The Exchange (Chapters 1–8)

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 went nearly mad for joy. There was no talk in all England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay lapped in silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, lapped in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble with his presence.

Tom grew up in Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane, in a foul little pocket of a house crowded with families. His father, John Canty, was a thief, and his grandmother a beggar, and both were drunkards and beat him; they made him beg in the streets, and if he brought nothing home, he was whipped. His mother and his twin sisters, Bet and Nan, were kind, and his mother would slip him a crust when she could. But a good old priest, Father Andrew, whom the King had turned out of his home with a pension of a few farthings, lived in the house, and taught Tom to read and write, and a little Latin; and Tom read the priest's old books of giants and fairies, of enchanted castles and gorgeous kings and princes. His head grew full of these wonders. He longed to see a real prince, with his own eyes. He played at being a prince with the ragged boys of Offal Court, and held a royal court, with lords and ladies, and issued decrees, and his playmates bowed to him; and he became, in a way, a little judge among them, for his decisions were wise.

One January day he wandered far, out of the City, to Westminster, and found himself before the great gates of the palace, with sentinels in shining armour; and there, through the gilded bars, he saw a real prince: a slim, comely boy, tanned and brown with sports, clad in silks and satins, shining with jewels, with a little jewelled sword at his side. Tom pressed his face against the bars — and a soldier snatched him away and sent him spinning into the crowd, with a cuff. "Mind thy manners, thou young beggar!"

The prince sprang to the gate, his face flushed with anger, 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!"

And so Tom Canty was taken into the palace, into the prince's own apartments, and fed a fine meal, and questioned by Edward, Prince of Wales, about his life. The prince was horrified to hear of the beatings. And then fascinated to hear of the games in the streets — racing, wrestling, Punch and Judy, and the May-day dances, and sliding in the mud. "Prithee, say no more; 'tis glorious! If 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, meseemeth I could forgo the crown!"

"And if I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art clad — just once —"

"Oho, wouldst like it? Then so shall it be. Doff thy rags, and don these splendours, lad!"

They changed clothes, and stood side by side before a great mirror; and lo, a miracle: there did not seem to have been any change made! They had the same hair, the same eyes, the same voice and manner, the same form and stature, the same face and countenance. "Fare thee well," said the prince, laughing. Then he noticed a bruise on Tom's hand where the soldier had struck him, and his face flamed. "It was a shameful thing and a cruel. If the King — Stir not a step till I come again! It is a command!" He snatched up and put away an article of national importance which lay upon a table, and ran out to the gate in Tom's rags to punish the soldier.

"Open! Unbar the gates!" The soldier opened them, and gave him a sounding box on the ear that sent him whirling to the roadway, and said: "Take that, thou beggar's spawn, for what thou got'st me from his Highness!" The crowd roared with laughter. The prince picked himself out of the mud and cried: "I am the Prince of Wales; my person is sacred; and thou shalt hang for laying thy hand upon me!" The soldier saluted mockingly: "I salute your gracious Highness" — and then, angrily, "Be off, thou crazy rubbish!" And the jeering crowd hustled the poor little prince off down the road.

He wandered all that day. He came to Christ's Hospital, a school founded by his own father for poor children, and told the boys in the yard who he was, and that they should bow to him; and they mocked him and set the dogs on him. By night he found himself far down in the City, in the poor quarter, wet and tired, and hungry; and a big drunken ruffian collared him: "Out to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing home, I warrant me!" It was John Canty. "Oh, art his father, truly?" said the prince. "Then thou'lt fetch me away — for the King my father shall make thee rich beyond thy wildest dreams!" "None of thy foolery," said Canty; and dragged him home to Offal Court.

In the palace, meanwhile, Tom waited, and admired himself in the glass, and walked about with the little sword, and grew uneasy as the time passed and the prince did not come back. Suppose somebody should come in and find him there in the prince's clothes! At last he opened a door, and a page bowed and said, "The Lady Jane Grey." A young girl came in, and seeing him so frightened, said, "What aileth thee, my lord?" Tom dropped on his knees: "Oh, be thou merciful! In sooth I am no lord, but only poor Tom Canty of Offal Court. Prithee let me see the prince, and he will of his grace give me back my rags." The Lady Jane fled in terror, crying out that the prince was mad.

The news ran through the palace in an hour: the prince had gone mad. And Tom was led to the great King Henry the Eighth himself, a huge, very fat man, with a bloated face, lying on a couch, ill, with his swollen leg bandaged; but his face grew gentle when he saw his son. Tom fell on his knees and begged him for mercy, and said he was not the prince. The King was grieved; he thought the boy's mind was clouded by too much study; he tested him with Latin, which Tom could answer a little, and with French, which he could not. "Mad, is he? Mad he may be, but he is my son and England's heir, and mad or sane, still shall he reign!" He gave orders that no one should speak of the prince's madness, on pain of death; and that he should be made Prince of Wales in solemn form next day. Then he spoke of the Duke of Norfolk, whom he had condemned, and demanded that the Great Seal be brought him, to sign the warrant for his death; and the Lord Chancellor said that the King had given the Great Seal to the Prince of Wales some days before. Tom knew nothing of it. And the King said, "Bring it me — no, let it be; the boy is ill" — and fell asleep.

Tom was taken back to the prince's rooms, in great state, by the Earl of Hertford and Lord St. John, who began to instruct him in what he must do: to say nothing of his madness, to pretend to remember what he could not remember, and to be guided by them. He was served dinner by a host of people, one of whom tasted his food for poison, and another who held his napkin. He was given his sisters to see, the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey, who were very kind to him and helped him through. He had never been so miserable in his life.

Then he was left alone, and amused himself cracking nuts, with a heavy round object which he had found in the armour. It did very well.