The Prince and the Pauper
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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 assemblage 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 degree. 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 so bulky a 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 —
“Hold, that is enough! Was it round? – and thick? – and had it letters and devices graved upon it? – yes? Oh, now 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 Protector.
“He that stands there – the rightful King of England. 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, groping in his memory among a thronging multitude of valueless recollections for one single little elusive fact, which, found, would seat him upon a throne – unfound, 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 of this evidence which he is not able to furnish, I may not stay ye, being powerless. But – ”
“Oh, folly, oh, madness, my King!” cried Tom Canty, in a panic, “wait! – think! Do not give up! – the cause is not lost! Nor shall be, neither! 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 Bet – ah, yes, you remember that; and about mine old grandam – and the rough games of the lads of Offal Court – yes, you remember these things also; very well, follow me still, you shall recall everything. You gave me food and drink, and did with princely courtesy 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 wonderment; the tale sounded like true history, yet how could this impossible conjunction between a prince and a beggar-boy have come about? Never was a company of people 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! 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 towards the door – you passed a table – that thing you call the Seal lay on that table – you snatched it up and looked eagerly about, as if for a place to hide it – your eye caught sight of – ”
“There, ‘tis sufficient! – and the good God be thanked!” exclaimed the ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. "Go, my good St. John – in an arm-piece of the Milanese armour that hangs on the wall, thou’lt find the Seal!”
“Right, my King! right!” cried Tom Canty; “Now the sceptre of England is thine own; and it were better for him that would dispute it that he had been born dumb! Go, my Lord St. John, give thy feet wings!”
The whole assemblage was on its feet now, and well-nigh out of its mind with uneasiness, apprehension, and consuming excitement. On the floor and on the platform a deafening buzz of frantic conversation burst forth, and for some time nobody knew anything or heard anything or was interested in anything but what his neighbour was shouting into his ear, or he was shouting into his neighbour’s ear. Time – nobody knew how much of it – swept by unheeded and unnoted. At last a sudden hush fell upon the house, and in the same moment St. John appeared upon the platform, and held the Great Seal aloft in his hand. Then such a shout went up —
“Long live the true King!”
For five minutes the air quaked with shouts and the crash of musical instruments, and was white with a storm of waving handkerchiefs; and through it all a ragged lad, the most conspicuous figure in England, stood, flushed and happy and proud, in the centre of the spacious platform, with the great vassals of the kingdom kneeling around him.
Then all rose, and Tom Canty cried out —
“Now, O my King, take these regal garments back, and give poor Tom, thy servant, his shreds and remnants 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 confirmation, 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 King. "How used you the Great Seal of England?”
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 seemed to rock with applause.
Chapter XXXIII. Edward as King
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 pickpockets 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? Where would he naturally go? Well – argued Miles – he would naturally go to his former haunts, for that is the instinct of unsound minds, when homeless and forsaken, as well as of sound ones. Whereabouts 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 be 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 aggravating the boy, who would be proclaiming himself King, as usual. Then Miles Hendon 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, seeking 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 arrived, at last, he had made many a mile, and canvassed many a crowd, but the only result was 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 honour; 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 Abbey. He drifted here and there amongst the multitudes that were massed in the vicinity for a weary long time, baffled and perplexed, and finally wandered off, thinking, and trying to contrive some way to better his plan of campaign. By-and-by, when he came to himself out of his musings, he discovered that the town 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 clothes 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. Drowsiness 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.
He 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 try 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 enlarge 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 inconspicuous – his costume took care of that. He watched these people’s faces narrowly, hoping to find a charitable 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 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 Hendon saved him the trouble; for he turned about, then, as a man generally will when somebody mesmerises 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 well, your worship.”
“Good – is he within?”
“Yes,” said the boy; and added, to himself, “within his grave.”
“Might I crave your favour 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 sir.”
“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 t’other 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.”
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 some 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 to 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 recognised 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 colour 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 hurry; so he plucked 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 you, sir, to follow me.”
Hendon followed, saying to himself, “An’ I were not travelling to death and judgment, and so must needs economise 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 bow, 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 flunkeys (who made reverential obeisance as the two passed along, but fell into death-throes of silent laughter at our stately scarecrow 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 off, and left him standing in the middle of the room, a mark for all eyes, for plenty 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, maybe. Hendon observed to himself that it was hard enough to be sentenced to death in the full vigour of life, without having this peculiarly public humiliation added. He wished the King 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, “Is 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! would’st 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 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 upon 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 England 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 room only five minutes, stood listening to these words and looking at the King, then at the scarecrow, then at the King again, in a sort of torpid bewilderment. These were Sir Hugh and the Lady Edith. But the new Earl did not see them. He was still staring at the monarch, in a dazed way, and muttering —
“Oh, body o’ me! this my pauper! This my lunatic! This is he whom I 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 offal for diet! This is he whom I adopted and would make respectable! 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.
Now the King discovered Sir Hugh, and spoke out with wrathful voice and kindling eye —
“Strip this robber of his false show and stolen estates, 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 living 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 the realm with right royal gentleness and mercy. Thou 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 honourable body 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 people that he hath been royal, in his time, and none shall deny him his due of reverence or fail to give him salutation. He hath the throne’s protection, he hath the crown’s support, he shall be known and called by the honourable title of the King’s Ward.”
The proud and happy Tom Canty rose and kissed the King’s hand, and was conducted from the presence. He did not waste any time, but flew to his mother, to tell her and Nan and Bet all about it and get them to help him enjoy the great news.
Conclusion. Justice and retribution.
When the mysteries were all cleared up, it came out, by confession of Hugh Hendon, that his wife had repudiated Miles by his command, that day at Hendon Hall – a command assisted and supported by the perfectly 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 would spare her life but have Miles assassinated! This was a different matter; so she gave her word and kept it.
Hugh was not prosecuted for his threats or for stealing 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 Ruffler’s gang, and put him in the way of a comfortable livelihood.
He also took that old lawyer out of prison and remitted his fine. He provided good homes for the daughters of the two Baptist women whom he saw burned at the stake, and roundly punished the official who laid the undeserved stripes upon Miles Hendon’s back.
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 favour 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 honoured man.