The Prince and the Pauper is a novel by American author Mark Twain. It was first published in 1881 in Canada, before its 1882 publication in the United States.[1] The novel represents Twain's first attempt at historical fiction. The plot concerns the ascension of nine-year-old Edward VI of England in 1547 and his interactions with look-alike Tom Canty, a London pauper who lives with his abusive, alcoholic father.
As Edward experiences the brutal life of a London pauper firsthand, he becomes aware of the stark class inequality in England. In particular, he sees the harsh, punitive nature of the English judicial system, under which people are burned at the stake, pilloried, and flogged. He realizes that the accused are convicted on flimsy evidence and branded or hanged for petty offences, and he vows to reign with mercy when he regains his rightful place. When Edward declares to a gang of thieves that he is the king and will put an end to unjust laws, they assume he is insane and hold a mock coronation.
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In 2004, The Prince and the Pauper was adapted into an 85-minute CGI-animated musical, Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper, with Barbie playing the blonde Princess Anneliese and the brunette pauper Erika. In 2012, a second CGI musical adaptation was released, entitled Barbie: The Princess and the Popstar. In it, Barbie plays a blonde princess named Victoria (Tori) and a brunette pop star named Keira. Both crave the life of another, one day they meet and magically change places.
The BBC TV comedy series Blackadder the Third has an episode, "Duel and Duality," where the Prince Regent believes that the Duke of Wellington is after him. The prince swaps clothes with his butler Blackadder and says, "This reminds of that story 'The Prince and the Porpoise'." Blackadder corrects him: "and the Pauper," to which the prince replies "ah yes, the Prince and the Porpoise and the Pauper." Since Blackadder the Third is set during the early 1800s, this is an anachronism.
So I've heard a lot of people (LSV included) say that they think KTK is a bit of a prince format. I've found that, unlike M15, I've had a ton of drafts where I don't end up with any rares but have great synergy and win with no bombs at all. Morphs.dec, warriors.dec, and tokens.dec are all great and don't require rares to function.
For fifteen years my grandfather lived next door to the Mughal princess Zeenat Begum. The princess ran a tea stall outside the walled city of Old Lahore in the shade of an ancient eucalyptus. Dozens of children from Bhati Model School rushed screaming down muddy lanes to gather at her shop, which was really just a roadside counter with a tin roof and a smattering of chairs and a table. On winter afternoons it was her steaming cardamom-and-honey tea the kids wanted; in summer it was the chilled Rooh Afza.
This was something Gramps had heard before. A jinn protected the princess and her two sisters, a duty imposed by Akbar the Great five hundred years back. Guard and defend Mughal honor. Not a clichd horned jinn, you understand, but a daunting, invisible entity that defied the laws of physics: it could slip in and out of time, could swap its senses, hear out of its nostrils, smell with its eyes. It could even fly like the tales of yore said.
Mostly amused but occasionally uneasy, Gramps laughed when the princess told these stories. He had never really questioned the reality of her existence; lots of nawabs and princes of pre-Partition India had offspring languishing in poverty these days. An impoverished Mughal princess was conceivable.
Shaking his head, the officer left. The princess lurched to her stall and began to prepare Rooh Afza. She poured a glittering parabola of sharbat into a mug with trembling hands, staggered to the tree, and flung the liquid at its hoary, clawing roots.
In the morning the smell of ash and eucalyptol hung around the crisped boughs. The princess sobbed as she gazed at her buckled tin roof and smashed stall. Shards of china, plywood, clay, and charred wicker twigs lay everywhere.
Tutting uncomfortably, the men drifted away, abandoning the pauper princess and her Mughal siblings. The women huddled together, a bevy of chukars stunned by a blood moon. Their shop was gone, the tree was gone. Princess Zeenat hugged her sisters and with a fierce light in her eyes whispered to them.
The princess half turned. She stood in a nimbus of midday light, her long muscled arms hanging loosely, fingers playing with the place in the hemp necklace where once her family heirloom had been; and despite the worry lines and the callused hands and her uneven, grimy fingernails, she was beautiful.
I went to my room, undressed, and for a long time tossed in the sheets, watching the moon outside my window. It was a supermoon kids at school had talked about, a magical golden egg floating near the horizon, and I wondered how many Mughal princes and princesses had gazed at it through the ages, holding hands with their lovers.
This was the place my grandfather had once gazed at, lived by, walked through. Somewhere around here used to be a tea stall run by a Mughal princess. Someplace close had been a eucalyptus from which a kid had fallen and gashed his head. A secret that had traveled the globe had come here with Gramps and awaited me in some dingy old alcove.
I talked to everyone I encountered. The tea stall owner who poured Peshawari kahva in my clay cup. The fruit seller who handed me sliced oranges and guavas and frowned when I mentioned the pauper princess. Rug merchants, cigarette vendors, knife sellers. No one had heard of Zeenat Begum. Nobody knew of a young man named Sharif or his father who ran a calligraphy-and-design stall.
So Sharif left for the rest of his life. He went to Mansehra. Found the Mughal princess. Married her. He made her very happy for the rest of her brief life, and on a sunny Friday afternoon he took his goggling, squalling son with him to pray Juma in a mosque in the mountains, where he would stay the night for worship and meditation.
The air in the room was thick and musty. Our eyes were locked together. He lured me here, I thought. My hands were shaking and this time it was with anger. Rage at being manipulated. All those stories of princesses and paupers, those lies he told for years while all the time he knew exactly what he was doing and how he was preparing me for this burden, whatever it was.
The main conflict in The Prince and the Pauper is mistaken identity. After the prince and the pauper switch identities, no one believes them, and they have to convince people that they are who they say they are.
In London during the 1550s, Tom Canty and Edward Tudor are born on the same day. Each boy lives a life that is in opposition to the other; Tom is poor and unloved by his parents, while Edward's birth is celebrated because he is the son of King Henry VIII and will someday inherit the throne. Tom lives on Pudding Lane in a single room in a decrepit house with his parents, his two sisters, and his grandmother. Tom's grandmother and father, who are often violent and drunk, beg and steal; they encourage the children to do so as well but, while they are willing to beg, the children refuse to steal. They are physically abused and neglected, and Tom fantasizes about meeting a real prince, whose life is surely easier than Tom's.
Tom gets his wish by accident while out walking one day. He walks up to the fence surrounding Westminster and sees Edward, Prince of Wales. When a guard attempts to remove Tom from the fence, Edward rebukes the guard and invites Tom into the palace. Fascinated with each other's lives, the boys switch clothing. When Edward sees that the guard had bruised Tom's hand earlier, he runs out to find and chastise the guard, forgetting that he is dressed like Tom. Edward is mistaken for a beggar and sent to London. When he tries to convince people that his really a prince, they laugh at him. John Canty, Tom's father, sees him wandering the streets and drags him home.
In the meantime, Tom is admiring his new clothing and surroundings in the prince's home, but he begins to fear that he will be hanged if his true identity is discovered. Tom tries to tell Lady Jane Grey who he really is, but she does not believe him, and everyone thinks the prince has lost his mind. Even King Henry VIII believes that Tom is Edward and merely needs rest to recover from his temporary state of confusion. Tom as Edward is instructed in the proper behaviors of a prince in preparation for a royal banquet that he is soon to attend.
The next day, the family learns that the man John Canty hit the day before is Father Andrew, Tom's secret source of fairy tales and princes, and that Father Andrew is dying. On the way to visit him, Edward slips away from his father's grasp and runs away. Edward then finds out that Tom has taken his place as prince and vows to have him hanged. During the royal banquet, Edward stands outside the Guildhall and tries to convince everyone there that he is Prince Edward. No one believes him, and he is rescued by Miles Hendon, a bystander.
After exchanging stories of their respective histories, Edward awards Miles with a knighthood, which Miles accepts, although he does not really believe Edward is a prince. While Miles is out buying clothing for Edward the next day, John Canty comes and takes Edward away. In the palace, Tom learns of the king's impending funeral and the household expenses and debts. He immediately begins to economize and find ways to save the royal family money. As Tom is still unable to find or even describe the king's seal, the staff still thinks he is unwell.
Among the many themes present in The Prince and the Pauper are identities, wealth, social class, family, appearances, and justice. Perhaps the most important lesson in the book is taught through the theme of appearances, and that is to never judge a book by its cover. Although the prince and the pauper looked like one another outwardly, they were from vastly different walks of life. However, using all the themes in this book, Mark Twain illustrates both the similarities and differences between both lifestyles and the lessons to be learned from each one. 006ab0faaa
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