the correct txnd coinfortuble thiug. Wlieu lie came home empty-hamled at night, lie knew his father would curse him and thrash liiin llrst, and that when he was done the awful grandmother would do it all over ai:>'aiu and improve on it ; and that awaj^ 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 liungry 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, esix}cially 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 cood 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 16 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. his shabby clothiug and his dirt, and to wish to be clean and better clad. He went on phiyiug in the mud just tlie 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 ])ecause of the washings and eleansings 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, unconsciousl}'. His speech and manners became curiously ceremonious and courtly, to the vast admiration and amusement of his intimates. But Tom's influence among these j^oung 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 marvel- lous things ! and withal, he was so deep and wise ! Tom's remarks, and Tom's performances, were re- ported 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 wis- ..•:. TOMS EARLY LIFE. 17 4 dom 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 organized 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 viceroy alties. 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 18 TirE PIUNX'K AND THE PAiriCll. trniiul mother to ol)sorvc his I'orloni condition juul not Ik^ moved — uftcr tht'ir fashion; whcivforc they gave him a 'uisk (.'uninui,' at once and sent him to bed. For a lonLj time liis pain and linnuer, and tlie sweariniir and llLShtinir ii;()inilnceungs who lived in vast palaces, and had servants salaaming before them or Hying to execute their orders. And then, as usual, he dreamexl 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 deli- cious 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 thousand fold. Then came bitterness, and heai't-break, and teai's. ■ . TOMS MEETING WITU THE I'lUNC'E. 19 CHAPTER III. TOM s mi:etin(; with tiik prinx'E. Tom *i;ot up liiin<>ry. and sauiileiLHl huni»ry iiway, but with his tliouglils l)iisy with the shadowy spU'iidors of his night's dreams, lie wandered here and there in the city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what was hapi)ening around liini. 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. lie stopped and considered a iiiomeut, then fell into his imaginings again, and passed on out- side 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 scattering great buildings on the other, these being palaces of rich nobles, with ample and beautiful grounds stretching to the river, — irrounds 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 l)y 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, — West- 20 THE PIIINCE AND THE rAUPEU. minster. 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 magniliceut array of colossal gran- ite lions, and other tlie signs and s^'mbols of English royalty. AVas 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 armor. 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 no)>le gateways tiiat pierced the royal enclosure. Poor little Tom, in his rags, approached, and was moving slow 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. AV^ithiu was a comely boy, tanned and brown with sturdy out-door 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. ' ■■'i'ti!fy''^it^-: TOMS MIOlCTINli WITH Till*: I'UINCK. 21 - Toih'h hrt'Mtli came 'ainst the gate-))ars. Tlie next instant one of the sohliers snatehed him rudely away, and sent him si)innin|i' anion<^ the j^aping erovvd of country gawks and London idlers. The soldier said, — "■ Mind thy niannei's, thou young beggar ! " The erowd jeered and laughed ; but the young prince sprang to the gate with his faee Hushed, and his eyes flashing with indignatian, and cried out, — " IIovv dar'st thou use a poor hid like that! How dar'st thou use the King my father's meanest suljject 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 0-2 Tin: riiiNric and the i»AT'i»rit. brouirlit such jis Tom litul ucvor ciK'nuiilcicd ln'foro except in hooks. Tim prince, with princi-ly (h'licacy :ui(l hivcflinji', sent jiwny tlie sorvjuits, so that his hum- ble guest niii>lit not l)e emharrnssed hy their critical presence; tiien he sat near i>y, and asked questions wliile Tom ate. '' AV'hat is tliy name, hid? " '•Tom Canty, an' it phrase thee, sir. " 'Tis an odd one. Wliere dost live? ** "In the city, please thee, sir. Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane." ''Oflfal Court! Truly 'tis another odd one. Hast parents ? " "Parents have T, sir, and a grand-dam likewise that is but indifferently precious to me, God forgiveme if it be otfence to say it — also twin sisters, Nan and IJet." "Tiien is thy grand-dam not over kind to thee, I take it." " Neither to any other is she, so please your Wor- ship. She hath a wicked heart, and worketh evil all her days." " 13oth she mistreat thee?" "There be times tliat 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 l)eatings." A fierce look came into the little prince's eyes, and he cried out, — "What! Beatings?" "Oh, indeed, yes, please you, sir." ''' Beatu)r/s! — and thou so frail and littl.e. Hark ye : before the night come, she shall hie her to the Tower. Th'e King my father ' ' — TOMS mki:tin(j wiTJi Tin: ]•ul^'CE. 23 *'Iii Hootli, you tor^r't. sir, her low degree. The Tower is for tlie ^rvixt uIoj.;' " "True, iucler.l 1 UjmI not tht)un;ht of that. I will couyicler of lier pu.ji-^iuiieiit. Is tiiy father ivind to thee?" *' Not more than Cjlauuner C'autj', Hnr." " Fatliers I)e aliUe, iiuiyhap. INliue h'ltli not a doll's tcnii)er. lie smiteth with a heavy hand, yet spareth me : he sparetli nie not always witii his tongue, though, sooth to say. How doth thy mother use thee? " " She is good, sir, and giveth nie neither sorrow nor pain of any sort. And Nun and Bet are like to her ia this." '•How old be these?" " Fifteen, an' it i)lease you, sir." '' The Lady Eliza1)eth, my sister, is fourteen, and the Ltidy Jane Grey, my eousin, is of mine own age, and eomely and gracious withal ; l)ut my sister the Lady Mary, with her gloomy mien and — Look you : do thy sisters for])id their servants to smile, lest the sin destroy their souls ? ' ' "They? Oh, dost think, sir, that they have ser- vants?" The little prince contemplated the little pauper gravely a moment, then said, — " And \)rithee, wliy not? Who helpeth them undress at night? w^ho atth-eth them when they rise?" '" None, sir. Wouldst have them take off their gar- ment, and sleep without, — like the beasts ? " ' ' Their garment ! Have they but one ? ' ' "Ah, good 3^our worship, what would they do with more? Truly they have not two bodies each." "It is a quaint and marvellous thought! Thy 24 THE PllIXCE AND THE PAUPEH. pardon, I had not meant to laugh. But thj' 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 kind- ness, from his books." " Know'st thou tlie Latin? " " But scantlj^ 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 shouldst hear tliose damsels ai 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 hungr3\ There be Punch-and-Judy shows, and mon- kej^s, — 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 'pren- tices, 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." * ' Id summer, sir, we wade and swim in the canals and in the river, and each doth duck his neighbor, and oocl Leys V to kest \r* riest ancl- tom's meeting with the prince. 25 ireek se, I msin. U me jre r )ne is mon- avelj^ play lie to hard each I'pren- lore." lall be I canals ►r, and spatter him with water, and dive and shout and tumble and" — '' 'T would be worth my father's kingdom but to enjoy it once ! Prithee go on." ''We dance and sing about the Maypole in Cheap- side ; we play in the sand, each covering his neighbor 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, wouldst like it? Then so shall it be. Doflf thy rags, and don these splendors, 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. 26 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. It is not meet that one of my degree should utter the thing." ** Then will /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 1 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, shout- ing, — " Open ! Unbar the gates ! *' The soldier that had maltreated Tom obeyed prompt- ly ; 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 ( I tom's meeting with the prince. 27 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 around the poor little prince, and hustled him far down the road, hooting hun, and shouting, "Way for his royal Highness! way for the Prince of Wales I " 28 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. 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 recognize the locality. Hs 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 recognized 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 forever for poor and forsaken children, and new- .-* iHE PKINCES TROUBLES BEGIN. 29 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 ^ — 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 suflSciently 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, beg- gar?" 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 — 1 See Note 1, at end of the volume. 30 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. 1! i "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 com- rades — "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 monow 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 THE PKTNCES TROUBLES BEGIN. 81 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 any one, since they brought him only insult instead of in- formation. 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 there- by ; for learning softeneth the heart and breedeth gen- tleness and charity. " ^ 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, thea am I not John Canty, but some other." 1 See Note 2, at end of the volume. ;.K ^-' -V.VV 82 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. m i The prmce twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his profaned shoulder, and eagerly said — " O, art his father, truly? Sweet heaven grant it be so — then wilt thou fetch him away and restore me ! " " J/is father? I know not what thou mean'st ; I but know I am tht/ father, as thou shalt soon have cause to" — " O, 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 com't followed by a delighted and noisy swarm of human vermin. TOM AS A PATRICIAN. 88 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 tlie 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 lieu- tenant 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 liad 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 34 THE PEINCE AND TPIE PAUPER. Ill 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 fears 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, sprung 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 name- less fears, listening, starting at every trifling sound. Presently the door swung open, and a silken pjige 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 suppli- cating with his eyes and uplifted hands as well as with TOM AS A PATRICIAN. 86 his tongue. The young girl seemed horror-stricken. She cried out — *' O my lord, on thy knees? — and to ?ne/ " 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 whis- per, 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 daz- zling 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 op 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 whis- perers 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 pa- thetic eyes. Great nobles walked upon each side of 86 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. 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 stem expression. His large head was very gray ; and his whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame, were gray 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 facul- ties 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, be- wildered, upon the boy before him. Then he said in a tone of deep disappointment, — TOM AS A PATRICIAN. 87 *♦ Alack, I had believed the rumor disproportioned to the tnith ; 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 a while, as if seek- ing 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? And thou knowcst thyself now also — is't not so ? Thou wilt not miscall thy- self 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 mean- est 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, oh my King, and save thee 1 38 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. I; I long to bless tby 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 wouldst 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 harboreth my mother and my sisters, and so is home to me ; whereas these pomps and splendors 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 King was delighted, and showed it. The lords and doctors manifested their gratification also. The King said, — " 'Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but sheweth that his mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally. How say you, sir? " The physician addressed bowed low, and replied, — "It jumpeth with mine own convictionj sire, that thou hast divined aright." If^vv^ TOM AS A PATRICIAN. 39 The King looked pleased with this encouragement, coming as it did from so excellent authority, and con- tinued 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 faint- uess. Raise me ! there, 'tis suflScient. 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 : bis 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. Overstudy 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. . . . Sup- ?'» 40 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. II port 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 forever ? Am I to be balked of my will? Is the prince to tarry uninstalled, because, for- sooth, the realm lacketh an earl marshal free of trea- sonable taint to invest him with his honors ? No, by the splendor of God ! Warn my parliament to bring me Norfolk's doom before the sun rise again, else shall they answer for it grievously ! " ^ 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 be 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 honors : I will 1 Bee Note 3, at end of the volume. TOM AS A PATRICIAN. 41 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 re- freshed." Tom, heavy-hearted, was conducted from the pres- ence, for this last sentence was a death-blow to the Iiope 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 recog- nized that he was indfod a captive now, and might remain forever 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 ! 42 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. CHAPTER VI. TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS. Hi Tom was conducted to the principal apartment of a noble suite, and made to sit down — a thing which he was loath to do, since there were elderly men and men of high degree about him. He begged them to be seat- ed, 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 mat- ter 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 in- firmity in all ways that be within his power, till it be TOM KECElVIiS INSTRUCTIONS. 43 passed and he be as he was before. To wit, that he shall deny to uoue 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 inalad}^ hath conjured out of the unwhole- some imaginings of o'erwrought 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 for- got ; 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 ser- vice and close at call, till this commandment be dis- solved. Thus saith the king's majesty, who sendeth greeting to your royal highness and pray(!th that God will of His mercy quickly heal j^ou and have you now and ever in His holy keeping." The lord vSt. 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 con- cerning books and such like serious matters, it may peradventure please your highness to ease your time 44 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. 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. Jphn's eyes bent sor- rowfully upon him. His lordshij) 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 prom- ise some two months flown, your highness should at- tend. 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 ex- changed 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 humors, nor show surprise when his memory doth lapse — it will grieve j^ou 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 majes- ty's desire. Remember all thou canst — seem to re- member 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 m^ TOM RECEIVES INSTIIUCTIONS. 45 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 Eliza- beth 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 cornered 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 heart- en 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. Some- what later it was mentioned that Tom was to study no more at present, whereupon her little ladyship ex- claimed — " 'Tis a pity, 'tis such a pity ! Thou wert proceed- ing 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 46 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. moment. "I trow he cannot speak his own so that any but the swine that wallow in the slums may tell his meaning: ; and as for learning of any sort so- 'o ' ever — 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 h'rever- ence." " We know it, sir," said the princess Elizabeth, tak- ing 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 dis- temper'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, \ TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS. 47 whereas, an hour earlier, the idea of their going with him would have been an insupportable teri'or to him. Tom's guardian angels, the two lords, had had less comfort in the interview than the other parties to it. They felt mueh 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 an- nounced, they not only felt that tiieir charge had been sufficiently taxed for the present, but also that they themselves were not in the best condition to take thei'' 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 ob- served 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 rev- erence 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 48 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPEK. 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 shouldst 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 "Beshrewme 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 staid ; he did not know enough to dismiss the latter, so they staid also, to his vast regret, — and theirs. TOM KECEIVES INSTllUCTIONS. 49 Tom's depiirturc had left his two uoble guardians uloiie. They mused a while, with nmch head-shaking and walking the floor, then lord St. John said — '^ riainly, what dost thou think? " '' IMainly, then, this. The king is near his end, my nephew is mad, mad will mount the throne, and mad remain. God proteet 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 stopi>ed. He evi- dently 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. Mis- givings as to what ? ' ' "I am full loath to word the thing that is in my mind, and thou so near to him in blood, my lord. But cravmg 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 — 60 THE rillNCE AND THE TAUPER. m **Iwas 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 though thou hadst not spoken. But thou needst not have misgiv- ings. He is my sister's son ; are not his voice, his face, his form, familiar to me from his cradle? Mad- ness can do all the odd conflicting things thou seest in him, and more. Dost not recall how that the old Baron Marley, being mad, forgot the favor of his own coun- tenance that he had known for sixty years, and held it was another's ; nay, even claimed he was the son of Mary Magdalene, and that his head was made of Span- ish glass ; and sooth to say, he suffered none to touch it, lest by mischance some heedless hand might shiver it. Give thy misgivings easement, good my lord. This is the very prince, I know him well — and soon will be thy king ; it may advantage thee to bear this in mind and more dwell upon it than the other. ' * After some further talk, in which the lord St. John covered up his mistake as well as he could by repeated protests that his faith was thoroughly grounded, now, and could not be assailed by doubts again, the lord Hertford relieved his fellow keeper, and sat down to keep watch and ward alone. He was soon deep in meditation. And evidently the longer he thought, the more he was bothered. By and by he began to pace the floor and mutter. " Tush, he must be the prince ! Will any he in all the land maintain there can be two, not of one blood and birth, so marvellously twinned? And even were it TOM lllOCEIVES INSTKUCTIONS. 61 80, 'tvviTc yet a stranger miracle that chance .shouUl cast the one into the other's place. Nay, 'tis folly, folly, foUv ! " Tresently he said — ''Now weie he impostor and called himself prince, look yon that would be natural ; that would be reason- able. But lived ever an impostor j^et, who, being called prince by the king, prince l)y the court, prince by all, denied his dignity and pleaded against his exaltation? No! By the soul of St. Swithiu, no ! This is the true prince, gone mad! " 62 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. CHAPTER VII. TOM S FIHST ROYAL DINNER. b' t. Somewhat after one in the afternoon, Tom resign- edly underwent the ordeal of being dressed for dinner. He found himself as finely clothed as before, but every thing different, every thing changed, from his ruff to his stockings. He was presently conducted with much state to a spacious and ornate apartment, where a table was already set for one. Its furniture was all of massy gold, and beautified with designs which well-nigh made it priceless, since they were the work of Benvenuto. The room was half filled with noble servitors. A chaplain said grace, and Tom was about to fall to, for hunger had long been constitutional with him, but was interrupted by my lord the Earl of Berkeley, who fas- tened a napkin about his neck ; for the great post- of Diaperers to the Princes of Wales was hereditary in this nobleman's family. Tom's cup-bearer was present, and forestalled all his attempts to help himself to wine. The Taster to his highness the Prince of Wales was there also, prepared to taste any suspicious dish upon requirement, and run the risk of being poisoned. He was only an ornamental appendage at this time, and was seldom called upon to exercise his function ; but there had been times, not many generations past, when the oflSce of taster had its perils, and was not TOMS FIRST ROYAL DINNER. 58 a grandeur to be desired. Why they did not use a dog or a plumber seems strange ; but all the >Yays of roy- alty are strange. My lord d'Arey, P'irst Groom of the Chamber, was there, to do goodness ki :>ws what ; but there he was — let d.a^ suffice. The Lord Chief Butler was ihere, and stood behind Tom's chair, overseeing the solemnities, under command of the Lord Great Steward and the Lord Head Cook, who stood near. Tom had three hundred and eighty- four servants beside these ; but they were not all in that room, of course, nor the quarter of them ; neither was Tom aware yet that they existed. All those that were present had been well drilled within the hour to remember that the prince was tem- porarily out of his head, and to be careful to show no surprise at his vagaries. These " vagaries " were soon on exhibition before them ; but they only moved their compassion and their sorrow, not their mirth. It was a heavy affliction to them to see the beloved prince so stricken. Poor Tom ate with his fingers mainly ; but no one smiled at it, or even seemed to observe it. He in- spected his napkin curiously, and with deep interest, for it was of a very dainty and beautiful fabric, then said with simplicity, — "Prithee take it away, lest in mine unheedfulness it be soiled." The Hereditary Diaperer took it away with reverent manner, and without word or protest of any sort. Tom examined the turnips and the lettuce with interest, and asked what they were, and if they were to be eaten ; for it was only recentlj^ that men had begun to raise these things in England in place of importing 54 THE PKINCE AND THE PAUPEB. them as luxuries from Holland.^ His question was an- swered with grave respect, and no surprise manifested. When he had finished his dessert, he filled his pockets with nuts ; but nobody appeared to be aware of it, or disturbed by it. But the next moment he was himself disturbed by it, and showed discomposure ; for this was the only service he had been permitted to do with his own hands during the meal, and he did not doubt that he had done a most improper and unprincely thing. At that moment tbe muscles of his nose began to twitch, and the end of that organ to lift and wrinkle. This continued, and Tom began to evince a growing distress. He looked appealingly, first at one and then another of the lords about him, and tears came into his eyes. They sprang forward with dismay in theV faces, and begged to know his trouble. Tom said with genuine anguish, — ' ' I crave your indulgence : my nose itcheth cruelly. What is the custom and usage in this emergence? Prithee speed, for 'tis but a little time that I can bear it." None smiled ; but all were sore perplexed, and looked one to the other in deep tribulation for counsel. But behold, here was a dead wall, and nothing in English history to tell how to get over it. The Master of Cere- monies was not present : there was no one who felt safe to venture upon this unchartered sea, or risk the attempt to solve this solemn problem. Alas ! there was no Hereditary Scratcher. Meantime the tears had overflowed their banks, and begun to trickle down Tom's cheeks. His twitching nose was pleading more urgently than ever for relief. At last natm*e broke 1 See Note 4, at end of volume. K' TOMS FIRST EOYAL DINNER. 55 down the barriers of etiquette : Tom lifted up an inward prayer for pardon if he was doing wrong, and brought relief to the burdened hearts of his court by scratching his nose himself. His meal being ended, a lord came and held before him a broad, shallow, golden dish with fragrant rose- water in it, to cleanse his mouth and fingers with ; and my lord the Hereditary Diaperer stood by with a napkin for his use. Tom gazed at the dish a puzzled moment or two, then raised it to his lips, and gravely took a draught. Then he returned it to the waiting lord, and said, — "Nay, it likes me not, my lord: it hath a pretty flavor, but it wanteth strength." This new eccentricity of the prince's ruined mind made all the hearts about him ache ; but the sad sight moved none to merriment. Tom's next unconscious blunder was to get up and leave the table just when the chaplain had taken his stand behind his chair, and with uplifted hands, and closed, uplifted eyes, was in the act of beginning the blessing. Still nobody seemed to perceive that the prince had done a thing unusual. By his own request, our small friend was now con- ducted to his private cabinet, and left there alone to his own devices. Hanging upon hooks in the oaken wainscoting were the several pieces of a suit of shining steel armor, covered all over with beautiful designs exquisitely inlaid in gold. This martial panoply be- longed to the true prince, — a recent present from Madam Parr the Queen. Tom put on the greaves, the gauntlets, the plumed helmet, and such other pieces as he could don without assistance, and for a while was 56 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPETl. minded to call for help and complete the matter, but bethought him of the nuts he had brought away from dinner, and the joy it would be to eat them with no crowd to eye him, and no Grand Hereditaries to pester him with undesired services ; so he restored the pretty things to their several places, and soon was cracking nuts, and feeling almost naturally happy for the first time since God for his sins had made him a prince. When the nuts were all gone, he stumbled upon some inviting books in a closet, among them one about the etiquette of the English court. This was a prize. He lay down upon a sumptuous divan, and proceeded to instruct himself with honest zeal. Let us leave him there for the present. THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL. 57 CHAPTER VIII. THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL. About five o'clock Henry VIII. awoke out of an unrefreshing nap, and muttered to himself, "Trou- blous dreams, troublous dreams ! Mine end is now at hand : so say these warnings, and my failing pulses do confirm it." Presently a wicked light flamed up in his eye, and he muttered, " Yet will not I die till he go before." His attendants perceiving that he was awake, one of them asked his pleasure concerning the Lord Chancel- lor, who was waiting without. "Admit him, admit him!" exclaimed the Kinff eagerly. The Lord Chancellor entered, and knelt by the King's couch, saying, — "I have given order, and, according to the King's command, the peers of the realm, in their robes, do now stand at the bar of the House, where, having con- firmed the Duke of Norfolk's doom, they humbly wait his majesty's further pleasure in the matter." The King's face lit up with a fierce joy. Said he, — " Lift me up ! In mine own person will I go before my Parliament, and with mine own hand will I seal the warrant that rids me of " — His voice failed; an ashen pallor swept the flush 68 THE PEINCE AND THE PAUPER. ilii from his cheeks ; and the attendants eased liim back upon his pillows, and hurriedly assisted him with re- storatives. Presently he said sorrowfully, — '' Alack, how have I longed for this sweet hour ! and lo, too late it cometh, and I am robbed of this so cov- eted chance. But speed ye, speed ye ! let others do this happy office sith 'tis denied to me. I put my great seal in commission: choose thou the lords that shall compose it, and get ye to your work. Speed ye, man ! Before the sun shall rise and set again, bring me his head that I may see it.** "According to the King's command, so shall it be. Wiirt please your majesty to order that the Seal be now restored to me, so that I may forth upon the busi- ness?" ' ' The seal ? Who keepeth the Seal but thou ? " "Please your majesty, you did take it from me two days since, saying it should no more do its office till your own royal hand should use it upon the Duke of Norfolk's warrant." "Why, so in sooth I did: I do remember it. . . . What did I with it? ... I am very feeble. ... So oft these days doth my memory play the traitor with me. . . . 'Tis strange, strange " — The King dropped into inarticulate mumblings, shak- ing his gray head weakly from time to time, and grop- ingly trying to recollect what he ,had done with the Seal. At last my lord Hertford ventured to kneel and offer information, — , " Sire, if that I may be so bold, here be several that do remember with me how that you gave the Great Seal into the hands of his highness the Prince of Wales to keep against the day that " — THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL. 59 *' True, most true ! " iuterrupted the king. " Fetch it! Go: timeflieth!" Lord Hertford flew to Tom, but returned to the King before very long, troubled and empty-handed. He delivered himself to this effect, — " It grieveth me, my lord the King, to bear so heavy and unwelcome tidings ; but it is the will of God that the prince's affliction abideth still, and he cannot recall to mind that he received the Seal." So came I quickly to report, thinking it were waste of precious time, and little worth withal, that any should attempt to search the long array of chambers and saloons that belong unto his royal high " — A groan from the King inten-upted my lord at this point. After a little while his majesty said, with a deep sadness in his tone, — " Trouble him no more, poor child. The hand of God lieth heavy upon him, and my heart goeth out in loving compassion for him, and sorrow that I may not bear his burden on mine own old trouble-weighted shoulders, and so bring him peace." He closed his eyes, fell to mumbling, and presently was silent. After a time he opened his eyes again, and gazed vacantly around until his glance rested upon the kneeling Lord Chancellor. Instantly his face flushed with wrath, — "What, thou here yet! By the glory of God, an' thou gettest not about that traitor's business, thy mitre shall have holiday the morrow for lack of a head to grace withal ! " The trembling Chancellor answered, — " Good your majesty, I cry you mercy ! I but waited for the Seal." .:j;.-j.:. :...*|iE?^'»'*^Il]*L'iii.-u'^«i>,.ti 60 THE rKlNCE AND THE TAUPEIl. rrrt *'Man, hast lost thy wits? The small Seal which aforetime I was wont to take with me abroad lieth in my treasury. And, since the Great Seol hath flown away, shall not it sufl3ce? Hast lost thy wits? Be- gone ! And hark ye, — come no more till thou do bring his head." The poor Chancellor was not long in removing him- self from this dangerous vicinity ; nor did the commis- sion waste time in giving the royal assent to the work of the slavish Parliament, and appointing the morrow for the beheading of the premier peer of England, the luckless Duke of Norfolk.* 1 See Note 5, at end of volume. % THE BIVER rAGEANT. ei CHAPTER IX. THE RIVER PAGEANT. At nine in the evening the whole vast river-front of the palace was blazing with light. The river itself, as far as the eye could reach citywards, was so thickly covered with watermen's boats and with pleasure- barges, all fringed with colored lanterns, and gently agitated by the waves, that it resembled a glowing and limitless garden of flowers stirred to soft motion by summer winds. The grand terrace of stone steps leading down to the water, spacious enough to mass the army of a German principality upon, was a picture to see, with its ranks of royal halberdiers in polished armor, and its troops of brilliantly costumed servitors flitting up and down, and to and fro, in the hurry of preparation. Presently a command was given, and immediately all living creatures vanished from the steps. Now the air was heavy with the hush of suspense and expect- ancy. As far as one's vision could carry, he might see the myriads of people in the boats rise up, and " shade their eyes from the glare of lanterns and torches, and gaze toward the palace. A file of forty or fifty state barges drew up to the steps. They were richly gilt, and their lofty prows and sterns were elaborately carved. Some of them 62 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. were clecorated with banners and streamers ; some with cloth-of-gold and arras embroidered with coats-of- arms ; others with silken flags that had numberless little silver bells fastened to them, which shook out tiny showers of joyous music whenever the breezes fluttered them ; others of yet higher pretensions, since they belonged to nobles in the prince's immediate ser- vice, had their sides picturesquely fenced with shields gorgeously emblazoned with armorial bearings. Each state barge was towed by a tender. Besides the row- ers, these tenders carried each a number of men-at- arms in glossy helmet and breastplate, and a company of musicians. The advance-guard of the expected procession now appeared in the great gateway, a troop of halberdiers. ' ' They were dressed in striped hose of black and tawny, velvet caps graced at the sides with silver roses, and doublets of murrey and blue cloth, embroi- dered on the front and back with the three feathers, the prince's blazon, woven in gold. Their halberd staves were covered with crimson velvet, fastened with gilt nails, and ornamented with gold tassels. Filing off on the right and left, they formed two long lines, extending from the gateway of the palace to the water's edge. A thick, rayed cloth or carpet was then unfolded, and laid down between them by attendants in the gold-and-crimson liveries of the prince. This done, a flourish of trumpets resounded from within. A lively prelude arose from the musicians on the water ; and two ushers with white wands marched with a slow and stately pace from the portal. They were followed by an oflScer bearing the civic mace, after whom came another carrymg the city's sword; then THE RIVER PAGEANT. 68 several sergeants of the city guard, iu their full accou- trements, and with badges on their sleeves ; then the garter king-at-arms, in his tabard ; then seveml knights of the bath, each with a whitt^ lace on his sleeve ; then their esquires ; then the judges, in their robes of scar- let and coifs ; then the lord high chancellor of Eng- land, in a robe of scarlet, open before, and purfled with minever ; then a deputation of aldermen, in their scarlet cloaks ; and then the heads of the different civic companies, in their robes of state. Now came twelve French gentlemen, in splendid habiliments, con- sisting of pourpoints of white damask barred with gold, short mantles of crimson velvet lined with violet taffeta, and carnation-colored hauts-de-chaiisses, and took their way down the steps. They were of the suite of the French ambassador, and were followed by twelve cavaliers of the suite of the Spanish ambassa- dor, clothed in black velvet, unrelieved by any orna- ment. Following these came several great English nobles with their attendants." There was a flourish of trumpets within ; and the prince's uncle, the future great Duke of Somerset, emerged from the gateway, arrayed in a " doublet of black cloth-of-gold, and a cloak of crimson satin flow- ered with gold, and ribanded with nets of silver." He turned, doffed his plumed cap, bent his body in a low reverence, and began to step backward, bowing at each step. A prolonged trumpet-blast followed, and a proclamation, "Way for the high and mighty, the Lord Edward, Prince of Wales ! " High aloft on the palace walls a long line of red tongues of flame leaped forth with a thunder-crash : the massed world on the river burst into a mighty roar of welcome ; and Tom m I 64 THE PltlNCE AND THE PAUPEU. Canty, the ciiusci and hero of it JiU, stepped into view, and slightly bowed his princely head. He was '' magnificently habited in a doublet of white satin, with a front-piece of purple cloth-of- tissue, powdered with diamonds, and edged with ermine. Over this he wore a mantle of white eloth-of-gold, pounced with the triple-feather crest, lined with blue satin, set with pearls and precious stones, and fastened with a clasp of brilliants. About his neck hung the order of the Garter, and several princely foreign orders ; ' * and wherever light fell upon him jewels re- sponded with a blinding flash. O Tom Canty, born in a hovel, bred in the gutters of London, familiar with rags and dirt and misery, what a spectacle is this ! THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS. 05 CHAPTER X. THE riUNCE IN THE TOILS, "We left Jolm Canty dragging the rightful prince into Offal Court, with a noisy and delighted mob at his heels. There was but one person in it who offered a pleading word for the captive, and he was not heeded : he was hardly even heard, so great was the turmoil. The prince continued to struggle for freedom, and to rage against the treatment he was suffering, until John Canty lost what little patience was left in him, and raised his oaken cudgel in a sudden fury over the prince's head. The single pleader for the lad sprang to stop the man's arm, and the blow descended upon his own wrist. Canty roared out, — " Thou'lt meddle, wilt thou? Then have thy re- ward." •» His cudgel crashed down upon the meddler's head : there was a groan, a dim form sank to the ground among the feet of the crowd, and the next moment it lay there in the dark alone. The mob pressed on, their enjoyment nothing disturbed by this episode. Presently the prince found himself in John Canty's abode, with the door closed against the outsiders. By the vague light of a tallow candle which was thrust into a bottle, he made out the main features of the loathsome den, and also the occupants of it. Two 66 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. frowsy girls and a middle-aged woman cowered against the wall in one corner, with the aspect of animals liabituated to harsh usage, and expecting and dreading it now. From another corner stole a withered bag with streaming gray hair and malignant eyes. John Canty said to this one, — "' Tarry ! There's line mummeries here. Mar them not till thou'st enjoyed them ; then let thy hand be heavy as thou wilt. Stand forth, lad. Now say thy foolery again, an' thou'st not forgot it. Name thy name. Who art thou? " The insulted blood mounted to the little prince's cheek once more, and he lifted a steady and indignant gaze to the man's face, and said, — " 'Tis but ill-breeding in such as thou to command me to speak. I tell thee now, as I told thee before, I am Edward, Prince of Wales, and none other." The stunning surprise of this reply nailed the hag's feet to the floor where she stood, and almost took her breath. She stared at the prince in stupid amazement, which so amused her ruffianly son, that he burst into a roar of laughter. But the effect upon Tom Canty's mother and sisters was different. Their dread of bodily injury gave way at once to distress of a different sort. They ran forward with woe and dismay in their faces, exclaiming, — " O poor Tom, poor lad ! " The mother fell on her knees before the prince, put her hands upon his shoulders, and gazed yearningly into his face through her rising tears. Then she said, — '' my p©or boy ! thy foolish reading hath wrought its woful work at last, and ta'en thy wit away. Ah I <•!, k THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS. 6T why didst thou cleave to it when I so warned thee 'gainst it? Thou'st broke thy mother's heart." The prince looked into her face, and said gently, — "Thy son is well, and hath not lost his wits, good dame. Comfort thee : let me to the palace where he is, and straightway will the King my father restore him to thee." ' ' The King thy father ! O my child ! unsay these words that be freighted with death for thee, and ruin for all that be near to thee. Shake off this grewsome dream. Call back thy poor wandering memory. Look upon me. Am not I thy mother that bore thee, and loveththee?" The prince shook his bead, and reluctantly said, — " God knoweth I am loath to grieve thy heart ; hvil truly have I never looked upon thy face before." The woman sank back to a sitting posture on the floor, and, covering her eyes with her hands, gave way to heartbroken sobs and wailings. " Let the show go on ! " shouted Canty. " What, Nan ! what. Bet ! Mannerless wenches ! will ye stand in the prince's presence? Upon your knees, ye pauper scum, and do him reverence ! " He followed this with another horse-laugh. The girls began to plead timidly for their brother ; and Nan said, — " An' thou wilt but let him to bed, father, rest and sleep will heal his madness : prithee, do." ''Do, father," said Bet: " he is more worn than is his wont. To-morrow will he be himself again, and will beg with diligence, and come not empty home again." This remark sobered the father's joviality, and 68 THE PKINCE AND THE PAUPER. brought his mind to business. He turned angrily upon the prince, and said, — ' ' The morrow must we pay two pennies to him that owns this hole ; two pennies, mark ye, — all this money for a half-year's rent, else out of this we go. Show what thou'st gathered with thy lazy begging." The prince said, — "Offend me not with thy sordid matters. I tell thee again I am the King's son." A sounding blow upon the prince's shoulder from Canty' s broad palm sent him staggering into good wife Canty' s arms, who clasped him to her breast, and shel- tered him from a pelting rain of cuffs and slaps by inter- posing her own person. The frightened girls retreated to their corner ; but the grandmother stepped eagerly forward to assist her son. The prince sprang away from Mrs. Canty, exclaiming, — " Thou shalt not suffer for me, madam. Let these swine do their will upon me alone." This speech infuriated the swine to such a degree that they set about their work without waste of time. Between them they belabored the boy right soundly, and then gave the girls and their mother a beating for' showing sympathy for the victim. " Now," said Canty, " to bed, all of ye. The enter- tainment has tired me. ' ' The light was put out, and the family retired. As soon as the snorings of the head of the house and his mother showed that they were asleep, the young girls crept to where the prince lay, and covered him tenderly from the cold with straw and rags ; and their mother crept to him also, and stroked his hair, and cried over him, whispering broken words of comfort and compas- THE PKINCE IN THE TOILS. 69 sion in his ear the while. She had saved a morsel for him to eat, also ; but the boy's pains had swept away all appetite, — at least for black and tasteless crusts. He was touched by her brave and costly defence of him, and by her commiseration ; and he thanked her in very noble and princely words, and begged her to go to her sleep and try to forget her sorrows. And he added that the King his father would not let her loyal kindness and devotion go unrewarded. This return to his ''madness" broke her heart anew, and she strained him to her breast again and again and then went back, drowned in tears, to her bed. As she lay thinking and mourning, the suggestion l.iegan to creep into her mind that there was an unde- iinal)le something about this boy that was lacking in Tom Canty, mad or sane. She could not describe it, she could not tell just what it was, and yet her sharp mother-instinct seemed to detect it and perceive it. What if the boy were really not her son, after all? O, absurd ! She almost smiled at the idea, spite of her griefs and troubles. No matter, she found that it was an idea that would not "down," but persisted in haunting her. It pursued her, it harassed her, it clung* to her, and refused to be put away or ignored. At last she perceived that there was not going to be any peace for her until she should devise a test that should prove, clearly and without question, whether this lad was her son or not, and so banish these wearing and worrying doubts. Ah yes, this was plainly the right way out of the difficulty ; therefore she set her wits to work at once to contrive that test. But it was an easier thing to propose than to accomplish. She turned over in her mind one promising test after another, but was 70 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. I in ■.?■ i obliged to relinquish them all — none of them were absolutely sure, absolutely perfect ; and an imperfect one could not satisfy her. Evidently she was racking her head in vain — it seemed manifest that she must give the matter up. While this depressing thought was passing through her mind, her ear caught the regular breathing of the boy, and she knew he had fallen asleep. And while she listened, the measured breath- ing was broken by a soft, startled cry, such as one utters in a troubled dream. This chance occurrence furnished her instantly with a plan worth all her labored tests combined. She at once set herself fever- ishly, but noiselessly, to work, to relight her candle, muttering to herself, "Had I but seen him then, I should have known ! Since that day, when he was little, that the powder burst in his face, he hath never been startled of a sudden out of his dreams or out of his thinkings, but he hath cast his hand before his eyes, even as he did that day ; and not as others would do it, with the palm inward, but always with the palm turned outward — I have seen it a hundred times, and it hath never varied nor ever failed. Yes, I shall soon know, now ! " ' By this time she had crept to the slumbering boy's side, with the candle, shaded, in her hand. She bent heedfuUy and warily over him, scarcely breathing, in her suppressed excitement, and suddenly flashed the light in his face and struck the floor by his ear with her knuckles. The sleeper's eyes sprung wide open, and he cast a startled stare about him — but he made no special movement with his hands. The poor woman was smitten almost helpless with surprise and grief ; but she contrived to hide her emo- THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS. 71 tioQS, and to soothe the boy to sleep again ; then she crept apart and communed miserably with herself upon the disastrous result of her experiment. She tried to believe that her Tom's madness had banished this habitual gesture of his ; but she could not do it. *' No," she said, " his hands are not mad, they could not unlearn so old a habit in so brief a time. O, this is a heavy day for me ! " Still, hope was as stubborn, now, as doubt had been before ; she could not bring herself to accept the ver- dict of the test ; she must try the thing again — the failure must have been only an accident ; so she startled the boy out of his sleep a second and a third time, at intervals — with the same result which had marked the first test — then she dragged herself to bed, and fell sorrowfully asleep, saying, " But I cannot give him up — O, no, I Cf.nnot, I cannot — he must be my boy ! " The poor nother's interruptions having ceased, and the prince's pains having gradually lost their power to disturb him, utter weariness at last sealed his eyes in a profound anu restful sleep. Hour after hour slipped away, and still he slept like the dead. Thus four or five hours passed. Then his stupor began to lighten. Presently while half asleep and half awake, he mur- mured — " Sir William ! " After a moment — "Ho, Sir William Herbert! Hie thee hither, and list to the strangest dream that ever ... Sir William ! dost hear? Man, I did think me changed to a pauper, and ... Ho there ! Guards ! Sir William ! What ! is there no groom of the chamber in waiting ? Alack it shall go hard with " — i Til "'.;': e\ ' ' '- 5 li - 72 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. *'What aileth thee?" asked a whisper near him. ' ' Who art thou calling ? " ' ' Sir William Herbert. Who art thou ? " "I? Who should I. be, but thy sister Nan? O, Tom, I had forgot! Thou'rt mad yet — poor lad thou'rt mad yet, would I had never woke to know it again ! But prithee master thy tongue, lest we be all beaten till we die ! " The startled prince sprang partly up, but a sharp reminder from his stiffened bruises brought him to him- self, and he sunk back among his foul straw with a moan and the ejaculation — " Alas, it was no dream, then ! " In a moment all the heavy sorrow and misery which sleep had banished were upon him again, and he real- ized that he was no longer a petted prince in a palace, with the adoring eyes of a nation upon him, but a pau- per, an outcast, clothed in rags, prisoner in a den fit only for beasts, and consorting with beggars and thieves. In the midst of his grief he began to be conscious of hilarious noises and shoutings, apparently but a block or two away. The next moment there were several sharp raps at the door ; John Canty ceased from snor- ing and said — "Whoknocketh? What wilt thou ? " A voice answered — " Know'st thou who it was thou laid thy cudgel on? " " No. Neither know I, nor care." " Belike thou 'It change thy note eftsoons. An* thou would save thy neck, nothing but flight may stead thee. The man is this moment delivering up the ghost. 'Tis the priest. Father Andrew ! " kV.-f mmamlmhtMm THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS. 73 " God-a-mercy ! " exclaimed Canty. He roused his family, and hoarsely commanded, " Up with ye all and fly — or bide where ye are and perish ! ' ' Scarcely five minutes later the Canty household were in the street and flying for their lives. John Canty held the prince by the wrist, and hurried him along the dark way, giving him this caution in a low voice — " Mind thy tongue, thou mad fool, and speak not our name. I will choose me a new name, speedily, to throw the law's dogs off the scent. Mind thy tongue> I tell thee! " He growled these words to the rest of the family — " If it so chance that we be separated, let each mplie for London bridge ; whoso findeth himself as far as the last linen-draper's shop on the bridge, let him tarry there till the others be come, then will we flee into South wark together. ' ' At this moment the party burst suddenly out of dark- ness into light ; and not only into light, but into the midst of a multitude of singing, dancing, and shouting people, massed together on the river frontage. There was a line of bonfires stretching as far as one could see, up and down the Thames ; London bridge was. illuminated ; Soiithwcrk bridge likewise ; the entire river was aglow with the flash and sheen of colored lights ; and constant explosions of fireworks filled the skies with an intricate commingling of shooting splen- dors and a thick rain of dazzling sparks that almost turned night into day ; everywhere were crowds of revellers ; all London seemed to be at large. John Canty delivered himself of a furious curse and commanded a retreat ; but it was too late. He and his tribe were swallowed up in that swarming hive of 74 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. JH :i if ;! ■-■ humanity, and hopelessly separated from each other in an instant. We are not considering that the prince was one of his tribe ; Canty still kept his grip upon him. The prince's heart was beating high with hopes of escape, now. A burly waterman, considerably exalted with liquor, found himself rudely shoved, by Canty, in his efforts to plough through the crowd ; he laid his great hand on Canty' s shoulder and said — "Nay, whither so fast, friend? Dost canker thy soul with sordid business when all that be leal men and true make holiday? " " Mine affah's are mine own, they concern thee not," answered Canty, roughly; "take away thy hand and let me pass." " Sith that is thy humor, thou*lt not pass, till thou'st drunk to the Prince of Wales, I tell thee that," said the waterman, barring the way resolutely. "Give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed! " Other revellers were interested by this time. They cried out — "The loving-cup, the loving-cup! make the sour knave drink the loving-cup, else will we feed him to the fishes." So a huge loving-cup was brought ; the waterman, grasping it by one of its handles, and with his other hand bearing up the end of an imaginary napkin, presented it in due and ancient form to Canty, who had to grasp the opposite handle with one of his hands and take off the lid with the other, according to ancient custom.^ This left the prince hand-free for a second, of course. He wasted no time, but dived among the 1 See Note 6, at end of volume. 1^. THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS. 7/5 forest of legs about him and disappeared. In another moment he could not have been harder to find, under that tossing sea of life, if its billows had been the Atlantic's and he a lost sixpence. He very soon realized this fact, and straightway busied himself about his own affairs without further thought of John Canty. He quickly realized another thing, too. To wit, that a spurious Prince of Wales was being feasted by the city in his stead. He easily concluded that the pauper lad, Tom Canty, had delib- erately taken advantage of his stupendous opportunity and become a usurper. Therefore there was but one course to pursue — find his way to the Guildhall, make himself known, and denounce the impostor. He also made up his mind that Tom should be allowed a reasonable time for spir- itual preparation, and then be hanged, drawn and quar- tered, according to the law and usage of the day, in cases of high treason. 76 THE PRIXCE AND TKK PACrKU. CHAPTER XI. AT GUILDHALL. The royal barge, atteiulecl by its gorgeous fleet, took its stately way down the Thames through the wilder- ness of illumiuated l)oats. The air was laden with music ; the river banks were ])eruffled with jo^'-lhunes ; the distant city lay in a soft luminous glow from its countless invisible bon tires ; above it rose many a slen- der spire into the sky, inerusted with sparkling lights, wherefore in their remoteness they seemed like jewelled lances thrust aloft ; as the fleet swept along, it was greeted from the banks with a continuous hoarse roar of cheers and the ceaseless flash and boom of artillery. To Tom Canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these sounds and this spectacle were a wonder un- speakably sublime and astonishing. To his little friends at his side, the princess Elizabeth and the lady Jane Grey, they were nothing. Arrived at the Dowgate, the fleet was towed up the limpid Walbrook (whose channel has now been for two centuries buried out of sight under acres of buildings,) to Bucklersbury, past houses and under bridges popu- lous with merry-makers and brilliantly lighted, and at last came to a halt in a basin where now is Barge Yard, in the centre of the ancient city of London. Tom disembarked, and he and his gallant procession crossed AT GUILDHALL. 77 Cheapsido uiul nuide a .short inarfli tliroii«>li the Ohl Jewry and IJasinghall street to the Guiklhall. Tom and his litth' hidies were received with due ceremony 1)}' the Lord INIayor and the Fatliers of the City, in their gohl chains and scarlet rol)es of state, and conducted to a ricli canoi^y <^^ estate at the hi-ad of the great hall, preceded It}" heralds making proc- lamation, and by the Mace and tlie City Sword. Tlie lords and ladies who were to attend u[)on Tom and his two small friends took their places l)ehind their chairs. At a lower table the court grandees and other guests of noble degree were seated, with the magnates of the city ; the commoners took places at a niullitude of tables on the main floor of the hall. From their lofty vantage-ground, the giants Gog and IMagog, the ancient guardians of the city, contemplated the spectacle Ix'low them with ej^es grown familiar to it in forgotten gene- rations. There was a bugle-blast and a proclamation, and a fat butler appeared in a high perch in the left- ward wall, followed by his servitors bearing with im- pressive solemnity a royal Baron of Beef, smoking hot and ready for the knife. After grace, Tom (l)eing instructed) rose — and the whole house with him — and drank from a portl}" golden loving-cup with the princess Elizabeth ; from her it passed to the lady Jane, and then traversed the general assemblage. So the banquet l)egau. By midnight the revelry was at its height. Now came one of those picturesque spectacles so admired in that old day. A description of it is still extant in the quaint wording of a chronicler who witnessed it: 78 TJIK rillNCK AND THE PAUPKR. I *' Space being made, presently entered a baron and an earl appareled after tlu» Turkish fashion in long robes of bawdkin powdered with gold ; hats on their heads of crimson velvet, with great rolls of gold, girded with two swords, called scimitars, hanging by great bawd- ricks of gold. Next came yet another baron and an- other earl, in two long gowns of yellow satin, traversed with white satin, and in every bend of white was a bend of crimson satin, after the fashion of Rusda, with furred hats of gray on their heads ; either of them having an hatchet in their hands, and boots with pj/kes" (pohits a foot long), "turned up. And after them came a knight, then the Lord High Admiral, and with him five nobles, in doublets of crimson velvet, voyded low on the back and before to the caunell-bone, laced on the Ivreasts with chains of silver ; and, over that, short cloaks of crimson satin, and on their heads hats after the dancers' fashion, with pheasants' feathers in them. These were ai)pareled after the fashion of Prussia. The torch-bearers, which were about an hun- dred, were appareled in crimson satin and green, like ]MJoors, their fsLtt'S black. Next came in a momma rye. Then the minstrels, which were disguised, danced ; and the lords and ladies did wildly dance also, that it was a pleasure to Ijchold.' >y And while Tom, in his high seat, was gazing upon this " wild " dancing, lost in admiration of the dazzling commingling of kaleidoscopic colors which the whirling turmoil of gaudy figures below him presented, the ragged but real little prince of Wales was proclaiming his rights and his wrongs, denouncing the impostor, and clamoring for admission at the gates of Guildhall ! AT OUILDITALL. 70 The crowd enjoyed this episode prodiYouldst sit in the presence of the king?" Tliis l>low staggered Hendon to his foundations. He muttered to himself, " Lo, the poor thing's mad- ness is up with the time ! it hath changed with the great change that is come to the realm, and now in fancy is he Mncj ! Good lack, I must humor the conceit, too — there is no other way — faith, he would order me to the Tower, else ! ' ' And pleased with this jest, he removed the chair from the table, took his stand behind the king, and proceeded to wait upon him in the courtliest way he was capable of. "While the king ate, the rigor of his royal dignity re- laxed a little, and with his growing contentment came a desire to talk. He said — "I think thou callest thyself Miles Hendon, if I heard thee aright ? ' ' "Yes, sire," Miles replied; then observed to him- self, " If I must humor the poor lad's madness, I must sire him, I must majesty him, I must not go by halves, I must stick at nothing that belongeth to the part I pla; , else shall I play it ill and work evil to this char- itable and kindly cause." ♦ff ii ■- 90 THE PRINCE AND TFIE PAUPER. The king warmed his heart with a seoontl gUiss of wine, and said — "I would know thee — tell me thy stor}'. Thou hast a gallant way with thee, and a noble — art nol)ly born ? " "We are of the tail of the nobility, good your majesty. My father is a l)aronet — one of the smaller lords, by knight service ^ — Sir Richard Hendon, of Hendon Hall, by JNTonk's Holm in Kent." " The name has escaped my memory. Go on — tell me thy story." " 'Tis not much, your majesty, yet perchance it mtiy beguile a short half hour for want of a better. My father. Sir Richard, is very rich, and of a most generous nature. My mother died whilst I was yet a boy. I have two brothers : Arthur, my elder, with a soul like to his father's ; and Hugh, younger than I, a mean spirit, covetous, treacherous, vicious, under- handed — a reptile. Such was he from the cradle ; such was he ten years past, when I last saw him — a ripe rascal at nineteen, I being twenty, then, and Arthur twenty-two. There is none other of us but the lady Edith, my cousin — she was sixteen, then — beautiful, gentle, good, the daughter of an earl, the last of her race, heiress of a great fortune and a lapsed title. My father was her guardian. I loved her and she loved me ; but she was betrothed to Arthur from the cradle, and Sir Richard would not suffer the con- tract to be broken. Arthur loved another maid, and baue us be of ^ood cheer and hold fast to the hope that delay and luck together would some day give 1 He refers to the order of baronets, or baronettes, — the barones minoreSt as distinct from the parliamentary barons; — not, it need hardly be said, the baronets of later creation. Urn THE rillNCli AND HIS DELIVIOUEU. 91 success to our several causes. Hugh loved the hicly Etlith's fortun(», though in trutli he said it was herself he loved — but then 'twas his wa}', a! way, to say tiie one thiug and nietui the otiier. 15ut he lost his arts upon the girl ; he could deceive my fatlier. l)ut nont» else. My father loved him l)est of us all, and trusted and believed him ; for lie was the youngest cliikl and others hated him — these qualities beiuir in all ages suflicient to >\ in a parent's dearest love ; luul he had a smooth persuasive tongue, with an admirable gift of lying — and these l>e qualities which do mightily assist a blind affection to cozen itself. I was wild — in troth 1 might go yet farther and say ver'/ wild, though 'twas a wildness of an innocent sort, since it hurt none but me, Ijrought shame to none, nor loss, nor had in it any taint of crime or baseness, or what might not beseem mine honorable degree. ' ' Yet did my brother Hugh turn these faults to good account — he seeing that our brothei' Arthur's health was but indifferent, and hoping the worst might work him profit were I swept out of the path — so, — but 'twere a long tale, good my liege, and little worth the telling. Briefly, then, this brother did deftly magnify mj' faults and make them crimes ; ending his base work with finding a silken ladder in mine ai)artments — conveyed thither by his own means — and did convince my father by this, and suborned evidence of servants and other lying knaves, that I was minded to carry off my Edith and marry with her, in rank defiance of his wiU. "Three years of banishment from home and Eng- land might make a soldier and a man of me, my father said, and teach me some degree of wisdom. I fought IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) in 1.0 I.I 2f 144 ^ l«0 M llll'-^^ Ili4 U4 •« 6" ► j^ ^ ^ 7 V '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation .^> 4 V ,v <^ ^. .'"l* ' «» <« ^.\ 23 WIST MAIN STMIT WIBSTIR,N.Y. USM (716) •73-4503 \ 92 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. out my long probation in tlie continental wars, tasting sumptuous]}' of liaril knocks, privation and adventure ; but in my last battle 1 was taken captive, and during the seven years that have waxed and waned sin.ce then, a foreign dungeon hath harbored me. Through wit and courage I won to the free air at last, and tied hither straight ; and am Ijut just arrived, right poor in purse and raiment, and poorer still in knowledge of what these dull seven years have wrought at Ilendou Hall, its people and belongings. So please you. sir, mj' meagre tale is told." "Thou hast been shamefully abused I " said the lit- tle king, with a flashing eye. ''But I will right thee — by the cross will I ! The king hath said it." Then, fired by the story of Milcs's wi'ougs, he loosed his tongue and poured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears of his astonished lis- tener. When he had finished, Miles said to himself — "' Lo, what an imagination he hath ! A'erily this U no common mind ; else, crazed or sane, it could not weave so straight and gaudy a tale as this out of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought this curious romaunt. Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or 'shelter whilst I bide with the living. He shall never leave my side ; he shall be my pet, my lit- tle comrade. And he shall be cured! — ay^e, made whole and sound — then will he make himself a name — and proud shall I be to say, ' Yes, he is mine — I took him, a homeless little ragamuffin, but I saw what was in him, and I said his name would be heard sotnc day — behold him, observe him — was 1 right ? ' " The king spoke — in a thoughtful, measured voice — "Thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance THE PRINCIC AND HIS DELIVEJIER. 93 my life, and so my crown. Such service demaiuleth rich reward. Name tli}' desire, and so it be within the compass of my roj'al power, it is thine." Tiiis fantastic suggestion startled Ilendou out of his revciy. He was al)ont to thank the king and put the matter aside with saying he had only done his duty and •lesired no reward, but a wiser thought came into his head, and he asked leave to l)e silent a few moments and consider the gracious offer — an idea which the king gravely api)roved, remarking that it was best to be not too hasty with a thing of such great import. Miles rellected during some moments, then said to himself, ''Yes, that is the thing to do — by any other means it were impossible to get at it — and certes, this hour's experience has taught me 'twould be most wear- ing and inconvenient to continue it as it is. Yes, I will propose it ; 'twas a happy accident that I did not throw the chance away." Then he dropped upon one knee and said — "My poor service went not beyond the limit of a subject's simple duty, and therefore liath no merit ; but since your majesty is pleased to hold it worthy some reward, I take heart of grace to make petition to this eff(^ct. Near four hundred years ago. as your grace knoweth, there being ill blood betwixt John, King of England, and the King of France, it was decreed that two champions should fight together in the lists, and so settle the dispute bj' what is called the arbitrament of God. These two kings, and the Spanish king, being assembled to witness and judge the conflict, the French champion appeared ; but so redoubtable was he, that our English Imights refused to measure weapons with him. So the matter, which was a weighty one, was 94 THE TMIIXCE AND THE PAUPKU. like to go against the Euglisb monarch by default. Now in the Tower hiy the lord de Courey, the uiighti- est arm in Knglaud, stripped of his honors and posses- sions, and wasting with long captivity. Appeal was made to iiini ; he gave assent, and came forth arrayed for ]»attle ; ])ut no sooner did the Frenchman glimpse his huge frame and hear his famous name but he fled away, and the French king's cause was lost. King John restored de Conrcy's titles and possessions, and said, ' Name thy wish and thou shalt have it, though it cost me half my kingdom ; ' whereat de Couicy, kneeling, as I do now, made answer, ' This, then, I ask, my liege ; that I and my successors may have and hold the privilege of remaining covered in the pres- ence of the kings of England, henceforth while the throne shall last.' The ]>oon was granted, as your majesty knoweth ; and there hath been no time, these four hundred yeai-s, that that line has failed of an heir ; and so, even unto this daj', the head of that ancient house still weareth his hat or helm before the king's majesty, without let or hindrance, and this none other may do.^ Invoking this precedent in aid of my prayer, I beseech the king to grant to me but this one grace and privilege — to my more than sufficient reward — and none other, to wit : that I and my heirs, forever, may sit in the presence of the majesty of England ! " ''Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, Knight," said the king, gravely — giving the accolade with Hendon's sword — " rise, and seat thyself. Thy i)etitioD is granted. Whilst England remains, and the crown continues, the privilege shall not lapse." 1 The lords of Kingsale, descendants of de Courey, etill enjoy this carious privilege. # THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER. 95 His mujesty walkeil apart, musing, and Hendon dropped into a cliair at table, observing to himself, ** 'Twas a ))rave thought, and hath wrought me a mighty deliveranee ; my legs are grievously wearied. An' I haurse one must be content with what a short one may do — " ' There was a woman in our town, 111 our town did dwell ' — "He stirred, methinks — I must sing in a less thunderous key ; 'tis not good to mar his sleep, with this journey before him and he so wearied out, poor chap. . . . This garment — 'tis well enough — a stitch here and another one there will set it aright. This other is better, albeit a stitch or two will not come amiss in it, likewise. . . . TJiese be very good and sound, and will keep his small feet warm and dry — an odd new thing to him, 1)elike, since he has doubtless l^een used to foot it bare, winters and summers the same. . . . Would thread were bread, seeing one get- teth a year's sufficiency for a farthing, and such a brave big needle without cost, for mere love. Now shall I have the demon's own time to thread it ! " And so he had. He did as men have always done, 5 98 THK PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. and probably always will do, to the end of time — held the needle still, and tried to thrnst the thread through the eye, which is the opposite of a woman's way. Time and tune again the thread missed the mark, going sometimes on one side of the needle, sometimes on the other, sometimes doubling up against the shaft; but be was patient, having been through these experi- ences before, when he was soldiering. lie succeeded at last, and took up the garment that had lain waiting, meantime, across his lap, and began his work. " The inn is paid — the breakfast that is to come, included — and there is wherewithal left to buy a couple of donkeys and meet our little costs for the two or three days betwixt this and the plenty that awaits us at Hendon Hall — " * She loved her hus ' — " Body o* me! I have driven the needle imder my nail! . . . It matters little — 'tis not a novelty — yet 'tis not a convenience, neither. . . . We shall }je merry there, little one , never doubt it ! Thy troubles will vanish, there, and likewise thy sad distemper — " * She loved her husband dearilee, But another man ' — "These be noble large stitches!" — holding the garment up and viewing it admiringly — "they have a grandem* and a majesty that do cause these small stingy ones of the tailor-man to look mightily paltry and plebeia — *' ' She loved her husband dearilee, But another man he loved she/— ** Marry, 'tis done — f goodly piece of w^rk, too, THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE I'llINCE. 90 and wrought with expedition. Now will I wake him, apparel him, pour for him, feed hhn, and then will we hie us to the mart by the Tabard inn in .Southwark and — be pleased to rise, my liege ! — he answereth not — what ho, my liege! — of a truth must I profane his sacred person with a touch, sith his slumber is deaf to speech. What!" He threw back the covers — the bo}' was gone ! He stared about him in speechless astonishment for a moment ; noticed for the first time that his ward's ragged raiment was also missing, then he began to rage and storm, and shout for the innkeeper. — At that moment a servant entered with the breakfast. "Explain, thou limb of Satan, or thj^time is come ! " roared the man of war, and made so savage a spring toward the waiter that this latter could not find his tongue, for the instant, for fright and surprise. "Where is the boy?" In disjointed and trembling syllables the man gave the information desired. "You were hardly gone from the place, your wor- ship, when a youth came running ' said it was your worship's will that the boy come o you straight, at the bridge-end on the Southwark side. I brought him hither ; and when he woke the lad and gave his mes- sage, the lad did grumble some little for being dis- turbed ' so early,' as he called it, but straightway trussed on his rags and went with the youth, only say- ing it had been better manners that your worship came yourself, not sent a stranger — and so " — " And so thou'rt a fool ! — a fool, and easily cozened — hang all thy breed ! Yet mayhap no hurt is done. Possibly no harm is meant the boy. I will go fetch 100 THE PRINCE AND THE PAT' PER. him. Miikc tlie tal»lo ready. Stay! the coveriuojs of the bed were disi)OHed as if one lay beneath them — happened that by aeeident?" " I know not, good your worsliip. I saw tlie youth meddk* with tiiem — he that eame for the boy." *' Thousand deaths ! 'twas done to deceive me — 'tis phiin 'twas done to gain time. Hark ye ! Was that youtli alone? " ''AH alone, your worship." '' Art sure? " " Sure, your worship." ''Collect thy scattered wits — bethink thee — take time, man." After a moment's thought, the servant said — '•When he came, none came with him; but now I remember me tluit as the two stepped into the throng of the Ihidge, a ruMlan-looking man plunged out from some near place ; and just as he was joining them " — '•'• \ihat theu? — out with it ! " thundered the impa- tient Ilendon, interrupting. "Just then the crowd lapped them up and closed them in, and I saw no more, being called by my mas- ter, who was in a rage because a joint that the scriv- ener had ordered was forgot, though I take all the saints to witness that to blame me for that miscarriage were like holding the unl)orn babe to judgment for sins com ' ' — u 'Out of my sight, idiot! Thy prating drives me mad ! Hold ! whither art flying ? Canst not bide still an instant ? Went thej' toward Southwark ? " "Even so, j^our worship — for, as I said before, as to that detestable joint, the babe unborn is no whit more blameless than " — THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PIIIN'CE. 101 "Art here yet! Ami pnitiiig still? Vjuiish, lest I throttle thee! " The servitor viinishecl. Ileiulon fol- lowed after hiii\ passed him. and plunged down the stairs two steps at a stride, nmtt( ring, " 'Tis that seur\7 villain that claimed he was his son. 1 have lost thee, my poor little mad master — it is a l>itter thought — and I had come to love thee so ! No ! by book and bell, ituf lost ! Not lost, for I will ransack the land till I find thee again. Poor chihl, yonder is his Invakfast — and mine, but I have no hunger now — so, let the rats have it — speed, speed! that is the word!" As he wormed liLs swift way through the noisy multitudes upon the Bridge, he seveial times said to himself — clinging to the thought as if it were a particularly pleasing one— ''lie grumbled, l)ut he iwnt — he wejit, j-es, because he thought Miles llen- don asked it, sweet lad — he would ne'er have done it for another, I know it well." 102 Tin: ]»KINCE AND THK PAUPER. CHAPTER XIV. " LK HOI KST MOUT — VIVK LE ROI. »f Toward dny light of tlio smne morning, Tom Canty stiiTt'd out of i\ licav}' sleep and <»ptMRHl his eycH in the (lark. lie lay silent a few moments, trying to analyze his confused liioughts and impressions, and got some sort of meaning out of them, then suddenly he hurst out in a rai^urous but guarded voice — "1 see it all, I see it all ! Now God be thanked, I am indeed awake at hist ! Come, joy ! vanish, sorrow ! Ho, Nan ! Hot I kick off your straw and hie ye hither to my side, till I do pour into your unbelieving ears the wildest madcai) dream that ever the spirits of night did conjure up to astonish the soul of man withal ! . . . Ho, Nan, I say! Bet! "... A dim form appeared at his side. an(] a voice said — '• Wilt deign to deliver thy commands? " *' Commands? . . . O. woe is me, I know thj' voice I Speak, tliou — who am I?" ''Thou? In sooth, yesternight wert thou the prince of Wales, to-day ai't thou my most gracious liege, Ed- ward, King of Kngland." Tom buiieI.' 103 Tom slept again, and after a time he lia> »f I 158 THK PKIXCR AND THE PAUPER. *' And how starved he looketh." They came still nearer, sidling shyly around and about him, examining him minutely from all points, as if he were some strange new kind of animal ; but warily and watchfully, the while, as if they half feared he might be a sort of animal that would bite, upon occasion. Finally they halted before him, holding each other's hands, for protection, and took a good satisfying stare with their innocent eyes ; then one of them plucked up all her courage and inquired with honest directness — "Who art thou, boy?" " I am the king,*' was the grave answer. The children gave a little start, and their eyes spread themselves wide open and remained so during a speech- less half minute. Then curiosity broke the silence — ' * The king ? What kmg ? ' ' "The king of England." The children looked at each other — then at him — then at each other again — wonder ingly, perplexedly — then one said — "Didst hear him, Margery? — he saith he is the king. Can that be true? " "How can it be else but true, Prissy? Would he say a lie ? For look you, Prissy, an' it were not true, i would be a lie. It surely would be. Now think on't. For all things that be not true, be lies — thou canst make nought else out of it." It was a good tight argument, without a leak in it anywhere ; and it left Prissy' s half -doubts not a leg to stand on. She considered a moment, then put the king upon his honor with the simple remark — " If thou art tmly the king, then I believe thee.' "1 am truly the king." *i THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS. 159 This settled the matter. ITis nisijesly's loynlty was accepted without further question or discussion, and the two little girls began at once to inquire into how he came to be where he was, and how he came to be so unroyally clad, and whither he was bound, and all aliout his affairs. It was a mighty relief to him to pour out his troubles where they would not be scoffed at or doubted ; so he told his tale with feeling, forgetting even his hunger for the time ; and it was received with the deepest and tenderest sympathy by the gentle little maids. But when he got down to his latest experiences and they learned how long he had been without food, they cut him short and hurried him away to the farm house to find a breakfast for him. The king was cheerful and happy, now, and said to himself, " When I am come to mine own again, I will always honor little children, remembering how that these trusted me and believed in me in my time of trouble ; whilst they that were older, and thought them- selves wiser, mocked at me and held me for a liar." The children's mother received the king kindly, and was full of pity ; for his forlorn condition and appar- ently crazed intellect touched her womanly heart. She was a widow, and rather poor ; consequently she had seen trouble enough to enable her to feel for the unfor- tunate. She imagined that the demented boy had wan- dered away from his friends or keepers ; so she tried to find out whence he had come, in order that she might take measures to return him ; but all her refer- ences to neighboring towns and villages, and all her inquiries in the same line, went for nothing — the boy's face, and his answers, too, showed that the things she was talking of were not familiar to him. He spok<^ '4-- 160 THE rillNCE AND THE PAUPER. |i,(V: I earnestly aud simply about court matters ; and broke down, more than once, when speaking of the late king *' his father ; " but whenever the conversation changed to baser topics, he lost interest and became silent. The woman was mightily puzzled ; but she did not give up. As she proceeded with her cooking, she set herself to contriving devices to surprise the boy into betraying his real secret. She talked about cattle — he showed no concern ; then about sheep — the same result — so her guess that he had been a shepherd boy was an error ; she talked about mills ; and about weavers, tinkers, smiths, trades and tradesmen of all sorts ; and about Bedlam, and jails, and charitable re- treats ; but no matter, she was baffled at all points. Not altogether, either ; for she argued that she had narrowed the thing down to domestic service. Yes, she was sure she was on the right track, now — he must have been a house servant. So she led up to that. But the result was discouraging. The subject of sweeping appeared to weary him ; fire-building failed to stir him ; scrubbing and scouring awoke no enthu- siasm. Then the good wife touched, with a perishing hope, and rather as a matter of form, upon the subject of cooking. To her surprise, and her vast delight, the king's face lighted at once ! Ah, she had hunted him down at last, she thought ; and she was right proud too, of the devious shrewdness and tact which had accomplished it. Her tired tongue got a chance to rest, now ; for the king's, inspired by gnawing hunger and the fragrant smells that came from the sputtering pots and pans, turned itself loose and delivered itself up to such an eloquent dissertation upon certain toothsome dishes, THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS. 161 that within three mimites the woman said to herself, -*0f a truth I was right — he hath holpen in a kitch- en ! " Then he broadened his bill of fare, and dis- ■cussed it with such appreciation and animation, that the good wife said to herself, " Good lack ! how can he know so many dishes, and so fine ones withal? For these belong only upon the tables of the rich and great. Ah, now I see ! ragged outcast as he is, he must have served in the palace before his reason went astray ; yes, he must have helped in the very kitchen of the king himself ! I will test him." Full of eagerness to prove her sagacity, she told the king to mind the cooking a moment — hinting that he might manufacture and add a dish or two, if he chose — then she went out of the room and gave her chil- dren a sign to follow after. The king muttered — "Another English king had a commission like to this, in a bygone time — it is nothing against my dig- nity to undertake an office which the great Alfred stooped to assume. But I will try to better serve my trust than he ; for he let the cakes burn." The intent was good, but the performance was not answerable to it ; for this king, like the other one, soon fell into deep thinkings concerning his vast affairs, and the same calamity resulted — the cookery got burned. The woman returned in time to save the breakfast from entire destruction ; and she promptly brought the king out of his dreams with a brisk and cordial tongue- lashing. Then, seeing how troubled he was, over his violated trust, she softened at once and was all good- ness and gentleness toward him. The boy made a hearty and satisfying meal, and was greatly refreshed and gladdened by it. It was a I 162 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. meal which was distinguished by this curious feature, that rank was waived on both sides ; yet neither recipi- ent of the favor was aware that it had been extended. The good wife had intended to feed this young tramp with broken victuals in a corner, like any other tramp, or like a dog ; but she was so remorseful for the scold- ing she had given him, that she did what she could to atone for it by allowing him to sit at the family table and eat with his betters, on ostensible terms of equality with them ; and the king, on his side, was so remorse- ful for having broken his trust, after the family had been so kind to him, that he forced himself to atone for it by humbling himself to the family level, instead of requiring the woman and her children to stand and wait upon him while he occupied their table in the soli- tary stote due his birth and dignity. It does us all good to unbend sometimes. This good woman was made happy all the day long by the applauses which she got out of herself for her magnanimous conde- scension to a tramp ; and the king was just as self- complacent over his gracious humility toward a humble peasant woman. When breakfast was over, the housewife told the king to wash up the dishes. This command was a staggerer, for a moment, and the king came near re- belling; but then he said to himself, "Alfred the Great watched the cakes ; doubtless he would have washed the dishes, too — therefore will I essay it." He made a sufficiently poor job of it ; and to his surprise, too, for the cleaning of wooden spoons and trenchers had seemed an easy thing to do. It was a tedious and troublesome piece of work, but he finished it at last. He was becoming impatient to get away on THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS. 163 his journey now ; however, he was not to lose this thrifty dame's society so easily. She furnished him some little odds and ends of employment, which he got through with after a fair fashion and with some credit. Then she set him and the little g:rls to par ing some winter apples ; but he was so awkward at this service, that she retired him from it and gave him a butcher knife to grind. Afterward she kept him carding wool until he began to think he had laid the good King Alfred about far enough in the shade for the present, in the matter of showy menial heroisms that would read picturesquely in story-books and his- tories, and so he was half minded to resign. And when, just after the noonday dinner, the goodwife gave him a basket of kittens to drown, he did resign. At least he was just going to resign — for he felt that he must draw the line somewhere, and it seemed to him that to draw it at kitten-drowning was about the right thing — when there was an interruption.' The interruption was John Canty — with a peddler's pack on his back — and Hugo ! The King discovered these rascals approaching the front gate before they had had a chance to see him ; so he said nothing about drawing the line, but took up his basket of kittens and stepped quietly out the back way, without a word. He left the creatures in an out- house, and hurried on, into a narrow lane at the rear. fr-*l 164 TILE PRmCE AND THE PAUPER. CHAPTER XX. THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT. I. i> I .1 The high hedge hid him from the house, now ; and so, under the impulse of a deadly fright, he let out all his forces and sped toward a wood in the distance. He never looked back until he had almost gained the shelter of the forest ; then he turned and descried two figures in the distance. That was sufficient ; he did not wait to scan them critically, but hurried on, and never abated his pace till he was far within the twilight depths of the wood. Then he stopped ; being per- suaded that he was now tolerably safe. He listened intently, but the stillness was profound and solemn — awful, even, and depressing to the spi'its. At wide intervals his straining ear did detect sounds, but they were so remote, and hollow, and mysterious, that they seemed not to be real sounds, but only the moaning and complaining ghosts of departed ones. So the sounds were yet more dreary than the silence which they interrupted. It was his pm-pose, in the beginning, to stay where he was, the rest of the day ; but a chill soon invaded his perspiring body, and he was at last obliged to re- sume movement in order to get warm. He struck straight through the forest, hoping to pierce to a road presently, but he was disappointed in this. He trav- THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT. 165 elled on and on ; but the farther he went, the denser the wood became, apparently. The gloom began to thicken, by and by, and the king realized that the night Avas coming on. It made him shudder to think of spending it in such an uncanny place ; so he tried to hurry faster, but he only made the less speed, for he could not now see well enough to choose his steps judiciously ; consequently he kept tripping over roots and tangling himself in vines and briers. And how glad he was when at last he caught the glimmer of a light ! He approached it warily, stop- ping often to look about him and listen. It came from an unglazed window-opening in a shabby little hut. He heard a voice, now, and felt a disposition to run and hide ; but he changed his mind at once, for this voice was praying, evidently. He glided to the one window of the hut, raised himself on tiptoe, and stole a glance within. The room was small ; its floor was the natural earth, beaten hard by use ; in a corner was a bed of rushes and a ragged blanket or two ; near it was a pail, a cup, a basin, and two or three pots and pans ; there was a short bench and a three-legged stool ; on the hearth the remains of a fagot fire were smouldering ; before a shrine, which was lighted by a single candle, knelt an aged man, and on an old wooden box at his side, lay an open book and a hu- man skull. The man was of large, bony frame ; his hair and whiskers were very long and snowy white ; he was clothed in a robe of sheepskins which reached from his neck to his heels. ' ' A holy hermit ! ' ' said the king to himself ; ' ' now am I indeed fortunate." The hermit rose from his knees ; the king knocked. A deep voice responded — 166 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. B' '.5 S "Enter! — but leo-ve sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shalt stand is holy ! " The king entered, and paused. The hermit turned a pair of gleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said — "Who art thou?" "I am the king," came the answer, with placid simplicity. "Welcome, king!" cried the hermit, with enthu- siasm. Then, bustling about with feverish activity, and constantly saying "Welcome, welcome," he ar- ranged his bench, seated the king on it, by the hearth, threw some fagots on the fire, and finally fell to pacing the floor, with a nervous stride. " Welcome ! Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were not worthy, and were turned away. But a king who casts his crown away, and despises the vain splendors of his office, and clothes his body in rags, to devote his life to holiness and the mortification of the flesh — he is worthy, he is welcome ! — here shall he abide all his days till death come." The king has- tened to intenoipt and explain, but the hermit paid no attention to him — did not even hear him, apparently, but went right on with his talk, with a raised voice and a growing energy. " And thou shalt be at peace here. None shall find out thy refuge to disquiet thee with supplications to return to that empty and foolish life which God hath moved thee to abandon. Thou shalt pray, here ; thou shalt study the Book ; thou shalt meditate upon the follies and delusions of this world, and upon the sublimities of the world to come ; thou shalt feed upon crusts and herbs, and scourge thy body with whips, daily, to the purifying of thy soul. Thou shalt wear a hair shirt next thv «kin ; thou shalt drink * , 'fac -.M.h..]j>jfr-^.y--a^ £^tj. . J.--.-- THE PRINCE AND ^^HE HERMIT. 167 water, only ; and thou shalt be at peace ; yes, wholly at peace ; for whoso comes to seek thee shall go his way again, baffled ; he shall not find thee, he shall not molest thee." The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud, and began to mutter. The king seized this opportunity to state his case ; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness and apprehension. But the hermit went on muttering, and gave no heed. And still muttering, he approached the king and said, impressively — " Sh ! I will tell you a secret ! " He bent down to impart it, but checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. After a moment or two he went on tiptoe to the window-opening, put his head out and peered around in the gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again, put his face close down to the king's, and whis- pered — " I am an archangel ! ' ' The king started violently, and said to himself, "Would God I were with the outlaws again; for lo, now am I the prisoner of a madman ! " His apprehen- sions were heightened, and they showed plainly in his face. In a low, excited voice, the hermit continued — '•I see you feel my atmosphere! There's awe in your face ! None may be in this atmosphere and not be thus affected ; for it is the very atmosphere of heaven. I go thither and return, in the twinkling of an eye. I was made an archangel on this very spot, it is five years ago, by angels sent from heaven to confer that awful dignity. Their presence filled this place with an intolerable brightness. And they knelt to me, king ! yes, they knelt to me ! for I was greater 168 THE PBINCE AND THE PAUPER. IF 1 |: I [ than they. I have walked in the courts of heaven, and held speech with the patriarchs. Touch my hand — be not afraid — touch it. There — now thou hast touched a hand which has been clasped by Abraham, and Isaac and Jacob ! For I have walked in the golden courts, I have seen the Deity face to face ! " He paused, to give this speech effect ; then his face suddenly changed, and he started to his feet again, saying, with angry energy, "Yes, I am an archangel; a mere archangel! — I that might have been pope ! It is veril}' true. I was told it from heaven in a dream, twentj' years ago ; ah, yes, I was to be pope ! — and I should have been pope, for Heaven had said it — but the king dissolved my religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended monk, was cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty destiny!" Here he began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in futile rage, with his fist ; now and then articulating a venomous curse, and now and then a pathetic ' ' Wherefore I am nought but an arch- angel — I that should have been pope ! ' ' So he went on, for an hour, whilst the poor little- king sat and suffered. Then all at once the old man'& frenzy departed, and he became all gentleness. His. voice softened, he came down out of his clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so humanly, that he soon won the king's heart completely. The old devotee moved the boy nearer to the fire and made him comfortable ; doctored his small bruises and abrasions with a deft and tender hand ; and then set about pre- paring and cooking a supper — chatting pleasantly all the time, and occasionally stroking the lad's cheek or patting his head, in such a gently caressing way that in a little while all the fear and repulsion inspired by THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT. 1611 the archangel were changed to reverence and affectiou for the man. Tliis happy state of things continued while the two ate the cupper ; then, after a prayer before the shrine, the hermit put the boy to bed, in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly and lovingly as a mother might ; and so, with a parting caress, left hinn and sat down by the fire, and began to poke the brands, about in an absent and aimless way. Presently he paused ; then tapped his forehead several times with his fingers, as if trying to recall some thought which had escaped from his mind. Apparently he was unsuc- cessful. Now he started quickly up, and entered hia guest's room, and said — ''Thou art king?" " Yes," was the response, drowsily uttered. ''What king?" "Of England." " Of England ! Then Henry is gone ! " " Alack, it is so. I am his son." A black frown settled down upon the hermit's face, and he clenched his bony hands with a vindictive eaergy. He stood a few moments, breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a husky voice — "Dost know it was he that turned us out into the world houseless and homeless ? " There was no response. The old man bent down and scanned the boy's reposeful face and listened to his placid breathing. " He sleeps — sleeps soundly ; '* and the frown vanished away and gave place to an expression of evil satisfaction. A smile flitted across the dreaming boy's features. The hermit muttered, "So — his heart is happy ; " and he turned away. He 8 170 THE rillNCE AND THE PAUPER. I Brs t f weut stealthily iilxmt tlio place, seeking here and there for something ; now and then halting to listen, now and then jerking his head around and casting a quick glance toward the bed ; and always muttering, always mumbling to himself. At last he found what he seemed to want — a rusty old butcher knife and a whetstone. Then he crept to his place by th(^ fire, sat himself down, and began to whet the knife softly on the stone, still muttering, mumbling, ejaculating. The winds sighed around the lonely place, the mysterious voices of the night floated by out of the distances. The shining eyes of venturesome mice and rats peered out at the old man from cracks and coverts, but he went on with his work, rapt absorbed, and noted none of these things. At long intervals he drew his thumb along the edge of his knife, and nodded his head with satisfaction. *' It grows sharper," he said ; " yes, it grows sharper." He took no note of the flight of time, but worked tranquilly on, entertaining himself with his thoughts, which broke out occasionally in articulate speech : " His father wrought us evil, he destroyed us — and is gone down into the eternal fires ! Yes, down into the eternal fires ! He escaped us — but it was God's will, yes it was God's will, we must not repine. But he hath not escaped the fires ! no, he hath not escaped the fires, the consuming, unpitying, remorseless fires — and they are everlasting ! " And so he wrought ; and still wrought ; mumbling — chuckling a low rasping chuckle, at times — and at times breaking again into words : '* It was his father that did it all. I am but an archangel — but for him, I should be pope ! " THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT. 171 The king stirred. The hermit sprang noiselessly to the bedside, and went down upon his knees, bending over the prostrate form with his knife uplifted. The boy stirred again ; his eyes came open for an instant, but there was no speculation in them, they saw nothing ; the next moment his tranquil breathing showed that his sleep was sound once more. The hermit watchetl and listened, for a time, keep- ing his position and scarcely breathiFng ; then he slowly lowered his arm, and presently crept away, saying, — "It is long past midnight — it is not best that he should cry out, lest by accident some one be passing." He glided about his hovel, gathering a rag here, a thong there, and another one yonder ; then he returned, and by careful and gentle handling, he managed to tie the king's ankles together without waking him. Next he essayed to tie the wrists ; he made several attempts to cross them, but the boy always drew one hand or the other away, just as the cord was ready to be applied ; but at last, when the archangel was almost ready to despair, the boy crossed his hands himself, and the next moment they were bound. Now a band- age was passed under the sleeper's chin and brought up over his head and tied fast — and so softly, so gradually, and so deftly were the knots drawn together and compacted, that the boy slept peacefully through it all without stirring. 172 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. f I CHAPTER XXI. •HEX DON TO THE RESCUE. The old nuui glided away, stooping, stealthy, cat- like, and brought the low bench. He seated himself upon it, half his bod\' in the dim and flickering light, and the other half in shadow ; and so, with his craving eyes bent upon the slumbering boy, he kept his patient vigil there, heedless of the drift of time, and softly whetted his knife, and mumbled and chuckled ; and in aspect and attitude he resembled nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrous spider, gloating over some hap- less insect that lay hound and helpless in his web. After a long while, the old man, who was still gaz- ing, — yet not seeing, his mind having settled into a dreamy abstraction, — observed on a sudden, that the boy's eyes were open — wide open and staring ! — star- ing up in frozen horror at the knife. The smile of a gratified devil crept over the old man's face, and he said, without changing his attitude or his occupation — •' Son of Henry the Eighth, hast thou prayed? " The boy struggled helplessly in his bonds ; and at the same time forced a smothered sound through his closed jaws, which the hermit chose to interpret as an aflirmative answer to his question. •• Then pray again. Pray the prayer for the dy- ing ! " HENDox TO Tin: itKscri:. 173 A shudder shook the boy's* fiaiiu', ivnd liis face blenched. Then he stnij^gU'd a^aiii to free liinisolf — turning and twisting liimself this way and that ; tug- ging frantically, fiercely, desperately — l)Ut uselessly — to burst his fetters : and all the while the old oijro smiled down ui)on him, and nodded his head, and placidly whetted his knife ; nunubling. from time to time.- -'The moments are precious, they are few and precious — pray the prayer for the dying I " The bo}' uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his struggles, panting. The tears came, then, and trickled, one after the other, down his face ; but this piteous sight wrought no softening effect upon the sav- age old man. The dawn was coming, now ; the hermit observed it, and spoke up sharply, with a touch of nervous ap- prehension in his voice — " I may not indulge this ecstasy longer ! The night is already gone. It seems but a moment — only a moment ; would it had endured a year ! Seed of the Church's spoiler, close thy perishing eyes, an' thou fearest to look upon "... The rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. The old man sunk upon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over the moaning boy — Hark ! There was a sound of voices near the cabin — the knife dropped from the hermit's hand; he cast a sheepskin over the boy and started up, trembling. The sounds increased, and presently the voices be- came rough and angry ; then came blows, and cries for help ; then a clatter of swift footsteps, retreating. Immediately came a succession of thundering knocks upon the cabin door, followed by — 174 THE PEINCE AND THE PAUPER. 'I mi m *?i "Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all the devils ! " O, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in the king's ears ; for it was Miles Ileudon's voice ! The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly out of the bedehamlier, closing the door ])ehind him ; and straightway the king heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the " chapel : " '' Homage and greeting, reverend su* ! AVhero is the bo}" — my boy? " "What boy, friend?" " What boy ! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no deceptions ! — I am not in the humor for it. Near to this place I caught the scoundrels who I judged did steal him from me, and I made them confess ; they said he was at large again, and they had tracked him to 3"our door. They showed me his very footprints. Now palter no more ; for look you, holy sir, an' thou produce him not — Where is the boy ? ' ' " O, good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant that tarried here the night. If such as you take interest in such as he, know, then, that I have sent him of an errand. He will be back anon." " How soon? How soon? Come, waste not the time — cannot I overtake him ? How soon will he be back ? " " Thou needst not stir ; he will return quickly." "So be it then. I will try to wait. But stop ! — ijou sent him of an errand? — you! Verily this is a lie — he would not go. He would pull thy old beard, an' thou didst offer him such an insolence. Thou hast lied, friend ; thou hast surely lied ! He would not go for thee nor for any man. ' ' HENDON TO THE RESCUE. 175 "For any mari — no; haply not. But I am not a man." ' ' What ! Now o' God's name what art thou, then ? ' ' " It is a secret — mark thou reveal it not. I am an archangel ! ' ' There was a ti'emendous ejaculation from Miles Hendou — not altogether unprof aue — followed by — " This doth well and truly account for his complais- ance ! Rii^ht well I knew he would l)ud to hear the hermit say — there it is again ! Come, wc 176 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPEPt. mv *' Ah, it came from without — I think from the copse jonder. Come, I will lead the way." The king heard the two pass out, talking ; heard their footsteps die quickly away — then he was alone with a boding, brooding, awful silence. It seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices approaching again — and this time he heard an added sound, — the trampling of hoofs, apparently. Then he heard Hendon say — ' ' I will not wait longer. I cannot wait longer. He has lost his way in this thick wood. Which direction took he ? Quick — point it out to me. " He — but wait ; I will go with thee. *' Good — good! Why, truly thou art better than thy looks. Marry I do think there's not another archangel with so right a heart as thine. Wilt ride? Wilt take the wee donkey that's for my boy, or wilt thou fork thy holy legs over this ill-conditioned slave of a mule that I have provided for myself ? — and had been cheated in, too, had he cost but the indifferent sum of a month's usury on a brass farthing let to a tinker out of work." "No — ride thy mule, and lead thine ass; I am surer on mine own feet, and will walk." " Then prithee mind the little beast for me while I take my life in my hands aud make what success I may toward mounting the big one." Then followed a confusion of kick;*; tuffs, tramp- lings and plungings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of volleyed curses, and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, which must have broken its spirit, for hostilities .:;eeraed to cease from that moment. With unutterable misery the fettered little king heard HENDON TO THE RESCUE. 177 the voices and footsteps fade away and die out. All hope forsook him, now, for the moment, and a dull despair settled down upon his heart. " My only friend is deceived and got rid of," he said ; " the hermit will return and ' ' — He finished witii a gasp ; and at once fell to struggling so frantically with his bonds again, that he shook off the smothering sheepskin. And HOW he heard the door open I The sound chilled him to the marrow — already he seemed to feel the knife at his throat. Horror made him close his eyes ; horror made him open them again — and before him stood John Canty and Hugo ! He would have said " Thank God ! " if his jaws had been free. A moment or two later his limbs were at liljerty, and his captors each gripping him by an arm, were hurrying him with all speed through the forest. 9 178 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPEK. CHAPTER XXII. m 'B A VICTIM OF TREACHERY. Once more ' ' King Foo-Foo the First ' ' was roving with the tramps and outlaws, a butt for their coarse jests and dull-witted railleries, and sometimes the victim of small spitefulnesses at the hands of Canty and Hugo when the Ruffler's back was turned. None but Canty and Hugo really disliked him. Some of the others liked him, and all admired his iplnck and spirit. Dur- ing two or three days, Hugo, in whose ward and charge the king was, did what he covertly could to make the boy uncomfortable ; and at night, during the customary orgies, he amused the company by putting small indig- nities upon him — always as if by accident. Twice he stepped upon the king's toes — accidentally — and the king, as became his royalty, was contemptuously un- conscious of it and indifferent to it ; but the third time Hugo entertained himself in that way, the king felled him to the ground with a cudgel, to the prodigious delight of the tribe. Hugo, consumed with anger and shame, sprang up, seized a cudgel, and came at his small adversary in a fury. Instantly a ring was formed around the gladiators, and the betting and cheering began. But poor Hugo stood no chance whatever. His frantic and lubberly 'prentice-work found but a poor market for itself when pitted against an arm which t A VICTIM OF TllEACHEKY. 179 had been trained by the first musters of Europe in single-stick, quarter-staff, and every art and trick of swordsmanship. The Httle king stood, alert but at graceful ease, and caught and turned aside the thick rain of blows with a facility and precision which set the motley on-lookers wild with admiration ; and every now and then, when his practised eye detected an open- ing, and a lightning-swift rap upon IIugo!s head fol- lowed as a result, the storm of cheers and laughter that swept the place was something wonderful to hear. At the end of fifteen minutes, Hugo, all battered, bruised, and the target for a pitileso bombardment of ridicule, slunk from the field ; and the unscathed hero of the fight was seized and borne aloft upon the shoulders of the joyous rabble to the place of honor beside the Ruf- tler, where with vast ceremony he was crowned King of the Gaire-Cocks ; his meaner title being at the same time solemnly cancelled and annulled, and a decree of banishment from the gang pronounced against any who should thenceforth utter it. All attempts to make the king seiTiceable to the troop had failed. He bad stubbornly refused to act ; moreover he was always trj'ing to escape. He had been thrust into an un watched kitchen, tiie first day of his return ; he not only came forth empty handed, but tried to rouse the housemates. He was sent out with a tinkei' to help him at his work ; he would not work ; moreover he threatened the tinker with his own solder- ing-iron ; and finally both Hugo and the tinker found their hands full with the mere matter of keeping him from getting away. He delivered the thunders of his royaltj^ upon the heads of all who hampered his liber- ties or tried to force him to service. He was sent out. „ -* I 1 180 QHE PKIXCE AND THE PAUPEPw. i ; if If mi m m ' vim ;^ 11 m in Hugo's charge, in company with a slatternly woman and a diseased baby, to beg ; but the result was not •encouraging — he declined to plead for the mendicants, or be a party to their cause in any way. Thus several days went by ; and the miseries of this tramping life, and the weariness and sordidness and meanness and vulgarity of it, became gradually and steadily so intolerable to the captive that he began at last to feel that his release from the hermit's knife must prove only a temporary respite from death, at best. But at night, in his dreams, these things were for- gotten, and he was on his throne, and master again. This, of course, intensified the sufferings of the awak- ening — so the mortifications of each succeeding morn- ing of the few that passed between his return to bond- age and the combat with Hugo, grew bitterer and bitterer, and harder and harder to bear. The morning after that combat, Hugo got up with a heart filled with vengeful purposes against the king. He had two plans, in particular. One was to inflict wpon the lad what would be, to his i)roud spirit and *' imagined" royalty, a peculiar humiliation; and if he failed to accomplish this, his other plan was to put a crime of some kind upon the king and then betray Mm into the implacable clutclies of the law. In pursuance of the first plan, he purposed to put a ** clime" upon the king's leg; rightly judging that that would mortify him to the last and perfect degree ; arid as soon as the clime should operate, he meant to get Canty's help, and force the king to expose his leg in the highwiiy and beg for alms. •• Clime " was the cant term for a sore, artificially created. To make a H A VICTIM OF TREACHERY. 181 ■clime, the operator made a paste or poultice of unslaked lime, soap, and the rust of old iron, and spread it upon a piece of leather, which was then bound tightly upon the leg. This would presently fret off the skin, and make the flesh raw and angry-looking ; blood was then rubbed upon the limb, which, being fully dried, took on a dark and repulsive color. Then a bandage of soiled rags was put on in a cleverly careless way which would allow the hideous ulcer to be seen and move the compassion of the passer-by.^ Hugo got the help of the tinker whom the king haent down and said, somewhat sharply — -•117// you trust in me? Peace! and forljear to worsen our cliances with dangerous speech. What God wills, will happen ; thou canst not hun-y it, thou canst not alter it ; therefore wait, and be patient — 'twill be time enow to rail or rejoice when what is to happen has happened." ^ 1 See Notes to Chapter xxiii, at end of volume. 190 THE PllINCE AND THE PAUPER. CHAPTER XXIV. THE ESCAPE. ii , I ,!; f The short winter y surprise, was speecii- less, at first, tlien found his tongue and fell to bluster- ing and threatening ; but Ilendon was tranquil, and waited with patience till his ))reath was spent ; then said — " I have a liking to thee, friend, and would not will- ingly sec thee come to harm. Observe, 1 heard it all — every word. I will prove it to thee." Then he repeated the conversation which the oflTiccr and the woman had had together in the hall, word for word, and ended with — ' ' There — have I set it forth correctly ? Should not I be able to set it forth correctly before the judge, if occasion required ? ' ' The man was dumb with fear and distress, for a moment ; then he rallied and said with forced light- ness — " 'Tis making a mighty matter indeed, out of a jest ; I but plagued the woman for miue amusement." " Kept you the woman's pig for amusement? " The man answered sharply — "Nought else, good sir — I tell thee 'twas but a jest." "I do begin to believe thee," said Ilendon, with a perplexing mixture of mockery and half-conviction in his tone ; ' ' but tarry thou here a moment whilst I run and ask his worship — for uathless, he being a man experienced in law, in jests, in " — He was moving away, still talking ; the constable 1 192 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. hi: :,V ■ ll r. hesitated, fidgetted, spat out an oath or two, thea cried out — "•Hold, hold, good sir — prithee wait a little — the- judge ! why man, he hath uo more sympathy with a jest than hath a dead corpse ! — come, and we will speak further. Odsbody! I seem to be in evil case — and all for an innocent and thoughtless pleasantry. I am a man of family ; and my wife and little ones — List to reason, good youi- worship: what wouldst thou of me? " ^'Only that thou he blind and dumb and paraljlie whilst one may count a hundred thousand — counting slowly," said Ilendon, with the expression of a man who asks but a reasonable favor, and that a very little one. " It is my destruction ! ' ' said the constable despair- ingly. '^Ah, be reasonable, good sir; only look at this matter, on all its sides, and see how mere a jest it is — how manifestly and how plainly it is so. And even if one granted it were not a jest, it is a fault so small that e'en the grimmest i)enalty it could call forth would be but a rebuke and warning from the judge's lips." Heudon replied with a solemnity which chilled the air about him — *' This jest of thine hath a name, in law, — wot you what it is ? " " I knew it not I Peradventure I have been unwise. I never dreamed it had a name — ah, sweet heaven, I thought it was original." ** Yes, it hath a name. In the law this crime is called Non compos mentis lex talionis sic transit gloria Mundi.** THE ESCAPE. 19a I *' Ah, my God!" *' And the penalty is death ! " ''God be mereiful to me, a sinner! " "•By advantage taken of one in fault, in dire pciil, and at thy mercy, thou hast seized goods worth ahovo^ thirteen pence ha'penny, paying but a trifle for tlie same; and this, in the ej'e of the law, is constructive barratry, misprision of treason, malfeasance in oflice, ad homuiem expnrgatis in statu quo — and the penalty is death by the halter, without ransom, commutation^ or benefit of clergy." " Bear me up, bear me up, sweet sir, my legs with emo- tion — "Ah, God of his merey give me strength to bear tliis grievous disappointment ! " Miles, amazed, eould not speak, for a moment ; then he found liis tongue, and eried out — " Mliat disappointment? Am I not thy brother?" Hugh shook his head sadly, and said — •• 1 pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may find the reserablanees that are hid from mine. Alaek, I fear me the letter spoke but too truly." "What letter?" "One that came from over sea, some six or seven years ago. It said my brother died in battle." "It was a lie! Call thy father — he will know me." " One may not call the dead." "Dead?" Miles's voice was subdued and his lips trembled. " My father dead ! — O, this is heavy news. Half my new joy is withered now. Prithee let me see my brother Arthur — he will know me ; he will know me and console me." " He, also, is dead." " God be merciful to me, a stricken man ! Gone, — both gone — the worthy taken and the worthless spared, in me ! Ah ! I crave your mercy ! — do not say the lady Edith " — "Is dead? No, she lives." "Then, God be praised, mj' joy is whole again! Speed thee, brother — let her come to me ! An* she say I am not myself, — but she will not ; no, no, she w.m^KS'jemus. m 200 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. •will know me, I were a fool to doubt it. Bring her — bring the old sei-vauts ; they, too, will know me." '*A11 are gone but five — Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard and Margaret.** So saying, Hugh left the room. Miles stood musing, a while, then began to walk the floor, muttering — " The five arch villains have survived the two-and- twenty leal and honest — 'tis an odd thing." He continued walking back and forth, muttering to himself ; he had forgotten the king entirely. By and by his majesty said gravely, and with a touch of gen- uine compassion, though the words themselves were capable of being interpreted ironically — " Mind not thy mischance, good man ; there be others in the world whose identity is denied, and whose claims are derided. Thou hast company." " Ah, my king," cried Hendon, coloring slightly, *' do not thou condemn me — wait, and thou shalt see. I am no impostor — she will say it ; you shall hear it from the sweetest lips in England. I an impostor? "Why I know this old hall, these pictures of my ances- tors and all these things that are about us, as a child knoweth its own nursery. Here was I born and bred, my lord ; I speak the truth ; I would not deceive thee ; and should none else believe, I pray thee do not thou doubt me — I could not bear it." *' I do not doubt thee," said the king, with a child- like simplicity and faith. "I thank thee out of my heart!" exclaimed Hen- ndili()n, Ilendon and the king passed a troublcvl niiilit. For a bribe the jailer had furnished licpior to some of the prisoners ; singing of ribald songs, fight- ing, shunting, and carousing, was the natural con- secpienee. At last, a while after midnight, a man attacked a woman and nearly killed her by locating her over the head w itli his manacles before the jailer could come to the rescue. The jailer restored jK'ace by giv- ing the man a sound clubbing about the head and shoulders — then the carousing ceai-ed ; and after that, all had an opportunity to sleep who did not mind the annoyance of the moanings and groauings of the two wounded people. During the ensuing week, the days and nights were of a monotonous sameness, as to events ; men whose faces Ilendon remembered more or less distinctly, came, b}' day, to gaze at the " impostor" and repudi- ate and insult him ; anliL lir^art in liis hroast. That is, for- im'ily. IJut none iir»' trur now ; till ure lijU'H. This imiu will know mk* — jiinl will lUny nu*, too, like tlio mst." The old niMU ^iizcd Mrouiul the I'oom. ghineed ut each faee in turn, and tinallv said — I see none here l»ut paltry knaves, seuni o' the ik streets. Which is he? The jailer lau«j!;hed. u IIei( 1 le s aid scan this hitr animal, and irrant nie an opnnon. The old man approached, and looked Ilendon over^ long and earnestly, then shook his head and said — " Marry, this is no Ilendon — nor ever was ! " " Right ! Thy old eyes are sound yet. An' I were Sir Hugh, 1 would take the shabby carle and " — The jailer linished by lifting himself a-tiptoe with an nnagiiiary halter, at the same time making a gur- gling noise in his throat suggestive of suffocation. The old man said, vindictively — ''Let hhn bless God an' he fare no worse. An' / had the handlini2r o' the villain, he should roast, or I am no true man ! " The jailer laughed a pleasant hyena laugh, and said — ••Give him a piece of thy mind, old man — thej' all do it. Thou'lt lind it good diversion." Then he sauntered toward his ante-room and disap- peared. The old man dropped upon Jiis knees and whispered. "•God be thanked, thou'rt co le again, my master! I believed thou wert dead these seven years, and lo, here thou art alive ! I knew thee the moment I saw IH r"! 212 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. r-ti Isrl m thee ; and main hard work it was to keep a stony countenance and seem to see none here but tuppenny knaves and rubbish o' the streets. I am old and poor, Sir Miles ; but say the word and I will go forth and proclaim the truth though I be strangled for it." '^ No," said Ilendon ; "'thou shalt not. It would ruin thee, and yet help but little in my cause. But I thank thee ; for thou hast given me back somewhat of my lost faith in my kind." The old servant became very valuable to Ilendon and the king ; for he dropped in several times a day to ' ' abuse ' ' the former, and always smuggled in a few delicacies to help out the prison bill of fare ; he also furnished the current news. Ilendon reserved the dainties for the king ; without them his majesty might not have survived, for he was not able to eat the coarse and wretched food provided by the jailer. Andrews was obliged to confine himself to brief a isits, in order to avoid suspicion ; but he managed to impart a fair degree of information each time — information deliv- ered in a low voice, for Ilendon 's benefit, and inter- larded with insulting epithets delivered in a louder voice, for the l)enelit of other hearers. So, little l)y little, the story of the family came out. Arthur had been dead six years. This loss, with the absence of news from Hendou, impaired the father's health ; he believed he was gouig to die, and he wished to see Hugh and Edith settled in life before he passed away ; but Edith begged hard for delay, hoping for Miles 's return ; then the letter came which brought the news of Miles 's death ; the shock prostrated Sir Rich- ard ; he believed his end was very near, and he and Hugh insisted upon the marriage ; Edith begged '^'' IN PRISON. 213 )l' and obtained a month's respite ; then another, and finally a third ; the marriage then took place, by the death-bed of Sir Richard. It had not proved a happy one. It was whispered about the country that shortly after the nuptials the bride found among her husband's papers several rough and incomplete drafts of the fatal letter, and had accused him of precipitating the mar- riage — and Sir Richard's death, too — by a wicked forgery. Tales of cruelty to the lady Edith and the servants were to be heard on all hands ; and since the father's death Sir Hugh had thrown off all soft disguises and become a pitiless master toward all who in any way depended upon him and his domains for bread. Thare was a bit of Andrews's gossip which the king listened to with a lively interest — ' ' There is rumor that the king is mad. But in charity forbear to say /mentioned it, for 'tis death to speak of it, they say." His majesty glared at the old man and said — " The king is not mad, good man — and thou'lt find it to thy advantage to busy thyself with mattei*s that* Dearer concern thee than this seditious prattle." "•What doth the lad mean?" said Andrews, sur- prised at this brisk assault from such an unexpected quarter. Ilendon gave him a sign, and he did not pursue his question, but went on with his budget — '' The late king is to l)e buried at Windsor in a day or two — the 16th of the month, — and the new king will be crowned at Westminster the 20th." " Methinks they must needs find him first," muttered his majesty; then added, confidently, "but they will look to that — and so also shall I." ji 214 THE princp: and the pauper. i. |(.:|,i^ m " In the name of " — But the old man got no further — a warning sign from Hendon checked his remark. He resumed the thread of his gossip — " Sir Hugh goeth to the coronation — and with grand hopes. He confidently looketh to come back a peer, for he is hisih in favor with the Lord Protector." " What Lord Protector? " asked his majesty. " His grace the Duke of Somerset." " What Duke of Somerset? " "Marry, there is but one — Seymour, earl of Hert- ford." *" The king asked, sharply — " Since when is he a duke, and Lord Protector? " " Since the last day of January." " And prithee who made him so? " " Himself and the Great Council — with help of the king." His majesty started violently. "The king!'* he cried. " What king, good sir? " " What king, indeed ! (God-a-mercy, what aileth the boy?) Sith we have but one, 'tis not diflScult to answer — his most sacred majesty King Edward the Sixth — whom God preserve ! Yea, and a dear and gracious little urchin is he, too ; and whether he be mad or no — and they say he mendeth daily — his praises are on all men's lips ; and all bless him, like- wise, and offer prayers that he may be spared to reign long in England ; for he began humanely, with saving the old duke of Norfolk's life and now is he bent on destroying the crudest of the laws that harry and" oppress the people." This news struck his majesty dumb with amazement, IN PRISON. 215 and plunged him into so deep and dismal a revery that he heard no more of the old man's gossip. He won- dered if the " little urchin " was the beggar-boy whom he left dressed in his own garments in the palace. It did not seem possi])le that this could be, for surely his manners and speech would betray him if he pretended to be the prince of Wale^rJ — then he would be driven out, and search made for the true prince. Could it be that the Court had set up some sprig of the nobility in his place ? No, for his uncle would not allow that — he was all-powerful and could and would crush siich a movement, of course. The boy's musings profited him nothing ; the more he tried to unriddle the mystery the more perplexed he became, the more his head ached, and the worse he slept. His impatience to get to London grew hourly, and his captivity became almost unendurable. Hendon's arts all failed with the king — he could not be comforted ; but a couple of women who were chained near him, succeeded better. Under their gentle ministrations he found peace and learned a degree of patience. He was very grateful, and came to love them dearly and to delight in the sweet and soothing influence of theu* presence. He asked them why they were in prison, and when they said they were Baptists, he smiled, and inquired — ' ' Is that ^ crhne to be shut up for, in a prison ? Now I grieve, for I shall lose ye — they will not keep ye long for such a little thing." They did not answer ; and something in their faces made him uneasy. He said, eagerly — " You do not speak — be good to me, and tell me — there will be no other punishment? Prithee tell me there is no fear of that.*' I' ? 216 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. II f:-' m i '[}■■.. i: They tried to change the topic, but his fears were aroused, and he pursued it — "Will they scourge thee? No, no, they would not he so cruel ! Say they would not. Come, they ivill not, will they?" The women betrayed confusion and distress, but there was no avoiding an answer, so one of them said, in a voice choked with emotion — " O, thou'lt break our hearts, thou gentle spirit ! — God will help us to bear our ' ' — "It is a confession!" the king broke in, "Then they ivUl scourge thee, the stonyhearted wretches ! But O, thou must not weep, I cannot bear it. Keep up thy coui-age — I shall come to my own in time to save thee from this bitter thing, and I will do it ! " When the king awoke in the morning, the women were gone. " They are saved ! " he said, joyfully ; then added, despondently, "but woe is me! — for they were my comforters." Each of them had left a shred of ribbon pinned to his clothing, in token of remembrance. He said he would keep these things always ; and that soon he would seek out these dear good friends of his and take them under his protection. Just then the jailer came in with some subordinates and commanded that the prisoners be conducted to the jail-yard. The king was overjoyed — it would be a blessed thing to see the blue sky and breathe the fresh air once more. He fretted and chafed at the slowness of the officers, but his turn came at last and he was released from his staple and ordered to follow the other prisoners, with Hendon. N PRISON. 21? The court or quadrangle, was stone-paved, and open to the sky. The prisoners entered it through a massive archway of niasonr3\ and were phieed in file, standing, with their backs against tlie wall. A rope was stretched in front of them, and tliey were also guarded by their oflicers. It was a chill and lowering morning, and a lio'ht snow which had fallen during the nisfht whitened the great empty space and added to the general dismal- ness of its aspect. Now and then a wintry wind shiv- ered through the place and sent the snow eddying hither and thither. In the centre of the court stood two women, chained to posts. A glance showed the king that these were his good friends. He shuddered, and said to himself, " Alack, they are not gone free, as I had thought. To- think that such as these should know the lash ! — in England! Ay there's the shame of it — not in Heathenesse, but Christian England ! They will be scourged ; and I, whom they have comforted and kindly entreated, must look on and see the great wrong done ; it is strange, so str.ange ! that I, the very source of power in this broad realm, am helpless to protect them. Ikit let these miscreants look well to themselves, for there is a daj^ coming when I will require of them a heavy reckoning for this work. For every blow they strike now, they shall feel a hundred, then." A great gate swung open and a crowd of citizens poured in. They flocked around the two women, and hid them from the king's view. A clergyman entered and passed through the crowd, and he also was hidden. The king now heard talking, back and forth, as if ques- tions were being asked and answered, but he conld not make out what was said. Next there was a deal of 10 f;f 218 THE PlllNCE AND THE PAUrEil. 1; III uustle and preparation, and much passing and repass* ing of officials through that part of the crowd thai stood on the further side of the women ; and whilst this proceeded a deep hush gradually fell upon the people. Now, by command, the masses parted and fell aside, and the king saw a spectacle that froze the marrow in his bones. Fagots had been piled about the two women, and a kneeling man was lighting them ! The women bowed their heads, and covered their faces with their hands ; the yellow flames began to climb upward among the snapping and crackling fagots, and wreaths of blue smoke to stream away on the wind ; the clergyman lifted his hands and began a prayer — just then two young girls came flying through the great gate, uttering piercing screams, and threw themselves upon the women at the stake. Instantly they were torn away by the officers, and one of them was kept in a tight grip, but the other broke loose, saying she would die with her mother ; and before she could be stopped she had flung her arms about her mother's neck again. She was torn away once more, and with her gown on fire. Two or three men held her, and the burning portion of her gown was snatched off and thrown flaming aside, she struggling all the while to free herself, and saying she would be alone in the world, now, and begging to be allowed to die with her mother. Both the girls screamed continually, and fought for freedom ; but suddenly this tumult was drowned under a volley of heart-piercing shrieks of mortal agon}^ — the king glanced from the frantic girls to the stake, then turned away and leaned hi& 2»ohen face against the wall, and looked no more. He IN PRISON. 219 said, "That wliich I have soon, in that one Uttle mo- ment, will never go out from my memory, but will abide there ; and I shall see it all the days, and dream of it all the nights, till I die. Would God I had been blind!" Ilendun was watching the king. He said to himself, with satisfaetlon, "His disorder mendeth ; he hath changed, and groweth gentler. If he had followed his wont, he would have stormed at these varlets, and said he was king, and commanded that the women be turned loose imscathed. Soon his delusion will pass away and be forgotten, and his poor mind will be whole again. God speed the day ! " That same day several prisoners were brought in to remain over night, who were being conveyed, under guard, to various places in the kingdom, to undergo punishment for crimes committed. The king conversed with those, — he had made it a point, from the begin- ning, to instruct himself for the kingly office by ques- tioning prisoners whenever the opportunity offered — and the talo of their woes wrung his heart. One of them was a poor half-witted woman who had stolen a yard or two of cloth from a weaver — she was to be hanged for it. Another was a man who had been accused of stealing a horse ; he said the proof had failed, and he had imagined that he wa " safe from the halter ; but no — he was hardly free before he was arraigned for killing a deer in the king's park ; this was proved against him, and now he was on his way to the galiu^vs. There was a tradesman's apprentice whose case particularly distressed the king ; this youth said he found a hawk, one evening, that had escaped from its owner, and he took it home with him, imagin- I w 220 THE ritlNCi: AND THE J'Ari'EU. ing himself eutitlcd to it ; but the court eouvieted hiitt of stealing it, unci .sentenced him to death. The king was furious over these iuhuniunities, iind wanted Ilendon to Itreak jail and fly with him to West- minster, so that he could mount his throne and hold out his scei)tre in mercy over these unfortunate people and save their lives. •• Poor child," sighed Ilendou, ""these woful tales have brought his malady upon him agam — alack, but fur this evil hap, he would have been well in a little time." Among these prisoners was au old lawyer — a mau with a strong face and a dauntless mien. Three years past, he had written a pamphlet against the Lord Chan- cellor, accusing him of injustice, and had been punished for it 'n' the loss of his ears in the pillory, and degra- dation irom the bar, and in addition had been fined £3000 and sentenced to imprisonment for life. Lately he had repeated his offence ; and in consequence was now under sentence t(3 lose ivhat remained of his ears, pay a fine of £r)000, be branded on both cheeks, and remain in prison for life. "These be honorable scars," he said, and turned back his gray hair and showed the mutilated stubs of what had once b(H*n his ears. The king's eye buined with passion. He said — •'None believe in me — neither wilt thou. But uo matter — within the compass of a month thou shalt be free ; and more, the laws that have dishonored thet and shamed the English name, shall be swept from the statute books. The world is made wrong ; kings should go to school to their own laws, at times, and so learn mercv-" ^ 1 Sl'c Null te to Cliiij)ter xxvii, at cud of volume. TUE SACRIFICI-:. 221 CHAPTER XXVIII. THE SACIIIFICK. Meantime Miles was growing sufReiently tired of confinement and inaction. But now his trial came on, to his great gratification, and he thought he could wel- come any sentence provided m further iniprisoninent should not be a par of it. But he was mistaken about that. He was in fi fine fury when he found himself described as a "sturdy vagabond" and sentenced to sit two hours in the pillory for l)earing that character and for assaulting the master of Ilendon Hull. His pretensions as to brothership with his prosecutor, and rightful heirship to the Ilendon honors and estates, were left contemptuously unnoticed, as being not even worth examination. He raged and threatened, on his wa}'^ to punishment, but it did no good ; he was snatched roughl}' along, by the ofMcers. and got an occasional cuff, besides, for his unrevereut conduct. The king could not pierce through the rabble that swarmed behind ; so he was obliged to follow in the rear, remote from his good friend and servant. The king had been nearly condemned to the stocks, him- self, for being in such bad company, but had been let off with a lecture and a warning, in consideration of his youth. When the crowd at last halted, he flitted »l1 '* iii 0001 THE PRINCK .\ND THE J'ALTPEIl. feverishly from point 'o point around its outer rim, hunting a place to g* t througli ; and at last, after a deal of diflieultv an<7 (iclav, sueeeeded. There sat his poor heneinnau in thf degrading stocks, the sport and butt of a dirty niol>--he, the hody servant of the king of England! IvhvMrd had heard the sentence pro- nounced, but he had not realized the half that it meant. His anixer beiran t) rise as the sense of this new in- furnish a duplicate of that slitunctul pa^o. lit' was ii, the toils, tht'iv was no help for him : he must either take this i)unisliment or he*;" for its remission. Hard conditions; he would take the strii)es — a king' might do that, hut a king could not beg. But meantime, IMiJt's nen(h)n was resolving the difll- eulty. " r^et the eliiid go," said he; " yv heartless dogs, do ye not see how young and frail he is? Let him jio — I will take his hishes." '' Marry, a good thought, — and thanks for it," said Sir Hugh, his taee lighting with a sardonic satisfaction. '•'' Let the little beggar go, and give this fellow a dozen in his place — an honest dozen, well laid on." The king was in the act of entering a tierce protest, V)ut Sir Hugh silenced him with the potent remark, "' Yes, speak up, do, and free thy mind — only, mark ye, that for each word you utter he shall get six strokes the more. ' ' Hendon was removed from the stocks, and his hack laid bare ; and whilst the lash was applied the poor little king turned away his face and allowed unroyal tears to channel his cheeks unchecked. "■ Ah, brave good heart," he said to himself, ''this loyal deed shall never perish out of my memory. I will not forget it — and neither shall tliey ! " he added, with passion. Whilst he mused, his appreciation of Hendon 's mag- nanimous conduct grew to greater and still greater dimensions in his mind, and so also did his gratefulness for it. Presently he said to himself, '"Who saves his prince from wounds and possible death — and this he did for me — performs high service ; but it is little — it is nothing ! — O, less than nothing ! — when 'tis weighed against the act of him who saves his prince from SHAME ! ' ' 224 THE IMIINCIO AND TIIK PAriMCIl. tfrt ■ Ilt'iidoii nisuU' IK) outcry, under tlu* Hcourj^o, hut ))oro the lu'jivy Mows with Holdicrl}' fortitude. This, to- gether with his re(U'eniin«^ the boy hy taking his stripen for hiui, eonipeUed the respect of even that forU^rn and deirnided uioh that was gathered there ; and its <;ihes any Hcrvility from grudging and inter- ested power." The dreaded Sir Hugh wheeled his horse about, and as he spju-red away, the living wall divided silently to h't him pass, and as silently closed together aeth of York in the midst of an immense white rose, whose petals formed elaborate furbelows around her; by her side was Henry VII, issuing out of a vast red rose, disposed in the same manner : the hands of the royal pair were locked together, and the wedding-ring ostentatiously displayed. From the red and white roses proceeded a stem, which reached up to a second stage, occupied by Henry VIII, issuing from a red- and-white rose, with the effigy of the new king's mother, Jane Seymour, represented by his side. One branch sprang from this pair, which mounted to a third stage, where sat the effigy of Edward VI himself, en- throned in voytxX majesty ; and the whole [)ageaut was framed with wreaths of roses, red and white. This quaint and gaudy spectacle so wrought u^wn the rejoicing people, that their acclamations utterly smothered the small voice of the child whose business it was to explain the thing in eulogistic rhymes. But Tom Canty was not sorry ; for this loyal uproar was sweeter music to him than any poetry, no matter what its quality might be. AVhithersoever Tom turned his happ3' young face, the people recognized the exactness of his effigy's likeness to himself, the flesh and blood THE RECOGNITION rUOCESSION. 287 coiinterpiirt ; Jind new wliirlwiiids of applause hurst forth. Tlu' i^rent pjigeant moved on, Jind still on, under ono triuinpluil ;ireh after another, and past a bewildering suecession of speetaeuhir and synibolieal tableaux, eaeh of which typified and exalted some virtue, or tal- ent, or merit, of the little king's. "Throughout the whole of Cheapside, from every penthouse and window, hung banners and streamers ; and the richest carpets, stuffs, and cloth-of-gold tapestried the streets, — speci- mens of the great wealth of the stores within ; and the splendor of this thoroughfare was eqnalled in the other streets, and in some even surpassed." ' ' And all these wonders and these marvels are to welcome me — me ! " murmured Tom Canty. The mock king's cheeks were flushed with excite- ment, his eyes were flashing, his senses swam in a de- lirium of pleasure. At this point, just as he was raising his hand to fling another rich largess, he caught sight of a pale, astounded face which was strained forward out of the second rank of the crowd, its in- tense eyes riveted upon him. A sickening consterna- tion struck throusjjh him ; he reco<2:nized his mother ! and up flew his hand, palm outward, l)efore his eyes, — that old involuntary gesture, born of a forgotten epi- sode, and perpetuated by habit. In an instant more she had torn her way out of the press, and past the guards, and was at his side. She embraced his leg, she covered it with kisses, she cried, " O my child, my darling! " lifting toward him a face that was transfig- ured with joy and love. The same instant an officer of the King's Guard snatched her away with a curse, and sent her reeling back whence she came with a vig- II •238 THE nilNCE AND THE PAUPER. n WW Ki , 1 , > .. i;i orourt impulse from his strong arm. The words " I do not know you, woumn ! " were falling from 'lom Canty 's lips when tiiis piteous thing oeeurred ; hut it smot*' him to the heart to see her treated so : and as she turned for a last glimpse of him, whilst the erowd was swallowing her from his sight, she seemed so wounded, so l)roken-hearted, that a shame fell upon him whieh consumed his pride to ashes, and withered his stolen royalty. His grandeurs were stricken valueless : they seemed to fall away from him like rotten rags. The procession moved on, and still on, through ever augmenting splendors and ever augmenting tempests of welcome ; but to Tom Canty they were as if they had not been. He neither saw nor heard. Royalty had lost its grace and sweetness ; its pomps were be- come a reproach. Remorse was eating his heart out. He said, " Would God I were free of my captivity ! " He had unconsciously dropped l)ack into the phrase- ology of the first days of his compulsory greatness. The shining pageant still went winding like a radiant and interminable serpent down the crooked lanes of the quaint old city, and through the huzzaing hosts ; but still the King rode with bowed head and vacant eyes, seeing only his mother's face and that wounded look in it. ** Largess, largess ! " The cry fell upon an unheed- mg ear. '' Long live Edward of England ! " It seemed as if the earth shook with the explosion ; but there was no response from the King. He heard it only as one hears the thunder of the surf when it is blown to the ear out of a great distance, for it was smothered under xinother sound which was still nearer, in his own breast, THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION. 239 in Ilia accuning conHclonce inff thoso shaiiK'i'i - a voice which kept ivpcat- woiils, "I do not know you, woman ! ' ' The words smote ui)on the King's soul as the strokes of a funeral hell smite upon the soul of a surviving friend when they remind him of secret treacheries suf- fered at his hands by him that is gone. New glories were unfolded at every turning ; new wonders, new marvels, sprui'g into view ; the pent elatnors of waiting batteries were released ; new rap- tures poured from the throats of the waiting multitudes : but the King gave no sign, and the accusing voice that went moaning through his comfortless breast was all the sound he heard. By and by the gladness in the faces of the populace changed a little, and became touched with a something like solicitude or anxiety : an abatement in the volume of applause was observal)le too. The lord protector was quick to notice these things : he was as quick to detect the cause. He spurred to the King's side, l)ent low in his saddle, uncovered, and said, — "My liege, it is an ill time for dreaming. The people observe thy downcast head, thy clouded mien, and they take it for an omen. Be advised : unveil the sun of royalty, and let it shine upon these boding vapors, and disperse them. Lift up thy face, and smile upon the people." So saying, the duke scattered a handful of coins to right and left, then retired to his place. The mock king did mechanically as he had been bidden. Ilia smile had no heart in it, but few eyes were near enough or sharp enough to detect that. The noddings of his plumed head aa he saluted his subjects were full of 240 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. I y grace aud giaciousiiess ; the largess which he delivered from his hand was royally liberal : so the people's anxiety vanished, and the acclamations burst forth again in as mighty a volume as before. Still once more, a little before the progress was ended, the duke was obliged to ride forward, and make remonstrance. He whispered, — ' ^ O dread sovereign ! shake off these fatal humors : the ej'cs of the woiJd are upon thee." Then he added with sharp annoyance, "Perdition catch that crazy pauper ! 'twas she that hath disturbed your Highness." The gorgeous figure turned a lustreless eye upon tlie duke, and said in a dead voice, — " She was my mother ! " ' ' My God ! ' ' groaned the protector as he reined his horse backward to his post, "the omen was preg- nant with prophecy. He is gone mad again ! " m 111 * Hi ®? CORONATION DAY. 241 CHAPTER XXXII. CORONATION DAY. Let us go backward a few hours, and place ourselves in Westminster Abbey, at four o'clock in the morning of this memorable Coronation Day. We are not with- out company ; for although it is still night, we find the torch-lighted galleries already filling up with people who are well content to sit still and wait seven or eight hours till the time shall come for them to see what they may not hope to see twice in their lives — the corona- tion of a king. Yes, London and Westminster have been astir ever since the warning guns boomed at three o'clock, and already crowds of untitled rich folk who have bought the privilege of trying to find sitting-room in the galleries are flocking in at the entrances reser\'ed for their sort. The hours drag along, tediously enough. All stir has ceased for some time, for every gallery has long ago been packed. We may sit, now, and look and think at our leisure. We have glimpses, here and tliere and yonder, through the dim cathedral twilight, of portions of many galleries and balconies, wedged full with people, the other portions of these galleries and balconies being cut off from sight by intervening pillars and architectural projections. We have in view the whole of the great north transept — empty, and 11 'i: I 242 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. rl I" It waiting for England's privileged ones. "We see also the ample area or platform, carpeted with rich stuffs, whereon the throne stands. The throne occupies the centre of the platform, and is raised above it upon an elevation of four steps. Within the seat of the throne is enclosed a rough flat rock — the stone of Scone — which many generations of Scottish kings sat on to be crowned, and so it in time became holy enough to an- swer a like purpose for English monarchs. Both the throne and its footstool are covered with cloth of gold. StillnebS reigns, the torches blink dully, the time drags heavily. But at last the lagging daylight asserts itself, the torches are extinguished, and a mellow radi- ance suffuses the great spaces. All features of the noble building are distinct, now, but soft and dreamy, for the sun is lightly veiled with clouds. At seven o'clock the first break in the drowsy mo- notony occurs ; for on the stroke of this hour the first peeress enters the transept, clothed like Solomon for splendor, and is conducted to her appointed place by an official clad in satins and velvets, whilst a duplicate of him gathers up the lady's long train, follows after, and, when the lady is seated, arranges the train across her lap for her. He then places her footstool accord- ing to her desire, after which he puts her coronet where it will be convenient to her hand when the time for the simultaneous coronetting of the nobles shall arrive. By this time the peeresses are flowing in in a 2:litter- ing stream, and the satin-clad officials are flittiug and glinting everywhere, seating them and making them comfortable. The scene is animated enough, now. There is stir and life, and shifting color everywhere. After a time, quiet reigns again ; for the peeresses are CORONATION DAY. 243 all come, and are all in their places — a solid acre, or such a matter, of human flowers, resplendent in varie- gated colors, and frosted like a Milky Way with dia- monds. There are all ages, here : brown, wrinkled, •whitehaired dowagers who are able to go back, and still back, down the stream of time, and recall the crowning of Richard III and the troublous days of that old forgotten age ; and there are handsome middle- aged dames ; and lovely and gracious young matrons ; and gentle and beautiful young girls, with beaming eyes and fresh complexions, who may possibly put on their jewelled coronets awkwardly when the great time comes ; for the matter will be new to them, and their excitement will be a sore hindrance. Still, this may not happen, for the hair of all these ladies has been arranged with a special view to the swift and success- ful lodging of the crown in its place when the signal comes. We have seen that this massed array of peeresses is sown thick with diamonds, and we also see that it is a marvellous spectacle — but now we are about to be astonished in earnest. About nine, the clouds suddenly break away and a shaft of sunshine cleaves the mellow atmosphere, and drifts slowly along tlie ranks of ladies ; and every rank it touches flames into a dazzling splen- dor of many-colored fires, and we tingle to our finger- tips with the electric thrill that is shot through us by the surprise and the beauty of the spectacle ! Pres- ently a special envoy from some distant corner of the Orient, marching with the general body of foreign ambassadors, crosses this bar of sunshine, and we catch our breath, the glory that streams and flashes iind palpitates about him is so overpowering ; for he is 244 THE PRINCE AND THE TAUrER. ' r crusted from head to heel with gems, and his slightest movement showers a dancing radiance all around him. Let us change the tense for convenience. The time drifted along, — one hour — two hours — two hours and a half ; then the deep Looming of artillery told that the king and his grand procession had arrived at last ; so the waiting multitude rejoiced. All knew that a further delay must follow, for the king must be pre- pared and robed for the solemn ceremonj' ; but this delay would be pleasantly occupied by the assembling of tlie peers of the realm in their stately robes. These were conducted ceremoniously to their seats, and their coronets placed conveniently at hand ; and meanwhile the multitude in the galleries were alive with interest, for most of them were beholding for the first time, dukes, earls and barons, whose names had been his- torical for five hundred years. When all were finally seated, the spectacle from the galleries and all coigns of vantage was complete ; a gorgeous one to look upon and to remember. Now the robed and mitred great heads of the church, and their attendants, filed in upon the platform and took their appointed places ; these were followed by the Lord Protector and other great officials, and these again by a steel-clad detachment of the Guard. There was a waiting pause ; then, at a signal, a tri- umphant peal of music burst forth, and Tom Canty, clothed in a long robe of cloth of gold, appeared at a door, and stepped upon the platform. The entire multitude rose, and the ceremony of the Recognition ensued. Then a noble anthem swept the Abbey with its rich waves of sound ; and thus heralded and welcomed, Tom CORONATION DAY. 245 Canty was condueted to the tlirone. The aueieiit cere- monies went on, with impressive solemnity, wliilst the audience gazed ; and as they diew nearer and nearer to completion, Tom Canty grew pale, and still paler, and a deep and steadily deepening woe and despond- ency settled down upon his spirits and upon his re- morseful heart. At last the final act was at hand. The Archbishop of Canterbury lifted up the crown of England from its cushion and held it out over the trembling mock-king's head. In the same instant a rainbow-radiance flashed along the spacious transept ; for with one impulse every individual in the great concourse of nobles lifted a cor- onet and poised it over his or her head, — and paused in that attitude. A deep hush pervaded the Abbey. At this impres- sive moment, a startling apparition intruded upon the scene — an apparition observed l)y none in the absorbed multitude, until it suddenly appeared, moving up the great central aisle. It was a boy, bareheaded, ill shod, and clothed in coarse plebeian garments that were fall- ing to rags. He raised his hand with a solemnity which ill comported with his soiled and sorr}' aspect, and de- livered this note of warning — "■ I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that forfeited head. / am the king ! " In an instant several indignant hands were laid upon the boy ; but in the same instant Tom Canty, in his regal vestments, made a swift step forward and cried out in a ringing voice — ' •• Loose him and forbear ! He is the king ! ' ' A sort of panic of astonishment swept the assem- blage, and they partly rose in their places and stared 246 THE miNCE AND THE PAUPER. WH in a bewilclerecl way at one another and at the chief figures in this scene, like persons who wondered whether they were awake and in their senses, or asleep and dreaming. The Lord Protector was as amazed as the rest, but quickly recovered himself and exclaimed in a voice of authority — "Mind not his Majesty, his malady is upon him again — seize tiie vagabond ! " He would have been obeyed, but the mock-king stamped his foot and cried out — " On your peril ! Touch him not, he is the king ! " The hands were withheld ; a paralysis fell upon the house ; no one moved, no one spoke ; indeed no one knew how to act or what to say, in so strange and sur- prising an emergenc}'. While all minds were strug- gling to right themselves, the boy still moved steadily forward, with high port and confident mien ; he had never halted from the beginning ; and while the tangled minds still floundered helplessly, he stepped upon the platform, and the mock-king ran with a glad face to meet him ; and fell on his knees before him and said — " O, my lord the king, let poor Tom Canty be first to swear fealty to thee, and say ' Put on thy crown and enter into thine own aa:ain ! " The Lord Protector's eye fell sternly upon the new- comer's face ; but straightway the sternness vanished away, and gave place to an expression of wondering surprise. This thing happened also to the other great oflScers. They glanced at each other, and retreated a step by a common and unconscious impulse. The thought in each mind was the same : ' ' What a strange resemblance ! " CORONATION DA if. 247 The Lord Protector reflected a moment or two, in perplexity, then he said, with grave respectfuhiess — ' ' By your favor, sir, I desire to ask certain questions which" — *' I will answer them, my lord." The duke asked him many questions about the court, the late king, the prince, the princesses, — the boy answered them correctly and without hesitating. He described the rooms of state in the palace, the late king's apartments, and those of the Prince of Wales. It was strange ; it was wonderful ; yes, it was unac- countable — so all said that heard it. The tide was beginning to turn, and Tom Canty*s hopes to run high,, when the Lord Protector shook his head and said — " It is true it is most wonderful — but it is no more than our lord the king likewise can do." This remark, and this reference to himself as still the king, saddened Tom Canty, and he felt his hopes crumbling from under him. " These are not proofs^" added the Protector. The tide was turning very fast, now, very fast indeed — but in the wrong direction ; it was leaving poor Tom Canty stranded on the throne, and sweeping the other out to sea. The Lord Protector communed with him- self — shook his head — the thought forced itself upon him, " It is perilous to the State and to us all, to enter- tain so fateful a riddle as this ; it could divide the nation and undermine the throne." He turned and said — " Sir Thomas, arrest this — No, hold ! " His face lighted, and he confronted the ragged candidate with this question — "Where lieth the Great Seal? Answer me this truly, and the riddle is unriddled ; for only he that was 248 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. Prince of Wales can so answer ! On so trivial a thing hang a throne and a dynasty ! " It was a lucky thought, a happy thouglit. That it was so considered by the great officials was manifested liy the silent applause that shot from eye to eye around their circle in the form of bright approving glances. Yes, none but the true prince could dissolve the stub- born mystery of the vanished Great Seal — this forlorn little impostor had been taught his lesson well, but here his teachings must fail, for his teacher himself could not answer that question — ah, very good, very good indeed ; now we shall be rid of this troublesome and perilous business in short order ! And so they nodded invisibly and smiled inwardly with satisfaction, and looked to see this foolish lad stricken with a palsy of guilty confusion. How surprised they were, then, to see nothing of the sort happen — how they marvelled to hear him answer up promptly, in a confident and untroubled voice, and say — "There is nought ."n this riddle that is difficult." Then, without so much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned imd gave this command, with the easy man- ner of one accustomed to doing such things : ' ' My lord St. John, go you to my private cabinet in the palace — for none knoweth the place better than you — and, close down to the floor, in the left corner remotest from the door that opens from the ante-chamber, you shall find in the wall a brazen nail-head ; press upon it and a little jewel-closet will fly open which not eten you do know of — no, nor any soul else, in all the world but me and the trusty artisan that did contrive it for me. The first thing that falleth under your eye will be the Great Seal — fetch it hither. " - . w CORONATION DAY. 249 All the company wondered at this speech, and won- dered still more to see the little mendicant pick out this peer without hesitancy or apparent fear of mistake, and call liim by name with such a placidly convincing air of having known him all his life. The peer was almost surprised into obeying. lie even made a move- ment as if to go, but quickly recovered his tranquil attitude and confessed his blunder with a blush. Tom Canty turned upon him and said, sharply — ^'AVhy dost thou hesitate? Hast not heard the king's command? Go ! " The lord St. John made a deep obeisance — and it was ol)scived that it was a significantly cautious and non-committal one, it not being delivered at either of the kings, but at the neutral giound about half way between the two — and took his leave. Novv l)egan a movement of the gorgeous particles of that official group which was slow, scarcely perceptible, and yet steady and persistent — a movement such as is observed in a kaleidoscope that is turned slowly, whereby the components of one splendid cluster fall xiway and join themselves to another — a movement which little l)y little, in the present case, dissolved the glittering crowd that stood about Tom Canty and clus- tered it together again in the neiglil)orliood of the new- comer. Tom Cant}^ stood almost alone. Now ensued a brief season of deep suspense and waiting — during which even the few faint-hearts still remaining near Tom Canty gradually scraped together courage enough to glide, one l)y one, over to the majority. So at last Tom Canty, in his roj^al robes and jewels, stood wholly alone and isolated from the world, a conspicuous figure, occupying an eloquent vacancy. v< h I: I It;'; mi 260 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. Now the lord St. John was seen returning. As he advanced up the mid-aisle the interest was so intense that the low murmur of conversation in the great as- semblage died out and was succeeded by a profound hush, a breathless stillness, through which his footfalls pulsed with a dull and distant sound. Every eye was fastened upon him as he moved along. He reached the platform, paused a moment, then moved toward Tom Canty with a deep obeisance, and said — '^ Sire, the Seal is not there ! " A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague-patient with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified courtiers melted away from the presence of the shabby little claimant of the Crown. In a moment he stood all alone, without friend or supporter, a target upon which was concentrated a bitter fire of scornful and angry looks. The Lord Protector called out fiercely — " Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through the town — the paltry knave is^worth no more consideration ! " Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom Canty waved them off and said — ' ' Back ! Whoso touches him perils his life ! ' ' The Lord Protector was perplexed, in the last de- gree. He said to the lord St. John — " Searched you well? — but it boots not to ask that. It doth seem passing strange. Little things, trifles, slip out of one's ken, and one does not think it matter for surprise ; but how a so bulky thing as the Seal of England can vanish away and no man be able to get track of it again — a massy golden disk ' ' — Tom Canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and shouted — CORONATION DAY. 251 "Hold, that is enough! Was it round? — and thick ? — and had it letters and devices graved upon it ? — Yes? O, notv I know what this Great Seal is that there's been such worry and pother about ! An' ye had described it to me, ye could have had it three weeks ago. Right well I know where it lies ; but it was not I that put it there — first." Who, then, my liege?" asked the Lord Protec- tor. " He that stands there — the rightful King of Eng- land. And he shall tell you himself where it lies — then you will believe he knew it of his own knowledge. Bethink thee, my king — spur thy memory — it was the last, the very last thing thou didst that day before thou didst rush forth from the palace, clothed in my rags, to punish the soldier that insulted me." A silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a whisper, and all eyes were fixed upon the new-comer, who stood, with bent head and corrugated brow, grop- ing in his memory among a thronging multitude of valueless recollections for one single little elusive fact, which, found, would seat him upon a throne — un- found, would leave him as he was, for good and all — a pauper and an outcast. Moment after moment passed — the moments built themselves into minutes — still the boy struggled silently on, and gave no sign. But at last he heaved a sigh, shook his head slowly, and said, with a trembling lip and in a despondent voice — "I call the scene back — all of it — but the Seal hath no place in it." He paused, then looked up, and said with gentle dignity, " My lords and gentlemen, if ye will rob your rightful sovereign of his own for lack 252 THE rrUNCR AND TIIE PATPKR. ! i' ' of this evuU'uco whicli he is uot able to furnisii, I nuiy not sttiy ye, being ijoweiless. But " — " O, folly, O, iiKuluess, my king ! "cried Tom Cunty, in a piinie, •• wjiit I — think I Do not give up ! — the cause is not lost ! Nor shall be neither I List to what I say — follow every word — I am going to bring that morning back again, every hap just as it happened. We talked — I told you of my sisters, Nan and I5et — ah, yes, you remember that ; and about mine old grandam — and the rough games of the lads of Offul Court — yes, you remember these things also; very well, follow me still, you shall recall every thing. You gave me food and drink, and did with princely court- esy send away the servants, so that my low breeding might not shame me before them — ah, yes, this also you remember." As Tom checked off his details, and the other boy nodded his head in recognition of them, the great audience and the officials stared in puzzled wonder* ment ; the tale sounded like true history, yet how could this impossible conjunction between a prince and a beggar boj^ have come about? Never was a company of peoi)le so perplexed, so interested, and so stupefied, before. *' For a jest, my prince, we did exchange garments. Then we stood before a mirror ; and so alike were we that both said it seemed as if there had been no change made — yes, you remember that. Then you noticed that the soldier had hurt my hand — look I here it is, I cannot yet even write with it, the fingers are so stiff. At this your Highness sprang up, vowing vengeance upon that soldier, and ran toward the door — you passed a table — that thing you call the Seal lay on COUOXATIOX DAV. 253 that tabic — you HiuitclKMl it up and looked cajiicily about, as if lor a place to hide it — your eye eauj^Iit sightof " — " There, 'tin suflicient ! — and the dear God be thanked ! " exclaimed the ragged claimant, in a might}' •excitement. "Go, my good St. John, — in an arm- piece of the Milanese armor that hangs on the wall, thou'lt find the Seal! " " Kight, my king ! right ! " cried Tom Canty ; " )i()in the sceptre of England is thine own ; and it were better for him that would dispute it that he had been born > nants again. The Lord Protector spoke up — ' ' Let the small varlet be stripped and flung into the Tower." But the new king, the true king, said — ' ' I will not have it so. But for him I had not got my crown again — none shall lay a hand upon him to harm him. And as for thee, my good uncle, my Lord Protector, this conduct of thine is not grateful toward this poor lad, for I hear he hath made thee a duke ' ' — the Protector blushed — ' ' yet he was not a king ; wherefore, what is thy fine title worth, now? To- morrow you shall sue to me, through him, for its con- firmation, else no duke, but a simple earl, shalt thou remain." Under this rebuke, his grace the duke of Somerset retired a little from the front for the moment. The king turned to Tom, and said, kindly — " My poor boy, how was it that you could remember where I hid the Seal when I could not remember it myself ? " " Ah, my king, that was easy, since I used it divers days." " Used it, — yet could not explain where it was? " " I did not know it was that they wanted. They did not describe it, your majesty." ' ' Then how used you it ? " The red blood began to steal up into Tom's cheeks, and he dropped his eyes and was silent. *' Speak up, good lad, and fear nothing," said the CORONATION DAY. 255 king. "How used you the Great Seal of Eng- land?" Tom stammered a moment, in a pathetic confusion, then got it out — "To crack nuts with! " Poor child, the avalanche of laughter that greeted this, nearly swept him off his feet. But if a doubt remained in any mind that Tom Canty was not the king of England and familiar with the august appurtenances of royalty, this reply disposed of it utterly. Meantime the sumptuous robe of state had been removed from Tom's shoulders to the king's, whose rags were effectually hidden from sight under it. Then the coronation ceremonies were resumed ; the true king was anointed and the crown set upon his head, whilst cannon thundered the news to the city, and all London «ieemed to rock with applause. I;!:' 256 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. CHAPTER XXXIII. I i ?■ EDWARD AS KING. ifi 1^: ■ ; m Miles Hendon was picturesque enough before he got into the riot on London Bridge — he was more so when he got out of it. He had but little money when he got in, none at all when he got out. The pickpock- ets had stripped him of his last farthing. But no matter, so he found his boy. Being a soldier, he did not go at his task in a random way, but set to work, first of all, to arrange his campaign. What would the boy naturally do ? AVhere would he naturally go ? Well — argued Miles — he would natu- rally go to his former haunts, for that is the instinct of unsound minds, when homeless and forsaken, as well as of sound ones. AVhereabouts were his former haunts? His rags, taken together with the low villain who seemed to know him and who even claimed to be his father, indicated that his home was in one or another of the poorest and meanest districts of London. Would the search for him be difficult, or long? No, it was likely to l)e easy and brief. He would not hunt for the boy, he would hunt for a crowd ; in the centre of a big crowd or a little one, sooner or later, he should find his poor little friend, sure ; and the mangy mob would be entertaining itself with pestering and aggra- vating the boy, who would be proclaiming himself king, EDWARD AS KING. 257 ■aa usual. Then Miles Heuclon would cripple some of those people, and carry off his little ward, and comfort and cheer him with loving words, and the two would never be separated any more. So Miles started on his quest. Hour after hour he tramped through back alleys and squalid streets, seek- ing groups and crowds, and finding no end of them, but never any sign of the boy. This greatly surprised him, but did not discourage him. To his notion, there was nothing the matter with his plan of campaign ; the only miscalculation about it was that the campaign was becoming a lengthy one, whereas he had expected it to be short. When daylight anived, at last, he had made many a mile, and canvassed many a crowd, but the only result Tvas that he was tolerably tired, rather hungry, and very sleepy. He wanted some breakfast, but there was no way to get it. To beg for it did not occur to him ; as to pawning his sword, he would as soon have thought of parting with his honor; he could spare some of his clothes — yes, but one could as easily find a customer for a disease as for such clothes. At noon he was still tramping — among the rabble which followed after the royal procession, now ; for he argued that this regal display would attract his little lunatic powerfully. He followed the pageant through all its devious windings about London, and all the way to Westminster and the Abliey. He drifted here and there amongst the multitudes that were massed in the viciuity for a weary long time, baffled and per- plexed, and finally wandered off, thinking, and trying to contrive some way to better his plan of campaign. By and by, when ho came to himself out of his mus- I'll! 258 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. • I m \ } '•] ings, he discovered that the towu was far behind him and that the day was growing old. He was near the river, and in the country ; it was a region of fine rural seats — not the sort of district to welcome clotlies like his. It was not at all cold ; so he stretched himself on the ground in the lee of a hedge to rest and think. Drow- siness presently began to settle upon his senses ; the faint and far-off boom of cannon was wafted to his ear, and he said to himself " The new king is crowned," and straightway fell asleep. He had not slept or rested, before, for more than thirty hours. He did not wake again until near the middle of the next morning. lie got up, lame, stiff, and half famished, washed himself in the river, stayed his stomach with a pint or two of water, and trudged off toward Westminster grumbling at himself for having wasted so much time. Hunger helped him to a new plan, now ; he would trj' to get speech with old Sir Humphrey Marlow and borrow a few marks, and — but that was enough of a plan for the present ; it would be time enough to en- large it when this first stage should be accomplished Toward eleven o'clock he approached the palace ; and although a host of showy people were about him, moving in the same direction, he was not inconspicu- ous — his costume took care of that. He watched these people's faces narrowly, hoping to find a charita- ble one whose possessor might be willing to carry his name to the old lieutenant — as to trying to get into the palace himself, that was simply out of the question. Presently our whipping-boy passed him, then wheeled about and scanned his figure well, saying to himself, ' '• An' that is not the very vagabond his majesty is in EDWAED AS KING. 259 such a worry about, then am I an ass — though belike I was that before. He answereth the description to a rag — that God should make two such, would be to cheapen miracles, by wasteful repetition. I would I could contrive an excuse to speak with him." Miles Heudon saved him the trouble ; for he turned about, then, as a man generally will when somebody mesmerizes him by gazing hard at him from behind ; and observing a strong interest in the boy's eyes, he stepped toward him and said — "You have just come out from the palace ; do you belong there ? ' ' '• Yes, your worship." "Know you Sir Humphrey Marlow? " The boy started, and said to himself, " Lord ! mine old departed father!" Then he answered, aloud, " Right v/ell, your worship." "Gocd — is he within?" " Yes," said the boy ; and added, to himself, " within his grave." '^ Might I crave your favor to carry my name to him, and say I beg to say a word in his ear ? ' ' " I will despatch the business right willingly, fair su\ > > "Then say Miles Hendon, son of Sir Richard, is here without — I shall be greatly bounden to you, my good lad." The boy looked disappointed — ' ' the king did not name him so, ' ' he said to himself — ' ' but it mattereth not, this is his twin brother, and can give his majesty news of 'tother Sir-Odds-and-Ends, I warrant." So he said to Miles, " Step in there a moment, good sir, and wait till I bring you word." 260 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. TM Hendon retired to the place indicated — it was a recess sunk in the palace wall, with a stone bench in it — a shelter for sentinels in bad weather. He had hardly seated himself when fiome halberdiers, in charge of an officer, passed by. The officer saw him, halted his men, and commanded Hendon to come forth. He obeyed, and was promptly arrested as a suspicious character prowling within the precincts of the palace. Things began to look ugly. Poor Miles was going to explain, but the officer roughly silenced him, and ordered his men lo disarm him and search him. '• God of his mercy grant that they find somewhat," said poor Miles; "I have searched enow, and failed, yet is my need greater than theirs." Nothing was found but a document. The officer tore it open, and Hendon smiled when he recognized the "pot-hooks" made by his lost little friend that black day at Hendon Hall. The officer's face grew dark as he read the English paragraph, and Miles blenched to the opposite color as he listened. ' ' Another new claimant of the crown ! ' ' cried the officer. "Verily they breed like rabbits, to-day. Seize the rascal, men, and see ye keep him fast whilst I convey this precious paper within and send it to the king." He hurried away, leaving the prisoner in the grip of the halberdiers. ' ' Now is my evil luck ended at last, ' ' muttered Hendon, "for I shall dangle at a rope's end for a certainty, by reason of that bit of writing. And what will become of my poor lad ! — ah, only the good God knoweth." By and by he saw the officer coming again, in a great EDWAIID AS KING. 261 hurry ; so he phickcd his courage together, purposing to meet his trouble as became a man. The officer ordered the men to loose the prisoner and return his sword to him ; then bowed respectfully, and said — " Please j'ou sir, to follow me." Hendon followed, saying to himself, "An' 1 were not travelling to death and judgment, and so must needs economize in sin, I would throttle this knave for his mock courtesy." The two traversed a populous court, and arrived at the grand entrance of the palace, where the officer, with another liow, delivered Hendon into the hands of a gorgeous official, who received him with profound respect and led him forward through a great hall, lined on both sides with rows of splendid flunkies (who made reverential obeisance as the two passed along, but fell into death-throes of silent laughter at our stately scare-crow the moment his back was turned,) and up a broad staircase, among flocks of fine folk, and finally conducted him into a vast room, clove a passage for him through the assembled nobility of England, then made a bow, reminded him to take his hat ofl:', and left him standing in the middle of the room, a mark for all ej^es, for plent}^ of indignant frowns, and for a sufficiency of amused and derisive smiles. Miles Hendon was entirely bewildered. There sat the young king, under a canopy of state, five steps away, with his head bent down and aside, speaking with a sort of human bird of paradise — a duke, may- be ; Hendon observed to himself that it was hard enough to be sentenced to death in the full vigor of life, without having this peculiarly public humiliation 262 THE PllINCE AND TITE PAUPEPw. ■ I 1 ^1 I '111-, fi-i; added. He wished the kiiig would hurry about it — some of the gaudy people near by were becoming pretty offensive. At this moment the king raised his head slightly and Hendon caught a good view of his face. The sight nearly took his breath away! — He stood gazing at the fair young face like one transfixed ; then presently ejaculated — " Lo, the lord of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows on his throne ! ' ' He muttered some broken sentences, still gazing and marvelling ; then turned his eyes around and about, scanning the gorgeous throng and the splendid saloon, murmuring ' ' But these are real — verily these are real — surely it is not a dream.'* He stared at the king again — and thought, " /s it a dream? ... or is he the veritable sovereign of England, and not the friendless poor Tom o' Bedlam I took him for — who shall solve me this riddle? " A sudden idea flashed in his eye, and he strode to the wall, gathered up a chair, brought it back, planted it on the floor, and sat down in it ! A buzz of indignation broke out, a rough hand was laid upon him, and a voice exclaimed, — "Up, thou mannerless clown! — wouldst sit in the presence of the king?" The disturbance attracted his majesty's attention, who stretched forth his hand and cried out — " Touch him not, it is his right ! " The throng fell back, stupefied. The king went on — " Learn ye all, ladies, lords and gentlemen, that this is my trusty and well beloved servant. Miles Hendon, who interposed his good sword and saved his prince EDWARD AS KING. 263 from bodily harm and possible death — and for this he is a knight, by the king's voice. Also learn, that for a higher service, in that he saved his sovereign stripes and shame, taking these npon himself, he is a peer of England, Earl of Kent, and shall have gold and lands meet for the dignity. More — the privilege which he hath just exercised is his by royal grant ; for we have ordained that the chiefs of his line shall have and hold the right to sit in the presence of the majesty of Eng- land henceforth, age after age, so long as the crown shall endure. Molest him not." Two persons, who, through delay, had only arrived from the country during this morning, and had now been in this rocn only five minutes, stood listening to these words and looking at the king, then at the scare-crow, then at the king again, in a sort of torpid bewilder- ment. These were Sir Hugh and the Lady Edith. But the new Earl did not see them. He was still star- ing at the monarch, in a dazed way, and muttering — " O, body o' me ! This my pauper ! This my luna- tic ! This is he whom /would show what grandeur was, in my house of seventy rooms and seven and twenty servants ! This is he who had never known aught but rags for raiment, kicks for comfort, and ofifal for diet ! This is he whom / adopted and would make respect- able ! Would God I had a bag to hide my head in!" Then his manners suddenly came back to him, and he dropped upon his knees, with his hands between the king's, and swore allegiance and did homage for his lands and titles. Then he rose and stood respectfully aside, a mark still for all eyes — and much envy, too. I 264 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPEK. Now the king discovered Sir Hugh, and spoke out^ with wrathful voice and kindlino; eye — ' ' Strip this robber of his false show and stolen es- tates, and put him under lock and key till I have need of him." The late Sir Hugh was led away. There was a stir at the other end of the room, now ; the assemblage fell apart, and Tom Canty, quaintly but richly clothed, marched down, between these liv- ing walls, preceded by an usher. He knelt before the king, who said — '• I have learned the story of these past few weeks, and am well pleased with thee. Thou hast governed tlie realm with right royal gentleness and mercy. Thoa hast found thy mother and thy sisters again? Good ; they shall be cared for — and thy father shall hang, if thou desire it and the law consent. Know, all ye that hear my voice, that from this day, they that abide in the shelter of Christ's Hospital and share the king's, bounty, shall have their minds and hearts fed, as well as their baser parts ; and this boy shall dwell there, and hold the chief place in its honorable Ijody of governors, during life. And for that he hath been a king, it is meet that other than common observance shall be his due ; wherefore, note this his dress of state, for by it he shall be known, and none shall copy it ; and wheresoever he shall come, it shall remind the peo- ple that he hath been royal, in his time, and none shall deny him his due of reverence or fail to give him salu- tation. He hath the throne's protection, he hath the crown's support, he shall be known and called by the honorable title of the King's Ward." The proud and happy Tom Canty rose and kissed EDWARD AS KING. 265 the king's hand, and was conducted from fi.n He did not waste any time Inirfll T^ ^'''''"''• tell her and Nan and Bet' « f . ^ *"' ^"^"^^^^ to to help hi. enjo/tltrlrlt is?"' '' '''' '^' "^- ^ See Notes to Chapter xxUl at end of the volume. 12 266 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. ijlh u I ' CONCLUSION. JUSTICE AND RETRIBUTION. ICi'' ,! When the mysteries were all cleared up, it came out, by confession of Hugh Hendon, that his wife had repu- diated Miles by his command, that day at Hendon Hall — a command assisted and supported by the per- fectly trustworthy promise that if she did not deny that he was Miles Hendon, and stand firmly to it, he would have her life ; whereupon she said take it, she did not value it — and she would not repudiate Miles ; then the husband said he woulci spare her life but have Miles assassinated i This was a different matter ; so she gave her word and kept it. Hugh was not prosecuted for his thi'eats or for steal- ing his brother's estates and title, because the wife and brother would not testify against him — and the former would not have been allowed to do it, even if she had wanted to. Hugh deserted his wife and went over to the continent, where he presently died ; and by and by the earl of Kent married his relict. There were grand times and rejoicings at Hendon village when the couple paid their first visit to the Hall. Tom Canty's father was never heard of again. The king sought out the farmer who had been branded and sold as a slave, and reclaimed him from his evil life with the Rufller's gang, and put him in the way of a comfortable livelihood. JUSTICK AND RETRinrTTON'. 267 lie uIho took that old luwyor out of piisou iiiul rc- iiiitted his Ihic. lie provided good homes for tiie diiugiiters of the two llaptiwt women whom he saw burned at the stalve, and roundly punished tlie oflicial who hiid the undeserved stripes upon Miles Hendon's baek. He saved from the gallows the boy who had captured the stray falcon, and also the woman who had stolen a remnant of cloth from a weaver ; but he was too late to save the man who had been convicted of killing a deer in the royal forest. He showed favor to the justice who had pitied him when he was supposed to have stolen a pig, and he had the gratification of seeing him grow in the public esteem and become a great and honored man. As long as the king lived he was fond of telling the story of his adventures, all through, from the hour that the sentinel cuffed him away from the palace gate till the final midnight when he deftly mixed himself into a gang of hurrying workmen and so slipped into the Abbey and climbed up and hid himself in the Con- fessor's tomb, and then slept so long, next day, that he came within one of missing the Coronation altogeth- er. He said that the frequent rehearsing of the pre- cious lesson kept him strong in his purpose to make its teachings yield benefits to his people ; and so, whilst his life was spared he should continue to tell the story, and thus keep its sorrowful spectacles fresh in his memory and the springs of pity replenished in his heart. Miles Hendon and Tom Canty were favorites of the king, all through his brief reign, and his sincere mourn- ers when he died. The good earl of Kent had too A 'iff If! 268 THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. '111 "':* ii if much sense to abuse his peculiar privilege ; but he ex- ercised it twice after the instance we have seen of it before he was called from the world ; once at the acces- sion of Queen Mary, and once at the accession of Queen Elizabeth. A descendant of his exercised it at the accession of James I. Before this one's son chose to use the privilege, near a quarter of a century had elapsed, and the "privilege of the Kents " had faded out of most people's memories ; so, when the Kent of that day appeared before Charles I and his court and sat down in the sovereign's presence to assert and per- petuate the right of his house, there was a fine stir, indeed ! But the matter was soon explained, and the right confirmed. The last earl of the line fell in the wars of the Commonwealth fighting for the king, and the odd privilege ended with him. Tom Canty lived to be a very old man, a handsome ^ white-haired old fellow, of grave and benignant aspect. As long as he lasted he was honored ; and he was also reverenced, for his striking and peculiar costume kept the people reminded that "in his time he had been royal ; " so, wherever he appeared the crowd fell apart, making wny for him, and whispering, one to another, " Doff thy hat, it is the King's Ward ! " — and so they saluted, and got his kindly smile in return — and they valued it, too, for his was an honorable history. Yes, King Edward VI lived only a few years, poor boy, but he lived them worthily'. More than once, when some great dignitary, some gilded vassal of the crown, made argument against his leniency, and urged that some law which he was bent upon amending wa& gentle enough for its purpose, and wrought no suffer- ing or oppression which any one need mightily mind. JUSTICE AND EETRIBUTION. 269 the young king turned the mournful eloquence of his great compassionate eyes upon him and answered — '' What dost thou know of suffering and oppression? I and my people know, but not thou." The reign of Edward VI was a singularly merciful one for those harsh times. Now that we are taking leave of him let us try to keep chis in our minds, to hia credit. ...if^ IP f !''*' 1 r- J I I il* NoTK 1. — Page 50. Chrisfs Hospital CosUime. It is most reasonable to regard the dress as copied from the costume of the citizens of London of that period, when long blue coats were the common habit of apprentices and serving- men, and yellow stockings were generally worn ; the coat fits closely to the body, but has loose sleeves, and beneath is worn a sleeveless yellow under-coat ; around the waist is a red leath- ern girdle ; a clerical band around the neck, and a small flat black cap, about the size of a saucer, completes the costume. — Timbs^ ^^ Curiosities of London.^' Note 2. •Page 53. It appears that Christ's Hospital was not originally founded as a school ; its object was to rescue children from the streets, to shelter, feed, clothe them, etc. — Timbs' " Curiosities of London.^'' Note 3. ~ Page 67. Tlie Duke (ff Norfolk's Condemnation Commanded. The King was ndw apyroaching fasi towards his end ; and fearing lest NorfolJ' should ^-soape him, he soiit a message to the Commons, by which \\c f-tiired them to liasten the bill, on pretence that Norfolk enjoyed the dignity of earl marshal, and it was necessary to appoint anotlier, who might officiate at the ensuhig ceremony of installing hi» son Prince of Wales. — Hume, vol. iii. p. 307. 271 11 : I 272 NOTES. : » . Note 4. — Page 91. It was not till the end of this reign [Henry VIII] that any salads, carrots, turnips, or other edible roots were produced in England. The little of these vegetables that was used, was formerly imported from Holland and Flanders. Queen Cathe- rine, when she wanted a salad, was obliged to despatch a mes- senger thither on purpose. — Hume's History of Englandy vol. iii. p. 314. ' i Note 5. —Page 100. Attainder of Norfolk. The house of peers, without examining the prisoner, with- out trial or evidence, passed a bill of attainder against him and sent it down to the commons. . . . The obsequious com- mons obeyed his [the King's] directions; ai«d the King, having aflSxed the royal assent to the bill by commissioners, issued orders for the execution of Norfolk on the morning of the twenty-ninth of January, [the next day.] — Hume' s England^ vol. iii. p. 306. Note 6. —Page 120. The Loving-Cup. The loving-cup, and the peculiar ceremonies observed in drinking from it, are older than English history. It is thought that both are Danish importations. As far back as knowledge goes, the loving-cup has always been drunk at English ban- quets. Tradition explains the ceremonies in this way: in the rude ancient times it was deemed a Avise precaution to have both hands of both drinkers employed, lest while the pledger pledged his love and fidelity to the pledgee the pledgee take that opportunity to slip a dirk into him I Note 7. — Page 129. The Duke of Norfolk's Narrow Escape. Had Henry VIII survived a few hours longer, his order for the duke's execution would have been carried into effect. NOTES. 273 " But news being carried to the Tower that the King himself had expired that night, the lieutenant deferred obeying the warrant; and it was not thought advisable by the Council to begin a new reign by the death of the greatest nobleman in the Kingdom, who had been condemned by a sentence so un- just and tyrannical." — Hume^s England, vol. iii. p. 307. Note 8. — Page 171. The Whipping-Boy. James I and Charles II had whipping-boys, when they were little fellows, to take their punishment for them when they fell short in their lessons ; so I have ventured to furnish my small prince with one, for my own purposes. Notes to Chapter XV. —Page 192. Character of Hertford. The young king discovei i an extreme attachment to his uncle, who was, in the main, a man of moderation and prob- ity. — Hume's England, vol. iii. p. 324. But if he [the Protector] gave offence by assuming too much state, he deserves great praise on account of the laws passed this session, by which the rigor of former statutes was much mitigated, and sonic secui'ity given to the freedom of the con- stitution. All laws were repealed which extended the crime of treason beyond the statute of the tweiily-fifth of Edward III; all laws enacted during the late reign extending the crime of felony; all the former laws against Lollardy or heresy, to- gether with the statute of the Six Articles. Xone were to be accused for words, but within a month after they were spoken. By these repeals several of the most rigorous laws that ever had passed in England were annulled; and some dawn, both of civil and religious liberty, began to appear to the people. A repeal also passed of that law, the destruction of all laws, by which the king's i)roclamation was made of equal force with a statute. — Ibid., vol. iii. p. 339. m If 1 ii 274 NOTES. Boiling to Death. In the reign of Henry "VIII, poisoners were, by act of parlia- ment, condemned to be boiled to death. This act was repealed in the following reign. In Germany, even in the 17th century, this horrible punish- ment was inflicted on coiners and counterfeiters. Taylor, the Water Poet, describes an execution he witnessed in Ham- burg, in 1010. The judgment pronounced against a coiner of false money was that he should "be boiled to death in oil: not thrown into the vessel at once, but with a pulley or rope to be hanged under the armpits, and then let down into the oil by degrees ; first the feet, and next the legs, and so to boil his flesh from his bones alive." — D>'. J. Hammond TrumbuWs *' Blue Laws, True and False,^' p. 13. The Famous Stocking Case. A WOMAN and her daughter nine years old, were hanged in Huntingdon for selling their souls to the devil, and raising a storm by pulling off their stockings! — Ibid., p. 20. Note 10. — Page 214. Enslaving. So young a king, and so ignorant a peasant were likely to make mistakes — and this is an instance in point. This peasant was suffering from this law by anticipation ; the king was venting his indignation against a law which was not yet in existence : for this hideous statute was to have birth in this little king's own reign. However, we know, from the hunxan- ity of his character, that it could never have been suggested by him. « . Notes to Chapter XXIII. — Page 285. Death for Trifling Larcenies. When Connecticut and New Haven were framing their fir^t codes, larceny above the value o' twelve pence was a capi-al J ^ » . NOTES. 275 crime in England — as it had been since the time of Henry I. — Dr. J. Hammond TrumbulVs ^' Blue Laws, True and False," p. 17. Tlie curious old boolv called "The Englisli Rogue" malves the limit thirteen pence ha'penny; death being the portion of any who steal a thing " above the value of thirteen pence ha'penny." Notes to Chapter XXVII. — Pag6^ 317. Feom many descriptions of larceny, the law expressly took away the benefit of clergy; to steal a horse, or a hawk, or woollen cloth from the weaver, was a hanging matter. So it was, to kill a deer from the king's forest, or to export sheep from the Kingdom. — Br. J. Uammond TrumbulVs ^^ Blue Laws, True and False,'^ p. 13. William Prynne, a learned barrister, was sentenced — [long after Edward the Sixth's time ] — to lose both his ears in the pillory; to degradation from the bar; a fine of £3,000, and imprisonment for life. Three years afterwards, lie gave new offence to Laud, by publishing a pamphlet against the hierar- chy. He was again prosecuted, and was sentenced to lose what remained of his ears, to pay a fine of £5,000; to be branded on both his cheeks with the letters S. L. (for Sedi- tious Libeller,) and to remain in prison for life. The severity of this sentence was equalled by the savage rigor of its exe- cution. — Ibid., p. 12. Notes to Chapter XXXIII. — Page 395. Christ's Hospital, or Blue Coat School, " the Noblest Institution in the World." The ground on which the Priory of the Grey Friars stood was coiitVi-red by Henry the Eighth on the Corpcn'ation of London, [who caused the institution there of a home for poor lioys and girls.] Subsequently, Edward the Sixth caused the old Priory to be properly repaired, and founded within it that noble establishment called the Blue Coat School, or Christ's Hospital, for the education and maintenance of orphans and the children of indigent persons .... Edward would not let 1 ■ii ^f! i I 6-ij,, 276 NOTES. I 4 I ! J him [Bishop Ridley] depart till the letter was written, [to the Lord Mayor,] and then charged him to deliver it himself, and signify his special request and commandment that no time might be lost in proposing what was convenient, and apprising him of the proceedings. The work was zealously undertaken, Ridley himself engaging in it; and the result was, the founding of Christ's Hospital for the Education of Poor Children. [The king endowed several other charities at the same time.] "Lord God," said he, "I yield thee most hearty thanks that thou hast given me life thus long, to finish this work to the glory of thy name!" That innocent and most exemplary life was drawing rapidly to its close, and in a few days he ren- dered up his spirit to his Creator, praying God to defend the realm from Papistry. — J. Heneage Jesse's London, its Cele- brated Characters and Places.'^ In the Great Hall hangs a large picture of King Edward VI seated on his throne, in a scarlet and ermined robe, holding the sceptre in his left hand, and presenting with the other the Charter to the kneeling Lord Mayor. By his side stands the Chancellor, holding the seals, and next to him are other offi- cers of state. Bishop Ridley kneels before him with uplifted hands, as if supplicating a blessing on the event; whilst the Aldermen, etc., with the Lord Mayor, kneel on both sides, occupying the middle ground of the picture; and lastly, iii front, are a double row of boys on one side, and girls on the other, from the master and matron down to the boy and girl who have stepped forward from their respective rows, and kneel with raised hands before the King. — Timbs' " Curiosi- ties of London,'' p. 98. Christ's Hospital, by ancient custom, possesses the privi- lege of addressing the Sovereign on the occasion of his or her coming into the City to partake of the hospitality of the Cor- poration of London. — Ibid. The Dining-Hall, with its lobby and organ-gallery, occupies the entire story, which is 187 feet long, 51 feet wide, and 47 feet high; it is lit by nine large windows, filled with stained glass on the south side ; and is, next to Westminster Hall, the noblest room in the metropolis. Here the boys, now about 800 in number, dine; and here are held the "Suppings in Pub- lic," to which visitors are admitted by tickets, issued by the M NOTES. 277 Treasurer and ))y the Governors of Christ's Hospital. The tal)les are laid with cheese in wooden bowls ; beer in wooden piggins, poured from leathern jacks; and bread brought in large baskets. The official company enter; the Lord Mayor, or President, takes his seat in a state chair, made of oak from fcjt. Catherine's Church by the Tower; a hymn is sung, accom- panied by the organ; a "Grecian," or head boy, reads the prayers from the pulpit, silence being enforced by three drops of a wooden hammer. After prayer the supjier commences, and the visitors walk between the tables. At its close, the "trade-boys" take up the baskets, bowls, jacks, piggins, and candlesticks, and pass in procession, the bowing to the Gov- ernors being curiously formal. This spectacle was witnessed by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1845. Among the more eminent Blue Coat Boys are Joshua Barnes, editor of Anacreon and Euripides; Jeremiah Mark- land, the eminent critic, particularly in Greek literature; Camden, the antiquary; Bishop Stillingfleet; Samuel Richard- son the novelist; Thomas Mitchell, the translator of Aristoph- anes; Thomas Barnes, many years editor of the London Times ; Coleridge, Charles Lamb, and Leigh Hunt. No boy is admitted before he is seven years old, or after he is nine ; and no boy can remain in the school after he is fif- teen, King's boys and "Grecians" alone excepted. There are about 500 Governors, at the head of whom are the Sovereign and the Prince of Wales. The qualification for a Governor is payment of £500. — Ibid. f m GENERAL NOTE. One hears much about the ^^ hideous Blue-Laws of Con- necticut,^^ and is accustomed to shudder piously lohen they are mentioned. There are people in America — and even in Eng- land ! — loho imagine that they were a very monument of malif/- nify, pitilessness, and inhumanity; whereas, in reality they were about the first sweeping departure from judicial ATRC^iTY which the " cioilized " world had seen. This hu- mane and kindly Blue-Law code, of two hundred and forty -.(^fciaffli* fll w 278 NOTES. years ago, stands all by itself, loith ayes of bloody law on the further side qf it, and a century and three-quarters of bloody English law on this side of it. There has never been a time — under the Blue-Laws or any other — when above fouuteen crimes were punishable hij death in Connecticut. But in England, vnthin the memory of men who are still hale in body and mind, two hundred and TWENTY-THREE crimcs loere punishable by death I"^ These facts ojre worth knowing — and worth thinking about, too. 1 See Or. J. Hammond Trumbull's " Blue Laws, True aud False," p. lit |! i ': I* ife^... 4 i^.— i