The Prince and the Pauper (Illustrated Children's Classic). Mark Twain

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      “Bien Darkman’s then, Bouse Mort and Ken,

      The bien Coves bings awast,

      On Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine

      For his long lib at last.

      Bing’d out bien Morts and toure, and toure,

      Bing out of the Rome vile bine,

      And toure the Cove that cloy’d your duds,

Upon the Chates to trine.”15

      Conversation followed; not in the thieves’ dialect of the song, for that was only used in talk when unfriendly ears might be listening. In the course of it, it appeared that “John Hobbs” was not altogether a new recruit, but had trained in the gang at some former time. His later history was called for, and when he said he had “accidentally” killed a man, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when he added that the man was a priest, he was roundly applauded, and had to take a drink with everybody. Old acquaintances welcomed him joyously, and new ones were proud to shake him by the hand. He was asked why he had “tarried away so many months.” He answered—

      “London is better than the country, and safer, these late years, the laws be so bitter and so diligently enforced. An’ I had not had that accident, I had stayed there. I had resolved to stay, and never more venture country-wards – but the accident has ended that.”

      He inquired how many persons the gang numbered now. The “ruffler,” or chief, answered—

“Five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapperdogeons and maunders, counting the dells and doxies and other morts.16 Most are here, the rest are wandering eastward, along the winter lay. We follow at dawn.”

      “I do not see the Wen among the honest folk about me. Where may he be?”

      “Poor lad, his diet is brimstone, now, and over hot for a delicate taste. He was killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer.”

      “I sorrow to hear that; the Wen was a capable man, and brave.”

      “That was he, truly. Black Bess, his dell, is of us yet, but absent on the eastward tramp; a fine lass, of nice ways and orderly conduct, none ever seeing her drunk above four days in the seven.”

      “She was ever strict – I remember it well – a goodly wench and worthy all commendation. Her mother was more free and less particular; a troublesome and ugly-tempered beldame, but furnished with a wit above the common.”

      “We lost her through it. Her gift of palmistry and other sorts of fortune-telling begot for her at last a witch’s name and fame. The law roasted her to death at a slow fire. It did touch me to a sort of tenderness to see the gallant way she met her lot – cursing and reviling all the crowd that gaped and gazed around her, whilst the flames licked upward toward her face and catched her thin locks and crackled about her old gray head – cursing them! why an’ thou should’st live a thousand years thoud’st never hear so masterful a cursing. Alack, her art died with her. There be base and weakling imitations left, but no true blasphemy.”

      The Ruffler sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy; a general depression fell upon the company for a moment, for even hardened outcasts like these are not wholly dead to sentiment, but are able to feel a fleeting sense of loss and affliction at wide intervals and under peculiarly favouring circumstances – as in cases like to this, for instance, when genius and culture depart and leave no heir. However, a deep drink all round soon restored the spirits of the mourners.

      “Have any others of our friends fared hardly?” asked Hobbs.

      “Some – yes. Particularly new comers – such as small husbandmen turned shiftless and hungry upon the world because their farms were taken from them to be changed to sheep ranges. They begged, and were whipped at the cart’s tail, naked from the girdle up, till the blood ran; then set in the stocks to be pelted; they begged again, were whipped again, and deprived of an ear; they begged a third time – poor devils, what else could they do? – and were branded on the cheek with a red-hot iron, then sold for slaves; they ran away, were hunted down, and hanged. ’Tis a brief tale, and quickly told. Others of us have fared less hardly. Stand forth, Yokel, Burns, and Hodge – show your adornments!”

      These stood up and stripped away some of their rags, exposing their backs, criss-crossed with ropy old welts left by the lash; one turned up his hair and showed the place where a left ear had once been; another showed a brand upon his shoulder – the letter V – and a mutilated ear; the third said—

“I am Yokel, once a farmer and prosperous, with loving wife and kids – now am I somewhat different in estate and calling; and the wife and kids are gone; mayhap they are in heaven, mayhap in – in the other place СКАЧАТЬ