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Адаптация текста и словарь Е. В. Глушенковой
© Глушенкова Е.В., адаптация текста, словарь
© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2019
1
In the old city of London, on an autumn day in 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 wanted him. All England wanted him too. England had so wanted him, and hoped for him, that now the people were mad with joy. Everybody kissed each other and cried. Everybody took a holiday, and rich and poor ate and danced and sang for days and nights. There was no talk in all England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, except among the family of paupers whom he had only brought more trouble.
London was an old and great town. It had a hundred thousand inhabitants—some think double as many. The streets were very narrow and dirty, especially in the part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge. The houses were of wood, with the second storey projecting over the first, and the third projecting over the second. The higher the houses grew, the broader they were. The windows were small, and they opened outward, like doors.
The house in which Tom’s father lived was in a dirty little place called Offal Court, near Pudding Lane. It was packed full of poor families. Canty’s family had a room on the third floor. The mother and father had a bed in the corner; but Tom, his grandmother, and his two sisters, Bet and Nan, slept on the floor on bags of dirty straw.
Bet and Nan were fifteen-year-old twins. They were kind girls, dirty, dressed in rags, and ignorant. Their mother was like them. But the father and the grandmother got drunk whenever they could; then they fought each other or anybody who came their way; they cursed and swore always. John Canty was a thief, and his mother a beggar. They made beggars of the children, but could not make thieves of them. Among those who lived in the house, was a good old priest, and he taught the children 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 their friends laughing at them.
All Offal Court was just like the Canties. Drinking and fighting were there every night. Broken heads were as common as hunger in that place. Yet little Tom was not unhappy. All the Offal Court boys lived like that and thought it was correct. When he came home empty-handed at night, he knew his father and grandmother would curse and beat him. In the night his mother would slip to him and give him something to eat.
So Tom’s life went along quite well. By day he begged, and by night he listened to Father Andrew’s tales and legends about giants and fairies, and kings and princes. His head was full of these wonderful things, and he dreamed of seeing a real prince, with his own eyes.
He often read the priest’s old books, and his dreams and reading worked some changes in him by-and-by. His dream-people were so fine that he wished to be clean and better dressed. He began to wash himself sometimes in the Thames.
By-and-by Tom’s reading and dreaming about princes’ life had such a strong effect on him that he began to ACT the prince, unconsciously. His speech and manners became ceremonious and courtly to everybody’s admiration and amusement. Tom’s influence among young people began to grow. He seemed to know so much! and he could do and say such marvellous things! and he was so wise! Now grown people brought their problems to Tom, and were often astonished at the wisdom of his decisions. In fact he was a hero to all who knew him except his own family who saw nothing in him.
Privately, after a while, Tom organised a royal court! He was the prince; his friends were his guards, lords and ladies, and the royal family. Daily the mock prince was greeted with elaborate ceremonies, which Tom read about in his books. After that, he would go beg for money, eat whatever he could find, and then go home and lay on foul straw, dreaming.
Presently his wish to see a real prince became the only passion of his life. One January day, he was walking around Mincing Lane and Little East Cheap, hour after hour, bare-footed and cold, looking in at shop windows. It was raining. At night Tom reached home so wet and tired and hungry that even his father and grandmother didn’t bother him.
For a long time his hunger kept him awake; but at last he fell asleep, and dreamt of romantic lands, of jewelled princes who live in palaces, and had servants flying to execute their orders.
All night long he dreamt that he moved among great lords and ladies, in a blaze of light, breathing perfumes, listening to music, and talking to the rich and the famous.
And when he awoke in the morning and looked upon what was around him, bitterness came, and with it, tears.
2
One day Tom got up hungry, and left home hungry. He walked here and there in the city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what was happening around him. Some time later he found himself near a majestic palace—Westminster—the farthest from home he had ever walked. He stared in 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 colossal granite lions, and other the signs and symbols of English royalty. Here was a king’s palace. And Tom hoped he would see a prince now.
At each side of the gate stood a soldier. There was a crowd of people waiting for a chance to see a royalty. Poor little Tom, in his rags, approached, and saw a boy, shining with jewels. He was tanned and brown with outdoor sports and exercises, his clothing was all of lovely silks and satins; at his hip there was a little jewelled sword and dagger; on his feet there were dainty buskins, with red heels; and on his head a crimson cap, with feathers fastened with a big sparkling gem. Several fine gentlemen stood near—his servants, no doubt. Oh! he was a prince—a living prince, a real prince!
Tom’s eyes grew big with wonder and delight. Before he knew what he was doing, he went up to the gate. The next moment one of the soldiers snatched him rudely, and threw him into the crowd. They laughed; but the young prince ran to the gate, and cried out, “How dare you treat a poor boy like that? Open the gates, and let him in!”
The crowd shouted, “Long live the Prince of Wales!”
The soldiers opened the gates, and Tom came in.
Edward Tudor said—
“You look tired and hungry. Come with me.”
Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to interfere, but they were waved aside with a right royal gesture, and they stopped where they were, like statues. Edward took Tom to the palace, to the room which he called his cabinet. Food was brought in. The prince sent away the servants, sat nearby, and asked questions while Tom ate.
“What is your name, boy?”
“Tom Canty, sir.”
“Where do you live?”
“In the city, sir. Offal Court, near Pudding Lane.”
“Offal Court! An odd name. Do you have parents?”
“I have parents, sir, and a grandmother, also twin sisters, Nan and Bet.”
“How old are they?”
“Fifteen, sir.”
“Lady Elizabeth, my sister, is fourteen, and Lady Jane Grey, my cousin, is of my own age; but my sister Lady Mary—Are your sisters kind to their servants?”
“Do you think, sir, that they have servants?”
“And who helps them undress at night? Who dresses them when they get up?”
“Nobody, sir. Why should they take off their dress, and sleep like the animals?”
“Their dress! Do they have only one?”
“Ah, what would they do with more? They do not have two bodies each.”
“It is a marvellous thought! You speak well. Are you learned?”
“I do not know, sir. The good priest that is called Father Andrew taught me from his books.”
“Do you know Latin?”
“A little, sir.”
“Tell me of your Offal Court. Do you have a pleasant life there?”
“Yes, sir, except when one is hungry. There are Punch-and-Judy shows, and monkeys, and plays, and it is so fine to see them.”
“Tell me more.”
“We boys of Offal Court fight with each other sometimes. In summer, sir, we swim in the canals and in the river. We dance and sing around the Maypole; we play in the sand, and we make mud pastry—”
“Oh, it is marvellous! If I could put on your clothes and walk in the sand once, I could refuse the crown!”
“And if I could be dressed once like you, sir,—just once-”
“Oho, would you like it? Then so shall it be. Take off your rags, and put on my clothes! We will have our happiness.”
A few minutes later the Prince of Wales was dressed in Tom’s rags, and Tom put on the clothes of royalty. The two went and stood side by side before a great mirror, and they saw they looked very much alike! At last the puzzled prince said:“You have the same hair, the same eyes, the same voice and manner, the same face that I have. Without clothes, nobody could say which is you, and which the Prince of Wales. And, now that I am dressed as you were dressed, I shall be able to feel as you do. Stay here till I come again! It is a command!”
3
In a moment the prince was out of the door and running through the palace in his rags. As soon as he reached the gate, he tried to shake it, shouting—
“Open the gate!”
The soldier that had thrown Tom away gave him a box on the ear that sent him to the road.
The crowd laughed. The prince rose out of the mud and shouted—
“I am the Prince of Wales, my person is sacred!” The soldier said mockingly—
“I salute your Highness.” Then angrily—“Be off, you crazy rubbish!”
Here the laughing crowd pushed him down the road, shouting—
“Way for his Royal Highness! Way for the Prince of Wales!”
The prince looked about him. He was in London—that was all he knew. He walked around, and in a little while there were less houses and people around him. He bathed his bleeding feet in the brook, rested a few moments, then continued walking, and presently came upon a great space with only a few scattered houses in it, and a church. He recognised this church. There was scaffolding everywhere, and a lot of workmen; the church was undergoing repairs. The prince felt that this was the end of his troubles. He said to himself, “It is the ancient Grey Friars’ Church, which my father, the king, turned into a home for poor and forsaken children. Gladly will they serve the son of the one that has was so generous to them.”
He was soon found himself in the midst of a crowd of boys who were running, jumping, playing with ball, and right noisily, too. They were all dressed alike.
The boys stopped their play and surrounded about the prince, who said with dignity—
“Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales wants to speak with him.”
They all talked at once, and then one of them said—
“Are you his messenger, beggar?”
The prince’s face flushed with anger, and his hand flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. There was a storm of laughter, and one boy said—
“Did you see that? He thought he had a sword—like he is the prince himself.”
This brought more laughter. Poor Edward proudly said—
“I am the prince.”
More laughter again. The boy who had first spoken, shouted to his friends—
“Well, where are your manners? Down on your knees, everyone!”
Laughing, they dropped upon their knees and did mock homage to him. The prince kicked the nearest boy with his foot, and said—
“Take that! Unless you want to hang tomorrow!”
And now this was going beyond fun. The laughter stopped, and fury took its place. A dozen shouted—
“Grab him! To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond!”
And what happened than was a thing England had never seen before—the heir to the throne beaten by commoner hands, and torn by dogs.
As night fell, the prince found himself far down in the poor part of the city. His body was bruised, his hands were bleeding, and his rags were dirty with mud.
He walked on and on, and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired that he could hardly put one foot after the other. He kept muttering to himself, “Offal Court—that is the name; if I can find, then I am saved—his people will take me to the palace and prove that I am the true prince.”
It started raining, the wind rose. The homeless heir to the throne of England still walked on deeper and deeper into the maze of small dirty streets.
Suddenly a big drunken ruffian took him by the collar and said—
“Out so late at night again, and if you have not brought anything home, and I do not break all the bones in your body, then am I not John Canty!”
The prince twisted himself out of the big hand, and said—
“Oh, are you his father? Then you will take him home and bring me back!”
“His father? I do not know what you mean; I am your father—”
“Oh, hurry up!—I am tired, I can bear no more. Take me to the king my father, and he will make you rich as you have never dreamed. Believe me, man! I am indeed the Prince of Wales!”
The man looked down at the boy, then shook his head and muttered—
“He has gone mad!”—then said with a coarse laugh, “I and Mother will soon find where the soft places in your bones are!”
With this he dragged the struggling prince to a dark dirty house.
