Chapter Chapter 32 · Coronation Day.

. Coronation Day.

Let us go backward a few hours, and place ourselves in Westminster

Abbey, at four o’clock in the morning of this memorable Coronation Day.

We are not without company; for although it is still night, we find

the torch-lighted galleries already filling up with people who are well

content to sit still and wait seven or eight hours till the time shall

come for them to see what they may not hope to see twice in their

lives--the coronation of a King.  Yes, London and Westminster have been

astir ever since the warning guns boomed at three o’clock, and already

crowds of untitled rich folk who have bought the privilege of trying

to find sitting-room in the galleries are flocking in at the entrances

reserved for their sort.

The hours drag along tediously enough.  All stir has ceased for some

time, for every gallery has long ago been packed.  We may sit, now, and

look and think at our leisure.  We have glimpses, here and there

and yonder, through the dim cathedral twilight, of portions of many

galleries and balconies, wedged full with other people, the other

portions of these galleries and balconies being cut off from sight by

intervening pillars and architectural projections.  We have in view

the whole of the great north transept--empty, and waiting for England’s

privileged ones.  We see also the ample area or platform, carpeted with

rich stuffs, whereon the throne stands.  The throne occupies the centre

of the platform, and is raised above it upon an elevation of four steps.

Within the seat of the throne is enclosed a rough flat rock--the stone

of Scone--which many generations of Scottish kings sat on to be crowned,

and so it in time became holy enough to answer a like purpose for

English monarchs.  Both the throne and its footstool are covered with

cloth of gold.

Stillness reigns, the torches blink dully, the time drags heavily.

But at last the lagging daylight asserts itself, the torches are

extinguished, and a mellow radiance suffuses the great spaces. All

features of the noble building are distinct now, but soft and dreamy,

for the sun is lightly veiled with clouds.

At seven o’clock the first break in the drowsy monotony occurs; for on

the stroke of this hour the first peeress enters the transept, clothed

like Solomon for splendour, and is conducted to her appointed place

by an official clad in satins and velvets, whilst a duplicate of him

gathers up the lady’s long train, follows after, and, when the lady is

seated, arranges the train across her lap for her.  He then places her

footstool according to her desire, after which he puts her coronet where

it will be convenient to her hand when the time for the simultaneous

coroneting of the nobles shall arrive.

By this time the peeresses are flowing in in a glittering stream, and

the satin-clad officials are flitting and glinting everywhere, seating

them and making them comfortable.  The scene is animated enough now.

There is stir and life, and shifting colour everywhere.  After a time,

quiet reigns again; for the peeresses are all come and are all in their

places, a solid acre or such a matter, of human flowers, resplendent in

variegated colours, and frosted like a Milky Way with diamonds.  There

are all ages here: brown, wrinkled, white-haired dowagers who are able

to go back, and still back, down the stream of time, and recall the

crowning of Richard III. and the troublous days of that old forgotten

age; and there are handsome middle-aged dames; and lovely and gracious

young matrons; and gentle and beautiful young girls, with beaming eyes

and fresh complexions, who may possibly put on their jewelled coronets

awkwardly when the great time comes; for the matter will be new to

them, and their excitement will be a sore hindrance. Still, this may

not happen, for the hair of all these ladies has been arranged with a

special view to the swift and successful lodging of the crown in its

place when the signal comes.

We have seen that this massed array of peeresses is sown thick with

diamonds, and we also see that it is a marvellous spectacle--but now we

are about to be astonished in earnest.  About nine, the clouds suddenly

break away and a shaft of sunshine cleaves the mellow atmosphere, and

drifts slowly along the ranks of ladies; and every rank it touches

flames into a dazzling splendour of many-coloured fires, and we tingle

to our finger-tips with the electric thrill that is shot through us by

the surprise and the beauty of the spectacle!  Presently a special envoy

from some distant corner of the Orient, marching with the general body

of foreign ambassadors, crosses this bar of sunshine, and we catch our

breath, the glory that streams and flashes and palpitates about him is

so overpowering; for he is crusted from head to heel with gems, and his

slightest movement showers a dancing radiance all around him.

Let us change the tense for convenience.  The time drifted along--one

hour--two hours--two hours and a half; then the deep booming of

artillery told that the King and his grand procession had arrived at

last; so the waiting multitude rejoiced.  All knew that a further delay

must follow, for the King must be prepared and robed for the solemn

ceremony; but this delay would be pleasantly occupied by the assembling

of the peers of the realm in their stately robes.  These were conducted

ceremoniously to their seats, and their coronets placed conveniently

at hand; and meanwhile the multitude in the galleries were alive with

interest, for most of them were beholding for the first time, dukes,

earls, and barons, whose names had been historical for five hundred

years.  When all were finally seated, the spectacle from the galleries

and all coigns of vantage was complete; a gorgeous one to look upon and

to remember.

Now the robed and mitred great heads of the church, and their

attendants, filed in upon the platform and took their appointed places;

these were followed by the Lord Protector and other great officials, and

these again by a steel-clad detachment of the Guard.

There was a waiting pause; then, at a signal, a triumphant peal of music

burst forth, and Tom Canty, clothed in a long robe of cloth of gold,

appeared at a door, and stepped upon the platform.  The entire multitude

rose, and the ceremony of the Recognition ensued.

Then a noble anthem swept the Abbey with its rich waves of sound; and

thus heralded and welcomed, Tom Canty was conducted to the throne.

The ancient ceremonies went on, with impressive solemnity, whilst the

audience gazed; and as they drew nearer and nearer to completion, Tom

Canty grew pale, and still paler, and a deep and steadily deepening woe

and despondency settled down upon his spirits and upon his remorseful

heart.

At last the final act was at hand.  The Archbishop of Canterbury lifted

up the crown of England from its cushion and held it out over the

trembling mock-King’s head.  In the same instant a rainbow-radiance

flashed along the spacious transept; for with one impulse every

individual in the great concourse of nobles lifted a coronet and poised

it over his or her head--and paused in that attitude.

A deep hush pervaded the Abbey.  At this impressive moment, a startling

apparition intruded upon the scene--an apparition observed by none in

the absorbed multitude, until it suddenly appeared, moving up the great

central aisle.  It was a boy, bareheaded, ill shod, and clothed in

coarse plebeian garments that were falling to rags.  He raised his hand

with a solemnity which ill comported with his soiled and sorry aspect,

and delivered this note of warning--

“I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that forfeited head.  I

am the King!”

In an instant several indignant hands were laid upon the boy; but in

the same instant Tom Canty, in his regal vestments, made a swift step

forward, and cried out in a ringing voice--

“Loose him and forbear!  He _is_ the King!”

A sort of panic of astonishment swept the assemblage, and they partly

rose in their places and stared in a bewildered way at one another and

at the chief figures in this scene, like persons who wondered whether

they were awake and in their senses, or asleep and dreaming.  The Lord

Protector was as amazed as the rest, but quickly recovered himself, and

exclaimed in a voice of authority--

“Mind not his Majesty, his malady is upon him again--seize the

vagabond!”

He would have been obeyed, but the mock-King stamped his foot and cried

out--

“On your peril!  Touch him not, he is the King!”

The hands were withheld; a paralysis fell upon the house; no one moved,

no one spoke; indeed, no one knew how to act or what to say, in so

strange and surprising an emergency.  While all minds were struggling to

right themselves, the boy still moved steadily forward, with high port

and confident mien; he had never halted from the beginning; and while

the tangled minds still floundered helplessly, he stepped upon the

platform, and the mock-King ran with a glad face to meet him; and fell

on his knees before him and said--

“Oh, my lord the King, let poor Tom Canty be first to swear fealty to

thee, and say, ‘Put on thy crown and enter into thine own again!’”

The Lord Protector’s eye fell sternly upon the new-comer’s face; but

straightway the sternness vanished away, and gave place to an expression

of wondering surprise.  This thing happened also to the other great

officers.  They glanced at each other, and retreated a step by a common

and unconscious impulse.  The thought in each mind was the same: “What

a strange resemblance!”

The Lord Protector reflected a moment or two in perplexity, then he

said, with grave respectfulness--

“By your favour, sir, I desire to ask certain questions which--”

“I will answer them, my lord.”

The Duke asked him many questions about the Court, the late King, the

prince, the princesses--the boy answered them correctly and without

hesitating.  He described the rooms of state in the palace, the late

King’s apartments, and those of the Prince of Wales.

It was strange; it was wonderful; yes, it was unaccountable--so all said

that heard it.  The tide was beginning to turn, and Tom Canty’s hopes to

run high, when the Lord Protector shook his head and said--

“It is true it is most wonderful--but it is no more than our lord the

King likewise can do.”  This remark, and this reference to himself as

still the King, saddened Tom Canty, and he felt his hopes crumbling from

under him. “These are not _proofs_,” added the Protector.

The tide was turning very fast now, very fast indeed--but in the wrong

direction; it was leaving poor Tom Canty stranded on the throne,

and sweeping the other out to sea.  The Lord Protector communed with

himself--shook his head--the thought forced itself upon him, “It is

perilous to the State and to us all, to entertain so fateful a riddle as

this; it could divide the nation and undermine the throne.”  He turned

and said--

“Sir Thomas, arrest this--No, hold!”  His face lighted, and he

confronted the ragged candidate with this question--

“Where lieth the Great Seal?  Answer me this truly, and the riddle is

unriddled; for only he that was Prince of Wales _can_ so answer! On so

trivial a thing hang a throne and a dynasty!”

It was a lucky thought, a happy thought.  That it was so considered by

the great officials was manifested by the silent applause that shot from

eye to eye around their circle in the form of bright approving glances.

Yes, none but the true prince could dissolve the stubborn mystery of the

vanished Great Seal--this forlorn little impostor had been taught his

lesson well, but here his teachings must fail, for his teacher himself

could not answer _that_ question--ah, very good, very good indeed;

now we shall be rid of this troublesome and perilous business in

short order! And so they nodded invisibly and smiled inwardly with

satisfaction, and looked to see this foolish lad stricken with a palsy

of guilty confusion. How surprised they were, then, to see nothing of

the sort happen--how they marvelled to hear him answer up promptly, in a

confident and untroubled voice, and say--

“There is nought in this riddle that is difficult.”  Then, without so

much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned and gave this command,

with the easy manner of one accustomed to doing such things: “My Lord

St. John, go you to my private cabinet in the palace--for none knoweth

the place better than you--and, close down to the floor, in the left

corner remotest from the door that opens from the ante-chamber, you

shall find in the wall a brazen nail-head; press upon it and a little

jewel-closet will fly open which not even you do know of--no, nor

any soul else in all the world but me and the trusty artisan that did

contrive it for me. The first thing that falleth under your eye will be

the Great Seal--fetch it hither.”

All the company wondered at this speech, and wondered still more to see

the little mendicant pick out this peer without hesitancy or apparent

fear of mistake, and call him by name with such a placidly convincing

air of having known him all his life.  The peer was almost surprised

into obeying.  He even made a movement as if to go, but quickly

recovered his tranquil attitude and confessed his blunder with a blush.

Tom Canty turned upon him and said, sharply--

“Why dost thou hesitate?  Hast not heard the King’s command?  Go!”

The Lord St. John made a deep obeisance--and it was observed that it was

a significantly cautious and non-committal one, it not being delivered

at either of the kings, but at the neutral ground about half-way between

the two--and took his leave.

Now began a movement of the gorgeous particles of that official group

which was slow, scarcely perceptible, and yet steady and persistent--a

movement such as is observed in a kaleidoscope that is turned slowly,

whereby the components of one splendid cluster fall away and join

themselves to another--a movement which, little by little, in the

present case, dissolved the glittering crowd that stood about Tom Canty

and clustered it together again in the neighbourhood of the new-comer.

Tom Canty stood almost alone. Now ensued a brief season of deep

suspense and waiting--during which even the few faint hearts still

remaining near Tom Canty gradually scraped together courage enough to

glide, one by one, over to the majority.  So at last Tom Canty, in his

royal robes and jewels, stood wholly alone and isolated from the world,

a conspicuous figure, occupying an eloquent vacancy.

Now the Lord St. John was seen returning.  As he advanced up

the mid-aisle the interest was so intense that the low murmur of

conversation in the great assemblage died out and was succeeded by

a profound hush, a breathless stillness, through which his footfalls

pulsed with a dull and distant sound.  Every eye was fastened upon him

as he moved along.  He reached the platform, paused a moment, then moved

toward Tom Canty with a deep obeisance, and said--

“Sire, the Seal is not there!”

A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague-patient with more

haste than the band of pallid and terrified courtiers melted away from

the presence of the shabby little claimant of the Crown.  In a moment

he stood all alone, without friend or supporter, a target upon which

was concentrated a bitter fire of scornful and angry looks.  The Lord

Protector called out fiercely--

“Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through the town--the

paltry knave is worth no more consideration!”

Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom Canty waved them

off and said--

“Back!  Whoso touches him perils his life!”

The Lord Protector was perplexed in the last degree.  He said to the

Lord St. John--

“Searched you well?--but it boots not to ask that.  It doth seem passing

strange.  Little things, trifles, slip out of one’s ken, and one does

not think it matter for surprise; but how so bulky a thing as the

Seal of England can vanish away and no man be able to get track of it

again--a massy golden disk--”

Tom Canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and shouted--

“Hold, that is enough!  Was it round?--and thick?--and had it letters

and devices graved upon it?--yes?  Oh, _now_ I know what this Great Seal

is that there’s been such worry and pother about. An’ ye had described

it to me, ye could have had it three weeks ago.  Right well I know where

it lies; but it was not I that put it there--first.”

“Who, then, my liege?” asked the Lord Protector.

“He that stands there--the rightful King of England.  And he shall tell

you himself where it lies--then you will believe he knew it of his own

knowledge.  Bethink thee, my King--spur thy memory--it was the last, the

very _last_ thing thou didst that day before thou didst rush forth from

the palace, clothed in my rags, to punish the soldier that insulted me.”

A silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a whisper, and all eyes

were fixed upon the new-comer, who stood, with bent head and corrugated

brow, groping in his memory among a thronging multitude of valueless

recollections for one single little elusive fact, which, found, would

seat him upon a throne--unfound, would leave him as he was, for good and

all--a pauper and an outcast.  Moment after moment passed--the moments

built themselves into minutes--still the boy struggled silently on, and

gave no sign.  But at last he heaved a sigh, shook his head slowly, and

said, with a trembling lip and in a despondent voice--

“I call the scene back--all of it--but the Seal hath no place in it.”

He paused, then looked up, and said with gentle dignity, “My lords and

gentlemen, if ye will rob your rightful sovereign of his own for lack of

this evidence which he is not able to furnish, I may not stay ye, being

powerless.  But--”

“Oh, folly, oh, madness, my King!” cried Tom Canty, in a panic,

“wait!--think!  Do not give up!--the cause is not lost!  Nor _shall_ be,

neither! List to what I say--follow every word--I am going to bring that

morning back again, every hap just as it happened.  We talked--I told

you of my sisters, Nan and Bet--ah, yes, you remember that; and about

mine old grandam--and the rough games of the lads of Offal Court--yes,

you remember these things also; very well, follow me still, you shall

recall everything.  You gave me food and drink, and did with princely

courtesy send away the servants, so that my low breeding might not shame

me before them--ah, yes, this also you remember.”

As Tom checked off his details, and the other boy nodded his head in

recognition of them, the great audience and the officials stared in

puzzled wonderment; the tale sounded like true history, yet how could

this impossible conjunction between a prince and a beggar-boy have come

about?  Never was a company of people so perplexed, so interested, and

so stupefied, before.

“For a jest, my prince, we did exchange garments.  Then we stood before

a mirror; and so alike were we that both said it seemed as if there had

been no change made--yes, you remember that.  Then you noticed that the

soldier had hurt my hand--look! here it is, I cannot yet even write with

it, the fingers are so stiff.  At this your Highness sprang up, vowing

vengeance upon that soldier, and ran towards the door--you passed a

table--that thing you call the Seal lay on that table--you snatched

it up and looked eagerly about, as if for a place to hide it--your eye

caught sight of--”

“There, ’tis sufficient!--and the good God be thanked!” exclaimed the

ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. “Go, my good St. John--in an

arm-piece of the Milanese armour that hangs on the wall, thou’lt find

the Seal!”

“Right, my King! right!” cried Tom Canty; “_Now_ the sceptre of England

is thine own; and it were better for him that would dispute it that he

had been born dumb!  Go, my Lord St. John, give thy feet wings!”

The whole assemblage was on its feet now, and well-nigh out of its mind

with uneasiness, apprehension, and consuming excitement.  On the floor

and on the platform a deafening buzz of frantic conversation burst

forth, and for some time nobody knew anything or heard anything or was

interested in anything but what his neighbour was shouting into his ear,

or he was shouting into his neighbour’s ear.  Time--nobody knew how much

of it--swept by unheeded and unnoted.  At last a sudden hush fell upon

the house, and in the same moment St. John appeared upon the platform,

and held the Great Seal aloft in his hand.  Then such a shout went up--

“Long live the true King!”

For five minutes the air quaked with shouts and the crash of musical

instruments, and was white with a storm of waving handkerchiefs; and

through it all a ragged lad, the most conspicuous figure in England,

stood, flushed and happy and proud, in the centre of the spacious

platform, with the great vassals of the kingdom kneeling around him.

Then all rose, and Tom Canty cried out--

“Now, O my King, take these regal garments back, and give poor Tom, thy

servant, his shreds and remnants again.”

The Lord Protector spoke up--

“Let the small varlet be stripped and flung into the Tower.”

But the new King, the true King, said--

“I will not have it so.  But for him I had not got my crown again--none

shall lay a hand upon him to harm him.  And as for thee, my good uncle,

my Lord Protector, this conduct of thine is not grateful toward

this poor lad, for I hear he hath made thee a duke”--the Protector

blushed--“yet he was not a king; wherefore what is thy fine title

worth now?  To-morrow you shall sue to me, _through him_, for its

confirmation, else no duke, but a simple earl, shalt thou remain.”

Under this rebuke, his Grace the Duke of Somerset retired a little from

the front for the moment.  The King turned to Tom, and said kindly--“My

poor boy, how was it that you could remember where I hid the Seal when I

could not remember it myself?”

“Ah, my King, that was easy, since I used it divers days.”

“Used it--yet could not explain where it was?”

“I did not know it was _that_ they wanted.  They did not describe it,

your Majesty.”

“Then how used you it?”

The red blood began to steal up into Tom’s cheeks, and he dropped his

eyes and was silent.

“Speak up, good lad, and fear nothing,” said the King. “How used you

the Great Seal of England?”

Tom stammered a moment, in a pathetic confusion, then got it out--

“To crack nuts with!”

Poor child, the avalanche of laughter that greeted this nearly swept him

off his feet.  But if a doubt remained in any mind that Tom Canty was

not the King of England and familiar with the august appurtenances of

royalty, this reply disposed of it utterly.

Meantime the sumptuous robe of state had been removed from Tom’s

shoulders to the King’s, whose rags were effectually hidden from sight

under it.  Then the coronation ceremonies were resumed; the true King

was anointed and the crown set upon his head, whilst cannon thundered

the news to the city, and all London seemed to rock with applause.