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Listen to Prince and the Pauper, Chapter 1 - 4 (with music) by Jamie Caudill MP3 song. Prince and the Pauper, Chapter 1 - 4 (with music) song from Jamie Caudill is available on Audio.com. The duration of song is 32:23. This high-quality MP3 track has 273.533 kbps bitrate and was uploaded on 29 Oct 2023. Stream and download Prince and the Pauper, Chapter 1 - 4 (with music) by Jamie Caudill for free on Audio.com – your ultimate destination for MP3 music.
In the ancient city of London, a boy named Tom Canty is born to a poor family who doesn't want him. On the same day, a rich family gives birth to a boy named Edward Tudor, who is celebrated by all of England. Tom dreams of being a prince and pretends to be one with his friends. He longs to see a real prince, and his desire becomes his life's passion. One day, he wanders the streets in the rain, hungry and tired, dreaming of being a prince. Good day. This is a Caudill family recording of The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain. Number one. The birth of The Prince 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, and hoped for him, and prayed God for him, that now that he was really come, the people were 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 bonfires at every corner, and its troops of revelers making merry around them. There was no talk in all of England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay lapped in silks and satins, unconscious 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 boy, Tom Canty, lapped in his four rags, except among the family of paupers, whom he had just come to trouble with his presence. Chapter 2 Let us skip a number of years. London was fifteen hundred years old. It was a great town for that day. It had a hundred thousand inhabitants, some think 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 the London Bridge. The houses were of wood, with the second storey 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, with strong criss-crossed beams, with natural material between coated with plaster. The beams were painted red or blue or black, according to the owner's taste. This gave the houses a very picturesque look. The windows were small, glazed with little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened outwards on hinges like doors. The house which Tom's father had lived in was up a foul little pocket called Ophelcourt, 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, Bette and Nan, were not restricted. They had all the floor to themselves, and might sleep where they chose. There were the remains of a blanket or two, and some bundles 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. Bette 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 grandfather were a couple of teens. They got drunk wherever they could. Then they fought each other or anybody else who came in the way. They cursed and swore always, drunk or sober. 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 the house and home with a pension of a few farthings, and he used to get the children aside and teach them right ways secretly. Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin and how to read and write, and 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 Ophelcourt was just another hive as Canty's house. Drunkenness, riot, and brawling were the order there every night, nearly all night long. Broken heads were as common as hunger in that place, yet little Tom was not unhappy. He had a hard time of it, but did not know it. It was the sort of time that all the Ophelcourt boys had, therefore he supposed it had the correct and comfortable thing. When he came home empty-handed at night, he knew his father would curse him and thrash him first, and that when he was done, the awful grandmother would do it all over again and improve upon it, and that, away 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 hungry 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, especially 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 good father Andrew's charming old tales, and legends about giants and fairies, dwarfs and genies, and enchanted castles, and gorgeous kings and princes. His head grew to be full of those wonderful things, and many a night, as he lay in the dark on a scant and offensive straw, tired, hungry, and farting from a thrashing, he unleashed the imagination and soon forgot his aches and pains and 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 the opal 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 his shabby clothing and his dirt, and to wish to be clean and better clad. He went on playing the mud just the 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 because of the washings and cleansings it afforded. Tom could always find something going on around the Maypole and Cheapside 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 caught, 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 unconsciously. His speech and manners became curiously ceremonious and courtly, to the vast admiration and amusement of his intimates. But Tom's influence among these young people began to grow now day by day, and in time he came to be looked up to by them. With a sort of wandering awe of the superior being, he seemed to know so much, and he could do and say such marvelous things. And withal he was so deep and wise. Tom's remarks and Tom's performances were reported by the boys to their elders, and these also presently began to discuss Tom Canty and to regard him as one of the most gifted and extraordinary creatures. Full-grown people brought their perplexities to Tom for solution, and were often astonished at the wit and wisdom of his decisions. In fact, he was become a hero to all who knew him except his own family. Those only saw nothing in him. Privately, after a while, Tom organized a royal court. He was the prince. His special comrades were guards, chamberlains, esquires, 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 the imaginary armies, navies, and vice-royalties. After which he would go forth in rags and beg a few farthings, eat his poor crusts, take his customary cuffs and abuse, and then stretch himself upon his handful of foul straw and resume his empty grandeurs in his dreams. But 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 he 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 the mincing lane and little east cheap, hour after hour, barefooted and cold, looking in at the 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 was never been his good luck to own and eat one. It 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 grandmother to observe his forlorn condition and not be moved. After their fashion, wherefore, they gave him a brisk cuffing once and sent him to bed. For a long time his pain and hunger and the swearing and fighting going on in the building kept him awake, but at last his thoughts drifted away to far romantic lands and he fell asleep in the company of jeweled and gilded princelings who lived in vast palaces and had servants salaming before them or flying to execute their orders, and then, as usual, he dreamed 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 delicious music, and answering the reverent Shabba-Dah of the glittering throng as it parted from the palace door. He waited to make way for him, but there a smile and there a nod of his princely head. When he awoke in the morning and looked upon the wretchedness about him, his dream had had its usual effect. It had intensified the soreness of his surroundings a thousandfold. Then came bitterness and heartbreak and tears. 3. Tom's Meeting with the Prince Tom got up hungry and sauntered hungry away, but with his thoughts busy with the shadowy splendors 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 traveled in that direction. He stopped and considered a moment, then fell into his imaginings again and passed on outside the walls of London. This strand had ceased to be a country road then, and regarded itself as a street. But by a strange 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, grounds that are now closely packed with grim acres of brick and stone. Tom discovered the charring village presently, and rested himself at the beautiful cross built there by a bereaved king of earlier days, then isled 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 the other signs and symbols of English royalty. Was the desire of a soul to be satisfied at last? Here indeed was the 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 gates 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 respectable distance from 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 the several other noble gateways that 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. Within was a comely boy, tanned and brown, with sturdy outdoor sports and exercises. His clothing was of lovely silks and satins, shiny with jewels, had at his hip a little jeweled sword and dagger, dainty bushkins 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 darest thou use a poor lad like that? How darest thou abuse the king? My father is meanest subject, so open the gates and let him in. You should have seen that fickle crowd smash 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 look'st 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 guests might not be embarrassed by their critical presence. Then he sat nearby and asked questions while Tom ate. What is thy lad? What is thy name, lad? Tom Canty. And it please thee, if it please thee, sir? Tis an odd one. Where dost live? In the city, please thee, sir. Ophelcourt, out of Pudding Lane. Ophelcourt! Truly, tis another odd one. Hast parents? Parents have I, sir. And I ran them, likewise. That is but indifferently precious to me. God forgive me if it be offence to say it. Also twin sisters, Anne and Bette. Then is thy grand-mom 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. Does she mean it? Does she mistreat you? 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. A fierce look came into the little prince's eyes, and he cried out, What? Beatings? O, indeed, yes. Please you, sir. Beatings? Thou so frail and little, hark ye, before the night come she shall high her to the tower. The king, my father. In soothe you forget, sir, her low degree. The tower is for the great alone. True, indeed. I have not thought of that. I will consider of her punishment. Is thy father kind to thee? Not more than grammy, can't he, sir. Fathers be alike, mayhap. Mine hath not at all's temper. He smiteth with heavy hand, and yet spareth me. He spareth me not always with his tongue, though soothe to say. How doth thy mother use thee? She is good, sir, and giveth me neither sorrow nor pain of any sort. And Nan and Bet are like to her in this. How old be thee? Fifteen. And it please you, sir. The Lady Elizabeth, my sister, is fourteen, and the Lady Jane Grey, my cousin, is of my own age, and comely and gracious with all. But my sister, the Lady Mary, with her gloomy mean, and— Look you, do thy sisters forbid thy servants to smile, lest the sin destroy their souls? They? O, dust. Think, sir, that they have servants? Little Prince contemplated the little pauper gravely at a moment, then said, And prithee, why not? Who helpeth them undress at night? Who attireth them when they rise? Answer, wouldn'tst have them take off their garments and sleep without, like beasts? Their garments? Have they but one? Ah, good your worship, what would they do with more? Truly, they have not two bodies each. It is a quaint and marvellous thought, to thy pardon. I had not meant to laugh, but thy good Nan and thy Bet shall have raiment and lackeys anew. And that soon, too. My coffer shall look to it. No, thank me not, tis nothing. Thou speakest well. Thou hast an easy grace. I know not, if I am or not, sir, the good priest that is called Father Andrew taught me of his kindness from his books. Knowest thou the Latin? But scantly, 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 shan'tst hear these damsels at it. But tell me of thy Ophelcourt. Hast thou a pleasant life there? In truth, yes. So please you, sir, save when one is hungry. There be punch and judy shows and monkeys. O, 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 cusseth but a farthing, albeit sismane hard to get the farthing. Please your worship, tell me more. We lads of Ophelcourt do strive against each other with the cudgel, like to the passion of the princesses sometimes. The prince's eyes flashed, said he. Mary, that would not I mislike. Tell me more. We strive in races, sir, to see who of us shall be fleetest. That I would like also. Speak on. In summer, sir, we wade and swim in the canals and in the river, and each doth duck his neighbor, and spatter him with water, and dive and shout and tumble, and it could be worth my father's kingdom, but to enjoy it once. Prithee, go on. We dance and sing about the may-hole and sheep-side. We play in the sand, each covering his neighbor up, and at times we make mud pastry. O, the lovely mud, it hath naught like for delightfulness in all the world. We do fairly wallow in the mud, sir, saving your worship's presence. O, prithee, say no more, till 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. Micey, mith, I could forgo the crown, and if that I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art clad, just once. O, ahoo, what's like it? Then so shall it be. Doff thy rags, and don these splendors, lad. It is a brief happiness, but we'll not be 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 Pupperdum was tripped 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 prince said, What dost thou make of this? Ah, good your worship, require me not to answer. It is not meet that one of my degree should utter the thing. Then I will utter it. Thou hast the same hair, the same eyes, the same voice and manner, and the same form and stature, the same face and countenance that I bear. Fair before't naked there is none could say which was you, and which the prince of Wales. And now that I am clothed as thou wert clothed, it seemeth I should be able the more clearly to feel as thou didst. When the brute soldier, Harkey, is not this a bruise upon your hand? Yes, but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the poor man at arm's peace is 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 smashed up and put away an article of national importance that lay upon a table, and was out 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, shouting, Open, unbar the gates. The soldier that had maltreated Tom promptly obeyed, and as the prince burst through the portal, half smothered with royal wrath, the soldier fetched him with a sounding box on the ear and sent him whirling to the roadway, and said, Take that, thou beggar spawn, for what thou got'st me from the highness. The crowd roared with laughter. The prince picked himself out of the mud and made fiercely of 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 and shouting, Way for his royal highness, way for the prince of Wales. Chapter 4—The Prince's Troubles Again After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince was at last deserted by the rabble and left 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. It 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 upon him now, he looked about him now, but could not recognize the locality. He 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 pastures by were infrequent. He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook which flowed then from where Farrington 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, and 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 for ever for poor and forsaken children, and you 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 leapfrogging, 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 princesses, 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, 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, the 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 gathered above the knees, low shoes with large metal buckles. It was a sufficiently ugly costume. The boys stopped their play, flocked about the prince, who said with naïve, 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, Mary, art thou his gracious messenger, beggar? The prince's face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. It was a storm of laughter, and one boy said, Didst thou mark that? He fancied thee he had a sword. Be like he is the prince himself. This sally brought more laughter. Poor Edward drew himself up proudly, and said, I am the prince that 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 comrades, O swine-slaves, pensioners of his gracious princely father, where be your manners? Down on your marrow-bones, all of ye, and do reverence to this kingly port and royal rags. With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees and 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 morrow 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, Hail him forth to the horse-pond, to the horse-pond. Where be the dogs? Ho, 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 the plebeian hand, 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 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 anyone, since they brought him only insults instead of information. He kept muttering to himself, O full corpse, that is the name. If I can but find it before my strength is wholly spent, and I drop, then I am 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, I shall not have bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books, for a full belly is little worth when the mind is starved, and the heart. I will keep this diligently in my remembrance, that this day's lesson not be lost upon me, and my people suffer thereby. For learning softeneth the heart, and breatheth gentleness and charity. The lights began to twinkle, and came on to rain, the wind rose, and a raw and gusty night set in. A houseless prince, a 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 of this time and night again, and hast thou not brought a farthing home, I warrant thee to be so, and I do not break all the bones in thy lean body, and I am not John Canty, by some other. The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously, and brushed his profane shoulder, and eagerly said, Oh, art his father, truly, sweet heaven grant it be so, then wilt thou fetch him away, and restore me. His father? No, not who thou meanest. Ay, but no, I am thy father, as thou shalt soon have cause to. Oh, 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 at him, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head, and muttered, gone stark mad, as a tom on a bedlam, then collared him once more, and said, with coarse laugh and an oath, But madder no mad, I am thy gammer, Canty. We'll soon find where the soft place is in thy bones lie, for I'm no true man. With this he dragged the frantic and struggling prince away, and disappeared up a front court, followed by a delighted and noisy swarm of human vermin.
