Chapter XXXI. The Recognition procession.

by Mark Twain

　　When Tom Canty awoke the next morning, the air was heavy with athunderous murmur: all the distances were charged with it. Itwas music to him; for it meant that the English world was out inits strength to give loyal welcome to the great day.Presently Tom found himself once more the chief figure in awonderful floating pageant on the Thames; for by ancient customthe 'recognition procession' through London must start from theTower, and he was bound thither.When he arrived there, the sides of the venerable fortress seemedsuddenly rent in a thousand places, and from every rent leaped ared tongue of flame and a white gush of smoke; a deafeningexplosion followed, which drowned the shoutings of the multitude,and made the ground tremble; the flame-jets, the smoke, and theexplosions, were repeated over and over again with marvellouscelerity, so that in a few moments the old Tower disappeared inthe vast fog of its own smoke, all but the very top of the tallpile called the White Tower; this, with its banners, stood outabove the dense bank of vapour as a mountain-peak projects above acloud-rack.Tom Canty, splendidly arrayed, mounted a prancing war-steed, whoserich trappings almost reached to the ground; his 'uncle,' the LordProtector Somerset, similarly mounted, took place in his rear; theKing's Guard formed in single ranks on either side, clad inburnished armour; after the Protector followed a seeminglyinterminable procession of resplendent nobles attended by theirvassals; after these came the lord mayor and the aldermanic body,in crimson velvet robes, and with their gold chains across theirbreasts; and after these the officers and members of all theguilds of London, in rich raiment, and bearing the showy bannersof the several corporations. Also in the procession, as a specialguard of honour through the city, was the Ancient and HonourableArtillery Company--an organisation already three hundred years oldat that time, and the only military body in England possessing theprivilege (which it still possesses in our day) of holding itselfindependent of the commands of Parliament. It was a brilliantspectacle, and was hailed with acclamations all along the line, asit took its stately way through the packed multitudes of citizens.The chronicler says, 'The King, as he entered the city, wasreceived by the people with prayers, welcomings, cries, and tenderwords, and all signs which argue an earnest love of subjectstoward their sovereign; and the King, by holding up his gladcountenance to such as stood afar off, and most tender language tothose that stood nigh his Grace, showed himself no less thankfulto receive the people's goodwill than they to offer it. To allthat wished him well, he gave thanks. To such as bade "God savehis Grace," he said in return, "God save you all!" and added that"he thanked them with all his heart." Wonderfully transportedwere the people with the loving answers and gestures of theirKing.'In Fenchurch Street a 'fair child, in costly apparel,' stood on astage to welcome his Majesty to the city. The last verse of hisgreeting was in these words--'Welcome, O King! as much as hearts can think;Welcome, again, as much as tongue can tell,--Welcome to joyous tongues, and hearts that will not shrink:God thee preserve, we pray, and wish thee ever well.'The people burst forth in a glad shout, repeating with one voicewhat the child had said. Tom Canty gazed abroad over the surgingsea of eager faces, and his heart swelled with exultation; and hefelt that the one thing worth living for in this world was to be aking, and a nation's idol. Presently he caught sight, at adistance, of a couple of his ragged Offal Court comrades--one ofthem the lord high admiral in his late mimic court, the other thefirst lord of the bedchamber in the same pretentious fiction; andhis pride swelled higher than ever. Oh, if they could onlyrecognise him now! What unspeakable glory it would be, if theycould recognise him, and realise that the derided mock king of theslums and back alleys was become a real King, with illustriousdukes and princes for his humble menials, and the English world athis feet! But he had to deny himself, and choke down his desire,for such a recognition might cost more than it would come to: sohe turned away his head, and left the two soiled lads to go onwith their shoutings and glad adulations, unsuspicious of whom itwas they were lavishing them upon.Every now and then rose the cry, "A largess! a largess!" and Tomresponded by scattering a handful of bright new coins abroad forthe multitude to scramble for.The chronicler says, 'At the upper end of Gracechurch Street,before the sign of the Eagle, the city had erected a gorgeousarch, beneath which was a stage, which stretched from one side ofthe street to the other. This was an historical pageant,representing the King's immediate progenitors. There satElizabeth of York in the midst of an immense white rose, whosepetals formed elaborate furbelows around her; by her side wasHenry VII., issuing out of a vast red rose, disposed in the samemanner: the hands of the royal pair were locked together, and thewedding-ring ostentatiously displayed. From the red and whiteroses proceeded a stem, which reached up to a second stage,occupied by Henry VIII., issuing from a red and white rose, withthe effigy of the new King's mother, Jane Seymour, represented byhis side. One branch sprang from this pair, which mounted to athird stage, where sat the effigy of Edward VI. himself, enthronedin royal majesty; and the whole pageant was framed with wreaths ofroses, red and white.'This quaint and gaudy spectacle so wrought upon the rejoicingpeople, that their acclamations utterly smothered the small voiceof the child whose business it was to explain the thing ineulogistic rhymes. But Tom Canty was not sorry; for this loyaluproar was sweeter music to him than any poetry, no matter whatits quality might be. Whithersoever Tom turned his happy youngface, the people recognised the exactness of his effigy's likenessto himself, the flesh and blood counterpart; and new whirlwinds ofapplause burst forth.The great pageant moved on, and still on, under one triumphal archafter another, and past a bewildering succession of spectacularand symbolical tableaux, each of which typified and exalted somevirtue, or talent, or merit, of the little King's. 'Throughoutthe whole of Cheapside, from every penthouse and window, hungbanners and streamers; and the richest carpets, stuffs, and cloth-of-gold tapestried the streets--specimens of the great wealth ofthe stores within; and the splendour of this thoroughfare wasequalled in the other streets, and in some even surpassed.'"And all these wonders and these marvels are to welcome me--me!"murmured Tom Canty.The mock King's cheeks were flushed with excitement, his eyes wereflashing, his senses swam in a delirium of pleasure. At thispoint, just as he was raising his hand to fling another richlargess, he caught sight of a pale, astounded face, which wasstrained forward out of the second rank of the crowd, its intenseeyes riveted upon him. A sickening consternation struck throughhim; he recognised his mother! and up flew his hand, palm outward,before his eyes--that old involuntary gesture, born of a forgottenepisode, and perpetuated by habit. In an instant more she hadtorn her way out of the press, and past the guards, and was at hisside. She embraced his leg, she covered it with kisses, shecried, "O my child, my darling!" lifting toward him a face thatwas transfigured with joy and love. The same instant an officerof the King's Guard snatched her away with a curse, and sent herreeling back whence she came with a vigorous impulse from hisstrong arm. The words "I do not know you, woman!" were fallingfrom Tom Canty's lips when this piteous thing occurred; but itsmote him to the heart to see her treated so; and as she turnedfor a last glimpse of him, whilst the crowd was swallowing herfrom his sight, she seemed so wounded, so broken-hearted, that ashame fell upon him which consumed his pride to ashes, andwithered his stolen royalty. His grandeurs were strickenvalueless: they seemed to fall away from him like rotten rags.The procession moved on, and still on, through ever augmentingsplendours and ever augmenting tempests of welcome; but to TomCanty they were as if they had not been. He neither saw norheard. Royalty had lost its grace and sweetness; its pomps werebecome a reproach. Remorse was eating his heart out. He said,"Would God I were free of my captivity!"He had unconsciously dropped back into the phraseology of thefirst days of his compulsory greatness.The shining pageant still went winding like a radiant andinterminable serpent down the crooked lanes of the quaint oldcity, and through the huzzaing hosts; but still the King rode withbowed head and vacant eyes, seeing only his mother's face and thatwounded look in it."Largess, largess!" The cry fell upon an unheeding ear."Long live Edward of England!" It seemed as if the earth shookwith the explosion; but there was no response from the King. Heheard it only as one hears the thunder of the surf when it isblown to the ear out of a great distance, for it was smotheredunder another sound which was still nearer, in his own breast, inhis accusing conscience--a voice which kept repeating thoseshameful words, "I do not know you, woman!"The words smote upon the King's soul as the strokes of a funeralbell smite upon the soul of a surviving friend when they remindhim of secret treacheries suffered at his hands by him that isgone.New glories were unfolded at every turning; new wonders, newmarvels, sprang into view; the pent clamours of waiting batterieswere released; new raptures poured from the throats of the waitingmultitudes: but the King gave no sign, and the accusing voicethat went moaning through his comfortless breast was all the soundhe heard.By-and-by the gladness in the faces of the populace changed alittle, and became touched with a something like solicitude oranxiety: an abatement in the volume of the applause wasobservable too. The Lord Protector was quick to notice thesethings: he was as quick to detect the cause. He spurred to theKing's side, bent low in his saddle, uncovered, and said--"My liege, it is an ill time for dreaming. The people observe thydowncast head, thy clouded mien, and they take it for an omen. Beadvised: unveil the sun of royalty, and let it shine upon theseboding vapours, and disperse them. Lift up thy face, and smileupon the people."So saying, the Duke scattered a handful of coins to right andleft, then retired to his place. The mock King did mechanicallyas he had been bidden. His smile had no heart in it, but few eyeswere near enough or sharp enough to detect that. The noddings ofhis plumed head as he saluted his subjects were full of grace andgraciousness; the largess which he delivered from his hand wasroyally liberal: so the people's anxiety vanished, and theacclamations burst forth again in as mighty a volume as before.Still once more, a little before the progress was ended, the Dukewas obliged to ride forward, and make remonstrance. He whispered--"O dread sovereign! shake off these fatal humours; the eyes of theworld are upon thee." Then he added with sharp annoyance,"Perdition catch that crazy pauper! 'twas she that hath disturbedyour Highness."The gorgeous figure turned a lustreless eye upon the Duke, andsaid in a dead voice--"She was my mother!""My God!" groaned the Protector as he reined his horse backward tohis post, "the omen was pregnant with prophecy. He is gone madagain!"