 Family Theatre presents Carlton Young, Roddy McDowell, and Terry Kilburn. Fiction with Family Theatre presents Roddy McDowell and Terry Kilburn in Mark Twain's The Prince and the Popper. To introduce the drama, your host, Carlton Young. The beloved American author, Mark Twain, had this to say once about a story he had written. It may have happened, it may not have happened, but it could have happened. It may be that the wise and the learned believed it in the old days. It may be that only the unlearned and the simple loved it and gave credence to it. Well, it may be that I'm unlearned and simple then, for I loved his story when I first read it and I still give credence to it today. And I know that I'm not the only one, for millions of readers have acclaimed this warm human and tender classic of a boy of royal blood in one of a beggar's family who proved that not only our appearance is off deceptive, but that the quality of mercy becomes a thrown at monarch better than his crown. Here then, with Roddy McDowell as the royal Edward of England and Terry Kilburn as Tom Canty the beggar lad, we bring you Mark Twain's famous story, The Prince and the Popper. In the city of London, on an autumn day of the 16th century, two boys were born. All England spoke of one of these babies, for he was Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, some day to be crowned king. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, except among the family of poppers whom he had just come to trouble with his presence. But it was several years later that the ragged beggar lad, Tom Canty, found himself approaching Westminster Palace. All his youthful life he had dreamed of princes in royalty. And on this day he had determined that the very least he would see a prince. And so he made his way to Westminster Palace. And as he made his way through the gaping crowd of country gawks and London idlers gathered there to perchance obtain a glimpse of royalty, Tom's breath came quick and short with excitement and his eyes widened with wonder and delight. But there on the other side of the golden barred gates, on a vast lawn of emerald green swerd, was the prince. It is he, the prince. Oh, I'm seeing the prince at last. Here now you lad, away from that gate. Oh, but I meant no harm soldier. And no talk back from you either. Oh, I'll teach you to mind your manners, young beggar. Now, away you. Guard, how dares thou use a poor lad like that? Release him at once, do you hear? By the prince. But, your royal highness. The beggar was gaping at you. He was. I saw very well what he was doing. And thou hast no right to use the king's meanest subject so. Bring the lad here. Open the palace gates and let him in. Into the palace, your Highness, but... That is my command, guard. I shall take the lad to my private quarters. Perhaps in that way I may make amends for the affront you have given to one of our loyal people. Here, lad, we shall both have privacy and comfort here. Pray to sit down. Oh, but... But your loyal highness... Sit down, lad. Kindly, sir. What is thy name, lad? Tom Canty. Please, sir. And where does thou live, Tom? In the city, please, sir. Awful court. Awful pudding lane. Awful court. Truly it is an odd name. Tell me more of this court in which you live. From your appearance it cannot be a very merry place. Oh, it's not too bad there, sir. There be punch and judy shows, betimes, and antique monkeys, and we lads do strive against each other with cudgels sometimes. Sayest thou, lad? Tell me more. Well, in the summer we wade and swim in the river, and splash and duck each other in the water, diving and tumbling and having great sport. Mary, I would like that. It sounds glorious. If I could but clothe me in raiment like thine and strip my feet and revel in the mud once, just once, with none to rebuke or forbid me why... And if I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art, clad, just once. So be it, lad. Doth thy rags and don these splendors. Oh, your highness, you mean... Well, why not, lad? We shall change raiment and have the moment's happiness and change again before anyone come to molest. Quickly, now. Let us exchange. Your hair, your face, your eyes... Why, they are the same as mine. With my clothing on you, none could deny that you might be the Prince of Wales. Oh, please, sir. This strange resemblance frightens me. Take off my rags. Give them back to me before someone enters. If they did, you could command them to leave. Dressed as you are now, they would obey you. Oh, I beg of you, sir. Let us change again immediately. Now that I am clothed as thou word, I am able to feel as thou did when that brute soldier at the gate... Tom, is that not a bruise upon your hand? It is but a slight thing. And your highness knows that the poor man at arms was only a... Peace! It was a shameful thing and cruel. If the king could only... Stir not a step till I return, Tom. Oh, your highness, wait. Don't go until we change clothes again. We can change later. I intend to deal with that ruffian right now. Wait here. Oh, put your highness' weight. Open this gate. Unbarret it once. Aye, then I will. I'll teach you to maltreat the subject of... Hey, that's your biggest pawn for what you got me from his Highness. You dare to strike me? You dare to touch the person of the Prince of Wales? Prince of Wales? Aye, your prince. And thou shalt hang for laying thy hand upon me. Thou shalt have me hanged, you beggar. Hey, you hear that, friends? The lunatic lark thinks himself the Prince of Wales. I am the Prince of Wales. Oh, of course, your royal highness. If thou say so. Ah, you now, you crazy beggar. Take your hands off me. I shall have you hanged. I am the Prince. Hold, hold. Hold, you scoundrels. What are you, a pack of kennel rats, to be thus tearing at this poor lad? Ah, just none of you are a fair meddler. Be gone with you, lest we give you a taste of our metal, too. Ah, if it is taste, you speak of, if it is taste. Perhaps then you have some for the edge of my blade. I shall be happy to accommodate any who ask. So you're not eager, then. Very well, be off with you. The lad remains here with me. I am beholden to you, sir. Oh, what is your name, pray? I am Miles Endenland. I am Edward, Prince of Wales. You shall be well rewarded for your actions this day. I thank you, your highness. You laugh at me. You do not believe. Oh, I do not laugh at you. There is no laughter, and pain, and misfortune. Nay, come with me, lad, to my lodgings for rest, and a bite to suffer. And tell me there of these adventures that have befallen thee. Very well, Miles Enden. The Prince shall accept your gracious hospitality. It is but a poor apartment, your highness. Yet, if it's humble means, pray avail yourself to the fullest. Your quarters may be humble, Miles Enden. Yet, you impress me of being of noble birth in mean and carriage. Little wonder, your highness, my father was titled, till he incurred the displeasures of the king by sitting in his presence. Then, for your deed this day, I shall have your title restored. Thank you, your highness. Oh, I find myself fatigued, Enden. I shall avail myself of the bed. You may sleep on the floor by the door and guard my presence. Sleep on the... Yes, yes, as you wish, your highness. Frithy, call me when you have obtained food and the table is spread. Of course, your highness. Poor unfortunate lad. His mind must be touched through ill-usage. Why should I not be his friend and aid him in his melody? I, as an elder brother, I shall watch over him and guard him. Even though it be on this barren floor rather than on my own bed, I wonder what transpires in that poor, disordered mind. Why does the prince not return? Why does he tarry so long? If someone should enter here whilst I am arrayed in his clothes, it would be worth my head. Good day to you, dear cousin. Cousin? Oh, why stay as thou in my chamber whilst... But what else, my lord? Ah, thou ill, ah, thou... Oh, please, please, my lady, be merciful. I am not thy lord, but only poor Tom Canty of Uffelcourt. Find the prince I pray thee that my rags may be returned and I may leave. I beg of thee, my lady. On my bended knee I beg of thee. Oh, my lord, on thy knees? To me? What sort of joke is this? Hope there's no joke, my lady. I swear it. They will hang me for this. Are you mad, cousin? Have you lost your mind that you should... Oh, my lord! Oh, your highness! Oh, my lord! Will you cert his true? I was just with him. The prince has lost his mind. Aye, aye, there is no doubt, my lord. The prince is mad. His own physician swears to him. Every physician in London with the exception of the king's own knows of it, my lord Chancellor. The prince is hopelessly insane. Your majesty, I know not how to broach this to you. But, his royal highness Edward Tudor, the prince of Wales, is... Thou liest, Chancellor! Edward is not insane! The mind of my son and heir Edward Tudor is befuddled. Yet he is my son and heir and shall rule England when I'm gone. Issue this proclamation in my name. The affliction of the prince is not to be spoken of, nor given any attention, undependently of death. His hallucinations and his whims are not to be noticed. This is my command! Why, does Thou not prepare to suck, cousin? Thou seem as so preoccupied. Suck? Oh, how can I have appetite, my lady? If only someone would believe me, and it is too late before some tragedy occurs. What is that, Lady Jane? Are we to have music? Not so, your highness. It was sounded for the presence of the Lord Chancellor. Your majesty. Majesty? Your majesty. May I have permission to make an announcement of gravest import? Why... Why, yes, pray do. Noble lords and ladies, I bring you the gravest of tidings. The king is dead. The king is dead. Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king? Oh, but... But Edward is not here. He... King. Yes, your majesty. You are the king, ruler of all England. The king say what... Oh, but no matter what they call me, I am still a beggar, a lad of the streets. But they mean... But if they would... Your majesty. I am a lady. You must say something, your majesty. You must speak. Speak? I must... Noble lords and ladies, at this moment of great tragedy and high honour, I, your... King, have but this to say. From this day hence, the king's law shall be that of righteousness and not of injustice. From this day hence, the king's law shall be the law of mercy. And nevermore be the law of blood. This is tragic news you bring me, Myles Hendon. The king, my father, is dead. Aye, your ha... Your majesty. Thou canst not sorrow. The king is dead. Long live the king. Aye. Thou art right, Myles. I am the king, even though an imposter sits upon my throne. An imposter, your majesty. But one with the instincts and heart of a true king of England. What meanest thou, Myles? His proclamations are being mouthed all over London, sayer. The king's law is righteousness and not injustice. One of mercy and not of blood. Injustice? Blood? Surely these were not the laws of the land under my father. Were they not, Your Majesty? I refuse to believe this, Myles. Thou must prove these words, lest I again remove your titles when I have returned to the palace and assumed my rightful throne. Very well, Your Majesty. I shall prove them to you so that if someday you do become king, your intentions shall be as good as those of him who now sits upon your throne. Those hovels. Those hutgers not fit for swine to live in. Those are the habitations of London's poor. Aye, Your Majesty, with not one law of the land to protect them, to offer hope to let them believe in the goodness of humanity. No, I cannot believe that woman to be burned alive and solely because she worships God in a different form. These things cannot be, Myles. I shall change them. I must change them. As King of England, I cannot allow these crimes against humanity to continue. King, thou might be, Your Majesty, with thou art forgetting that another sits upon thy throne. I... I had forgot a promise I had forgot. A pauper has taken my place. How can a beggar rule with the wisdom of royal blood? How can a pauper have the heart and soul and kindness of a prince? Mercy is not the prerogative of royalty alone, nor kindness only within the hearts of princes. You yourself are proof that appearance off deceives. I pray you, Your Majesty, till his guilt or innocence be proved by his deeds. If it would please Your Grace, here is a paper of state to be signed. Paper, my Lord Chancellor, concerning what? Taxes, Your Majesty, to be levied upon the people of London. And for what purpose? Gifts for the nobles, Your Majesty. Our treasury is low, we have not paid gifts to the nobility. Take the paper away. I beg Your Majesty's pardon. Take it away, I say. No longer shall we tax the poor and helpless for useless gifts to nobles. The people are oppressed enough. Let us seek to lighten their burdens rather than make them heavier. Why is Your Majesty so unhappy? Never has a king been more loved and respected. And they say more people are coming to your coronation than have ever come before. My coronation, my lady? It is not mine. Your Majesty, if only I could find him. If only I could find the true king. You still cling to your hallucination, Sire. So sincerely that sometimes I believe you. But how can I? There is a nobility in your face that cannot be denied. There is no nobility in my heart, Lady Jane. Only guilt regarding him who was tricked by fate. If a trick of fate it be, Your Majesty, then your coronation tomorrow will guarantee its continuance. If so, my lady, I can only pray that I shall be worthy of it. The Archbishop of Canterbury awaits Your Majesty. Very well, Lord Chancellor. Let us proceed. Edward Judah in the name of our Lord and with his holy blessings I do hereby crown you Edward the sixth King of... I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that forfeited head. I am the king. God, God sees that man, sees him, I say. Touch him not, on your peril, touch him not. He is the king. Your Majesty, you are afflicted again. Your madness... May, he speaks the truth. I am an imposter, but not of my own choosing. I told all of you. But none would believe me. There stands your true king in beggars' rags. Look upon him. Look upon his face. There stands Edward Judah, true king of England. The resemblance is unbelievable. But how can one say? How can there be proof? Surely, Your Majesty, thou must be able to offer some proof of some kind. Think, Your Majesty, I beg of you. Think. I, Tom Canty, You, my Lord Chancellor, the great seal of England is hidden in a special vault within my bedchamber. I, that is so. You, Lord William, took me for a carriage ride when I was but a child, against my father's wishes secretly, so only you and I know of this. That is true. That is true. And you, Lady Jane, when abroad I sent you three gifts, a shawl from Spain, perfume from France and a Latin book from Rome. Yes. Yes, you did. My Lord Chancellor, he did. There is your proof then. Now you know. My Lord Chancellor, there stands your true king. Why? Why, he is the king. God sees this imposter. To the tower with him. To the tower. Hold. Touch him and you risk your life. Why should he be punished? Because you did not believe him? Because he ruled you wisely and well? No. He shall hold a place of honour here while I take the crown. Come, Tom Canty. My arm. My Lord Chancellor, you may proceed with the ceremony. By all means, Your Majesty. Page to the palace and fetch new robes for the king. Nay, my Lord Chancellor. I do not wish to change. But, Your Majesty, taking the crown and beggars' rags, what will your people think? What does thou know of my people or what they think? I have been one of them. I have shared their pain and misery and suffering. I have won the right to wear these rags and proudly. Your pardon, Majesty. I merely meant that it is not fitting for thee to wear the robes of one of such lowly birth. Is it not, my Lord Chancellor? I disagree. Tom Canty, the pauper, has been both noble and wise. These were his robes. The robes of a nobleman born in a slum. Robes that any prince, any king, would be honoured to wear. For it is not what a man becomes that matters. It is what he becomes and not where he was born. And the robe of true greatness is humility. What an echo Mark Twain sent ringing down the years with the words, mercy is not the prerogative of royalty alone, nor kindness only in the hearts of princes. Our very thinking about these words truly becomes a prayer. For what was true of the prince and true of the pauper is true of all of us. It is what a man becomes that matters, not where he was born. And while we speak of prayer we want to mention a particular kind of prayer, family prayer. When with prayer on our lips and in our hearts, we can look at each other and contemplate the blessings of God that we, all of us, receive from happy family life. The blessings that come when a family that prays together stays together. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. From Hollywood Family Theatre has brought you Roddy McDowell and Terry Kilburn in Mark Twain's classic, The Prince and the Pauper with Carlton Young as your host. This adaptation was performed with permission of the trust fees of Mark Twain's estate. And featured in our cast were Frances X Bushman, Virginia McDowell, Edgar Berrier, Raymond Burr, Alec Harford and Herbert Rollinsen. Music was composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and the production was directed for Family Theatre by Jaime Del Valle. This series of Family Theatre broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who felt the need for this type of program by the mutual network which has responded to this need and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen and radio who have so unselfishly given of their time and talent to appear on our Family Theatre stage. To them and to you, our humble thanks. We're expressing the wishes of Family Theatre that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home. And inviting you to join us next week at this time when Family Theatre will present Rosalind Russell, Joseph Cotton and Gene Cagney in Girmel's housing. Join us, won't you? Family Theatre is broadcast in the Philippines by the Philippine Broadcasting Corporation is released to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service and is heard in Canada over the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. The world's largest network, the Mutual Broadcasting System.