The Prince and the Pauper
Chapter III. Tom's meeting with the Prince.
Tom got up hungry, and sauntered hungry away, but with his
thoughts busy with the shadowy splendours of his night's dreams. He wandered
here and there in the city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what was
happening around him. People jostled him, and some gave him rough speech;
but it was all lost on the musing boy. By-and-by he found himself at
Temple Bar, the farthest from home he had ever travelled in that
direction. He stopped and considered a moment, then fell into his
imaginings again, and passed on outside the walls of London. The Strand
had ceased to be a country-road then, and regarded itself as a street, but by a
strained construction; for, though there was a tolerably compact row of houses
on one side of it, there were only some scattered great buildings on the other,
these being palaces of rich nobles, with ample and beautiful grounds stretching
to the river—grounds that are now closely packed with grim acres of brick and
stone.
Tom discovered Charing Village presently, and rested himself
at the beautiful cross built there by a bereaved king of earlier days; then
idled down a quiet, lovely road, past the great cardinal's stately palace,
toward a far more mighty and majestic palace beyond—Westminster. Tom stared in
glad wonder at the vast pile of masonry, the wide-spreading wings, the frowning
bastions and turrets, the huge stone gateway, with its gilded bars and its
magnificent array of colossal granite lions, and other the signs and symbols of
English royalty. Was the desire of his soul to be satisfied at
last? Here, indeed, was a king's palace. Might he not hope to see a
prince now—a prince of flesh and blood, if Heaven were willing?
At each side of the gilded gate stood a living statue—that
is to say, an erect and stately and motionless man-at-arms, clad from head to
heel in shining steel armour. At a respectful distance were many country
folk, and people from the city, waiting for any chance glimpse of royalty that
might offer. Splendid carriages, with splendid people in them and
splendid servants outside, were arriving and departing by several other noble
gateways that pierced the royal enclosure.
Poor little Tom, in his rags, approached, and was moving
slowly and timidly past the sentinels, with a beating heart and a rising hope,
when all at once he caught sight through the golden bars of a spectacle that
almost made him shout for joy. Within was a comely boy, tanned and brown
with sturdy outdoor sports and exercises, whose clothing was all of lovely
silks and satins, shining with jewels; at his hip a little jewelled sword and
dagger; dainty buskins on his feet, with red heels; and on his head a jaunty
crimson cap, with drooping plumes fastened with a great sparkling gem.
Several gorgeous gentlemen stood near—his servants, without a doubt. Oh!
he was a prince—a prince, a living prince, a real prince—without the shadow of
a question; and the prayer of the pauper-boy's heart was answered at last.
Tom's breath came quick and short with excitement, and his
eyes grew big with wonder and delight. Everything gave way in his mind
instantly to one desire: that was to get close to the prince, and have a
good, devouring look at him. Before he knew what he was about, he had his
face against the gate-bars. The next instant one of the soldiers snatched
him rudely away, and sent him spinning among the gaping crowd of country gawks
and London idlers. The soldier said,—
"Mind thy manners, thou young beggar!"
The crowd jeered and laughed; but the young prince sprang to
the gate with his face flushed, and his eyes flashing with indignation, and
cried out,—
"How dar'st thou use a poor lad like that? How
dar'st thou use the King my father's meanest subject so? Open the gates,
and let him in!"
You should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their hats
then. You should have heard them cheer, and shout, "Long live the Prince
of Wales!"
The soldiers presented arms with their halberds, opened the
gates, and presented again as the little Prince of Poverty passed in, in his
fluttering rags, to join hands with the Prince of Limitless Plenty.
Edward Tudor said—
"Thou lookest tired and hungry: thou'st been
treated ill. Come with me."
Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to—I don't know what;
interfere, no doubt. But they were waved aside with a right royal
gesture, and they stopped stock still where they were, like so many statues.
Edward took Tom to a rich apartment in the palace, which he called his
cabinet. By his command a repast was brought such as Tom had never
encountered before except in books. The prince, with princely delicacy
and breeding, sent away the servants, so that his humble guest might not be
embarrassed by their critical presence; then he sat near by, and asked
questions while Tom ate.
"What is thy name, lad?"
"Tom Canty, an' it please thee, sir."
"'Tis an odd one. Where dost live?"
"In the city, please thee, sir. Offal Court, out
of Pudding Lane."
"Offal Court! Truly 'tis another odd one.
Hast parents?"