From 'The Prince and the Pauper': copyright 1889, by Charles
L. Webster and Company
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 coronet and poised
it over his or her head--and paused in that attitude.
A deep hush pervaded the Abbey. At this impressive moment a startling
apparition intruded upon the scene--an apparition observed by none in
the absorbed multitude, until it suddenly appeared, moving up the great
central isle. It was a boy, bare-headed, ill shod, and clothed in coarse
plebeian garments that were falling to rags. He raised his hand with a
solemnity which ill comported with his soiled and sorry aspect, and
delivered this note of warning:--
"I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that forfeited head. _I_
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 assemblage, and they partly
rose in their places and stared in a bewildered 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 the
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 surprising an emergency. While all minds were struggling 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 again!'"
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
officers. 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!"
The Lord Protector reflected a moment or two in perplexity; then he
said, with grave respectfulness:--
"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 unaccountable--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
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
himself--shook his head; the thought forced itself upon him, "It is
perilous to the State and to us all, to entertain 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 Prince of Wales _can_ so answer! On so
trivial a thing hang a throne and a dynasty!"
It was a lucky thought, a happy thought. That it was so considered by
the great officials was manifested by 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 stubborn 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 marveled to hear him answer up promptly in a
confident and untroubled voice and say:--
"There is naught in this riddle that is difficult." Then, without so
much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned and gave this command with
the easy manner 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 even 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."
All the company wondered at this speech, and wondered still more to see
the little mendicant pick out this peer without hesitancy or apparent
fear of mistake, and call him by name with such a placidly convincing
air of having known him all his life. The peer was almost surprised into
obeying. He even made a movement 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:--
"Why dost thou hesitate? Hast not heard the king's command? Go!"
The lord St. John made a deep obeisance--and it was observed that it was
a significantly cautious and non-committal one, it not being delivered
at either of the kings, but at the neutral ground about half-way between
the two--and took his leave.
Now began 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 away and join
themselves to another--a movement which little by little, in the present
case, dissolved the glittering crowd that stood about Tom Canty and
clustered it together again in the neighborhood of the new-comer. Tom
Canty 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 by one,
over to the majority. So at last Tom Canty, in his royal robes and
jewels, stood wholly alone and isolated from the world, a conspicuous
figure, occupying an elegant vacancy.
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 my 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 toward 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 dear God be thanked!" exclaimed the
ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. "Go, my good St. John,--in an
arm-piece of the Milanese armor 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 neighbor was shouting into his ear,
or he was shouting into his neighbor'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.