satisfied at last? Here, indeed, was a king’s palace. Might he
not hope to see a prince now–a prince of flesh and blood, if
Heaven were willing?
At each side of the gilded gate stood a living statue–that is to
say, an erect and stately and motionless man-at-arms, clad from
head to heel in shining steel armour. At a respectful distance
were many country folk, and people from the city, waiting for any
chance glimpse of royalty that might offer. Splendid carriages,
with splendid people in them and splendid servants outside, were
arriving and departing by several other noble gateways that
pierced the royal enclosure.
Poor little Tom, in his rags, approached, and was moving slowly
and timidly past the sentinels, with a beating heart and a rising
hope, when all at once he caught sight through the golden bars of
a spectacle that almost made him shout for joy. Within was a
comely boy, tanned and brown with sturdy outdoor sports and
exercises, whose clothing was all of lovely silks and satins,
shining with jewels; at his hip a little jewelled sword and
dagger; dainty buskins on his feet, with red heels; and on his
head a jaunty crimson cap, with drooping plumes fastened with a
great sparkling gem. Several gorgeous gentlemen stood near–his
servants, without a doubt. Oh! he was a prince–a prince, a
living prince, a real prince–without the shadow of a question;
and the prayer of the pauper-boy’s heart was answered at last.
Tom’s breath came quick and short with excitement, and his eyes
grew big with wonder and delight. Everything gave way in his mind
instantly to one desire: that was to get close to the prince, and
have a good, devouring look at him. Before he knew what he was
about, he had his face against the gate-bars. The next instant
one of the soldiers snatched him rudely away, and sent him
spinning among the gaping crowd of country gawks and London
idlers. The soldier said,–
“Mind thy manners, thou young beggar!”
The crowd jeered and laughed; but the young prince sprang to the
gate with his face flushed, and his eyes flashing with
indignation, and cried out,–
“How dar’st thou use a poor lad like that? How dar’st thou use
the King my father’s meanest subject so? Open the gates, and let
him in!”
You should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their hats then.
You should have heard them cheer, and shout, “Long live the Prince
of Wales!”
The soldiers presented arms with their halberds, opened the gates,
and presented again as the little Prince of Poverty passed in, in
his fluttering rags, to join hands with the Prince of Limitless
Plenty.
Edward Tudor said–
“Thou lookest tired and hungry: thou’st been treated ill. Come
with me.”
Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to–I don’t know what;
interfere, no doubt. But they were waved aside with a right royal
gesture, and they stopped stock still where they were, like so
many statues. Edward took Tom to a rich apartment in the palace,
which he called his cabinet. By his command a repast was brought
such as Tom had never encountered before except in books. The
prince, with princely delicacy and breeding, sent away the
servants, so that his humble guest might not be embarrassed by
their critical presence; then he sat near by, and asked questions
while Tom ate.
“What is thy name, lad?”
“Tom Canty, an’ it please thee, sir.”
“‘Tis an odd one. Where dost live?”
“In the city, please thee, sir. Offal Court, out of Pudding
Lane.”
“Offal Court! Truly ’tis another odd one. Hast parents?”
“Parents have I, sir, and a grand-dam likewise that is but
indifferently precious to me, God forgive me if it be offence to
say it–also twin sisters, Nan and Bet.”
“Then is thy grand-dam not over kind to thee, I take it?”
“Neither to any other is she, so please your worship. She hath a
wicked heart, and worketh evil all her days.”
“Doth she mistreat thee?”
“There be times that she stayeth her hand, being asleep or
overcome with drink; but when she hath her judgment clear again,
she maketh it up to me with goodly beatings.”