| The Recognition procession When Tom Canty awoke the next morning, the air was heavy with a thunderous murmur: all the distances were charged with it. It was music to him; for it meant that the English world was out in its strength to give loyal welcome to the great day.
Presently Tom found himself once more the chief figure in a wonderful floating pageant on the Thames; for by ancient custom the ‘recognition procession’ through London must start from the Tower, and he was bound thither.
When he arrived there, the sides of the venerable fortress seemed suddenly rent in a thousand places, and from every rent leaped a red tongue of flame and a white gush of smoke; a deafening explosion followed, which drowned the shoutings of the multitude, and made the ground tremble; the flame-jets, the smoke, and the explosions, were repeated over and over again with marvellous celerity, so that in a few moments the old Tower disappeared in the vast fog of its own smoke, all but the very top of the tall pile called the White Tower; this, with its banners, stood out above the dense bank of vapour as a mountain-peak projects above a cloud-rack.
Tom Canty, splendidly arrayed, mounted a prancing war-steed, whose rich trappings almost reached to the ground; his ‘uncle,’ the Lord Protector Somerset, similarly mounted, took place in his rear; the King’s Guard formed in single ranks on either side, clad in burnished armour; after the Protector followed a seemingly interminable procession of resplendent nobles attended by their vassals; after these came the lord mayor and the aldermanic body, in crimson velvet robes, and with their gold chains across their breasts; and after these the officers and of all the guilds of London, in rich raiment, and bearing the showy banners of the several corporations. Also in the procession, as a special guard of honour through the city, was the Ancient and Honourable Artillery Company—an organisation already three hundred years old at that time, and the only military body in England possessing the privilege (which it still possesses in our day) of holding itself independent of the commands of Parliament. It was a brilliant spectacle, and was hailed with acclamations all along the line, as it took its stately way through the packed multitudes of citizens. The chronicler says, ‘The King, as he entered the city, was received by the people with prayers, welcomings, cries, and tender words, and all signs which argue an earnest love of subjects toward their sovereign; and the King, by holding up his glad countenance to such as stood afar off, and most tender language to those that stood nigh his Grace, showed himself no less thankful to receive the people’s goodwill than they to offer it. To all that wished him well, he gave thanks. To such as bade “God save his Grace,” he said in return, “God save you all!” and added that “he thanked them with all his heart.” Wonderfully transported were the people with the loving answers and gestures of their King.’
In Fenchurch Street a ‘fair child, in costly apparel,’ stood on a stage to welcome his Majesty to the city. The last verse of his greeting 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 voice what the child had said. Tom Canty gazed abroad over the surging sea of eager faces, and his heart swelled with exultation; and he felt that the one thing worth living for in this world was to be a king, and a nation’s idol. Presently he caught sight, at a distance, of a couple of his ragged Offal Court comrades—one of them the lord high iral in his late mimic court, the other the first lord of the bedchamber in the same pretentious fiction; and his pride swelled higher than ever. Oh, if they could only recognise him now! What unspeakable glory it would be, if they could recognise him, and realise that the derided mock king of the slums and back alleys was become a real King, with illustrious dukes and princes for his humble menials, and the English world at his feet! But he had to deny himself, and choke down his desire, for such a recognition might cost more than it would come to: so he turned away his head, and left the two soiled lads to go on with their shoutings and glad adulations, unsuspicious of whom it was they were lavishing them upon.
Every now and then rose the cry, “A largess! a largess!” and Tom responded by scattering a handful of bright new coins abroad for the 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 gorgeous arch, beneath which was a stage, which stretched from one side of the street to the other. This was an historical pageant, representing the King’s immediate progenitors. There sat Elizabeth of York in the midst of an immense white rose, whose petals formed elaborate furbelows around her; by her side was Henry VII., issuing out of a vast red rose, disposed in the same manner: the hands of the royal pair were locked together, and the wedding-ring ostentatiously displayed. From the red and white roses proceeded a stem, which reached up to a second stage, occupied by Henry VIII., issuing from a red and white rose, with the effigy of the new King’s mother, Jane Seymour, represented by his side. One branch sprang from this pair, which mounted to a third stage, where sat the effigy of Edward VI. himself, enthroned in royal majesty; and the whole pageant was framed with wreaths of roses, red and white.’
This quaint and gaudy spectacle so wrought upon the rejoicing people, that their acclamations utterly smothered the small voice of the child whose business it was to explain the thing in eulogistic rhymes. But Tom Canty was not sorry; for this loyal uproar was sweeter music to him than any poetry, no matter what its quality might be. Whithersoever Tom turned his happy young face, the people recognised the exactness of his effigy’s likeness to himself, the flesh and blood counterpart; and new whirlwinds of applause burst forth.
The great pageant moved on, and still on, under one triumphal arch after another, and past a bewildering succession of spectacular and symbolical tableaux, each of which typified and exalted some virtue, or talent, or merit, of the little King’s. ’Throughout the whole of Cheapside, from every penthouse and window, hung banners and streamers; and the richest carpets, stuffs, and cloth-of-gold tapestried the streets—specimens of the great wealth of the stores within; and the splendour of this thoroughfare was equalled in the other streets, and in some even sured.’
“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 were flashing, his senses swam in a delirium of pleasure. At this point, just as he was raising his hand to fling another rich largess, he caught sight of a pale, astounded face, which was strained forward out of the second rank of the crowd, its intense eyes riveted upon him. A sickening consternation struck through him; he recognised his mother! and up flew his hand, palm outward, before his eyes—that old involuntary gesture, born of a forgotten episode, and perpetuated by habit. In an instant more she had torn her way out of the press, and past the guards, and was at his side. She embraced his leg, she covered it with kisses, she cried, “O my child, my darling!” lifting toward him a face that was transfigured with joy and love. The same instant an officer of the King’s Guard snatched her away with a curse, and sent her reeling back whence she came with a vigorous impulse from his strong arm. The words “I do not know you, woman!” were falling from Tom Canty’s lips when this piteous thing occurred; but it smote him to the heart to see her treated so; and as she turned for a last glimpse of him, whilst the crowd was swallowing her from his sight, she seemed so wounded, so broken-hearted, that a shame fell upon him which consumed his pride to ashes, and withered his stolen royalty. His grandeurs were stricken valueless: they seemed to fall away from him like rotten rags.
The procession moved on, and still on, through ever augmenting splendours and ever augmenting tempests of welcome; but to Tom Canty they were as if they had not been. He neither saw nor heard. Royalty had lost its grace and sweetness; its pomps were become 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 the first days of his compulsory greatness.
The shining pageant still went winding like a radiant and interminable serpent down the crooked lanes of the quaint old city, and through the huzzaing hosts; but still the King rode with bowed head and vacant eyes, seeing only his mother’s face and that wounded look in it.
“Largess, largess!” The cry fell upon an unheeding ear.
“Long live Edward of England!” It seemed as if the earth shook with the explosion; but there was no response from the King. He heard it only as one hears the thunder of the surf when it is blown to the ear out of a great distance, for it was smothered under another sound which was still nearer, in his own breast, in his accusing conscience—a voice which kept repeating those shameful words, “I do not know you, woman!”
The words smote upon the King’s soul as the strokes of a funeral bell smite upon the soul of a surviving friend when they remind him of secret treacheries suffered at his hands by him that is gone. New glories were unfolded at every turning; new wonders, new marvels, sprang into view; the pent clamours of waiting batteries were released; new raptures poured from the throats of the waiting multitudes: but the King gave no sign, and the accusing voice that went moaning through his comfortless breast was all the sound he heard.
By-and-by the gladness in the faces of the populace changed a little, and became touched with a something like solicitude or anxiety: an abatement in the volume of the applause was observable too. The Lord Protector was quick to notice these things: he was as quick to detect the cause. He spurred to the King’s side, bent low in his saddle, uncovered, and said— “My liege, it is an ill time for dreaming. The people observe thy downcast head, thy clouded mien, and they take it for an omen. Be advised: unveil the sun of royalty, and let it shine upon these boding vapours, and disperse them. Lift up thy face, and smile upon the people.”
So saying, the Duke scattered a handful of coins to right and left, then retired to his place. The mock King did mechanically as he had been bidden. His smile had no heart in it, but few eyes were near enough or sharp enough to detect that. The noddings of his plumed head as he saluted his subjects were full of grace and graciousness; the largess which he delivered from his hand was royally liberal: so the people’s anxiety vanished, and the acclamations burst forth again in as mighty a volume as before.
Still once more, a little before the progress was ended, the Duke was obliged to ride forward, and make remonstrance. He whispered—
“O dread sovereign! shake off these fatal humours; the eyes of the world are upon thee.” Then he added with sharp annoyance, “Perdition catch that crazy pauper! ‘twas she that hath disturbed your Highness.”
The gorgeous figure turned a lustreless eye upon the Duke, and said in a dead voice—
“She was my mother!”
“My God!” groaned the Protector as he reined his horse backward to his post, “the omen was pregnant with prophecy. He is gone mad again!” |
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La procesin del Reconocimiento Cuando Tom Canty despert a la maana siguiente el ambiente vibraba con un murmullo atronador, que se extenda en todas direcciones. Esto era msica para l, porque significaba que el mundo ingls sala pujante a dar leal bienvenida al gran da.
Pronto Tom se encontr a s mismo convertido una vez ms en la figura principal de una maravillosa procesin flotante en el Tmesis, porque por antigua costumbre "la procesin del reconocimiento" al travs de Londres deba empezar en la Torre; y hacia all se encaminaba l.
Cuando llego all, los muros de la venerable fortaleza parecieron abrirse de pronto en mil lugares, y por cada abertura asom una roja lengua de fuego y una voluta blanca de humo; sigui una explosin ensordecedora, que sofoco los gritos de la multitud e hizo temblar la tierra. Los fogonazos, el humo y las explosiones se repitieron de nuevo una y otra vez con maravillosa celeridad, de manera que en pocos momentos la vieja Torre desapareci en la extensa niebla de su propio humo, menos la punta del elevado pinculo llamado la Torre Blanca; sta, con sus banderas, se ergua sobre el denso dique de vapor, como el pico de una montaa se destaca sobre las nubes.
Tom Canty, esplndidamente ataviado, mont en un corcel de guerra, cuyas ricas gualdrapas casi alcanzaban el suelo. Su "to", el Lord Protector Somerset, anlogamente montado, se coloc detrs; la guardia del rey se form en hileras sencillas a ambos lados, vistiendo sus bruidas armaduras. Despus del protector segua una procesin, al parecer interminable, de nobles resplandecientes, asistidos por sus vasallos; tras stos; el lord alcalde y el cuerpo de regidores, con sus togas de terciopelo carmes y con sus cadenas de oro cruzando el pecho; despus de stos los oficiales y de todos los gremios de Londres, con lujosa indumentaria y portando las vistosas banderas de las varias corporaciones. Adems en la procesin, como guardia de honor especial a travs de la ciudad, estaba la Antigua y Honorable Compaa de Artilleros –organizacin que ya tena trescientos aos de antigedad en aquel entonces– y el nico cuerpo militar de Inglaterra poseedor del privilegio (que aun posee en nuestros das) de tener independencia de los mandatos del Parlamento. Era un brillante espectculo, y fue acogido con aclamaciones a lo largo del recorrido, a medida que sigui su majestuoso camino por entre la compacta multitud de ciudadanos. Dice el cronista:
"El rey, al entrar en la ciudad, fue recibido por el pueblo con plegarias, bienvenidas, gritos y palabras de ternura, y con todas las seales que indican un fervoroso amor de los sbditos a su soberano; y el rey, ofreciendo su alegre semblante para todos los que se hallaban muy distantes, y las ms tiernas palabras para aquellos que estaban cerca de Su Gracia, se mostr no menos agradecido de recibir los buenos deseos del pueblo que este de ofrecrselos. A todos los que le deseaban bien, les daba las gracias; a los que decan: "Dios salve a Su Gracia", les contestaba "Dios os salve a todos", y aada que "Se los agradeca con todo su corazn". La gente estaba maravillosamente transportada con las amorosas respuestas y ademanes de su rey."
En la calle Fenchurch, un "nio rubio, suntuosamente ataviado", estaba de pie en una tarima para dar a Su Majestad la bienvenida a la ciudad. La ltima estrofa de su saludo deca las siguientes palabras:
Bienvenido, oh rey!, cuanto los corazones pueden juzgar;
Bienvenido de nuevo, cuanto la lengua puede expresar;
Bienvenido a jubilosas lenguas y corazones que no han de temblar;
Dios os guarde, le imploramos, y os deseamos para siempre bienestar.
El pueblo prorrumpi en un grito de jbilo repitiendo a una voz lo que haba dicho el nio. Tom Canty mir a lo lejos sobre el agitado mar de ansiosos semblantes y su corazn se inflam de regocij; sinti que la nica cosa por, la cual vala la pena vivir en este mundo era el ser rey, e dolo de una nacin. De pronto divis, a lo lejos, a un par de sus andrajosos camaradas de Offal Court; uno de ellos, el lord gran almirante de su antigua fingida corte, y el otro el primer lord de la alcoba de la misma presuntuosa ficcin; y su orgullo creci ms que nunca. Oh, si tan slo pudieran reconocerlo ahora! Qu indecible gloria sera si le reconocieran y se dieran cuenta de que el escarnecido rey de mentiritas de los arrabales se haba convertido en un rey verdadero, con ilustres duques y prncipes por humildes sirvientes y con el mundo ingls a sus pies! Pero tena que negarse a s mismo y ahogar su deseo, porque semejante reconocimiento podra costarle ms de lo que vala; as que volvi la cabeza y dej que los dos sucios muchachos continuaran con sus gritos y alegres adulaciones, sin sospechar a quin era que se las estaban prodigando. De cuando en cuando se alzaba el grito de "una ddiva, una ddiva!", y Tom responda lanzando al azar un puado de relucientes monedas nuevas para que la multitud se las disputara.
El cronista dice: "En el extremo superior de la calle Gracechurch, ante el emblema del guila, la ciudad haba erigido un monumental arco, bajo el cual estaba una tarima que se extenda de un lado al otro de la calle. Era un espectculo histrico que representaba a los inmediatos progenitores del rey. All estaba Isabel de York, sentada en. medio de una inmensa rosa blanca, cuyos ptalos formaban elaborados volantes alrededor de ella; a su lado estaba Enrique VII, saliendo de una enorme rosa roja, dispuesta de la misma manera; las manos de la pareja real estaban entrelazadas, y ostentosamente exhibido el anillo de boda. De las rosas rojas y blancas sala un tallo que llegaba hasta una segunda tarima, ocupada por Enrique VIII, saliendo de una rosa roja y blanca, con la efigie de la madre del nuevo rey, Juana Seymour, representada a su lado. Sala una rama de aquella pareja, que ascenda hasta una tercera tarima, donde se vea la efigie del mismo Eduardo VI, sentado en su trono con regia majestad, y todo el espectculo estaba enmarcado con guirnaldas "de rosas, rojas y blancas."
Este primoroso y llamativo espectculo entusiasm tanto al regocijado pueblo, que las aclamaciones ahogaron por completo la vocecita del nio cuya misin era explicar la cosa en runas laudatorias. Pero Tom Canty no lo lament, porque aquel leal alboroto era para l msica ms dulce que cualquier poesa, no importa de qu calidad fuera. Cundo quiera que Tom volva su joven y feliz semblante, el pueblo reconoca la exactitud del parecido de su efigie con l mismo, la contraparte de carne y hueso, y estallaban nuevos torbellinos de aplausos.
La gran procesin sigui adelante, ms y ms, dejando atrs arcos triunfales, uno tras de otro, y pasando ante una pasmosa sucesin de tablados espectaculares y simblicos, cada uno de los cuales tipificaba y exaltaba alguna virtud o talento o mrito del reyecito. "En todo Cheapside, de cada cobertizo y de cada ventana pendan banderas y gallardetes, y los ms ricos tapetes, paos y brocados de oro tapizaban las calles, muestras de la gran riqueza de las tiendas cercanas, y el esplendor de esta calle era igualado en otras, y en algunas incluso sobrepasado."
–Y todos estos prodigios y estas maravillas son para recibirme a m, a m! –murmuraba Tom Canty.
Las mejillas del fingido rey estaban rojas de excitacin, sus ojos centelleaban, sus sentidos hormigueaban en un delirio de placer. En aquel punto, justo cuando alzaba su mano para arrojar otra ddiva generosa, vio una cara plida, asombrada, que se estiraba hacia adelante en la segunda fila de la muchedumbre, sus intensos ojos clavados en l. Una espantosa consternacin lo traspas. Reconoci a su madre! Y sus manos volaron hacia arriba, con las palmas hacia afuera, a cubrirse los ojos –ese ademn involuntario nacido de un episodio olvidado y perpetuado por la costumbre–. Un instante ms y ella se haba desprendido de la muchedumbre, pas por entre los guardias y estaba a su lado. Abraz la pierna del nio, la cubri de besos, grit: Oh, mi nio, vida ma!", alzando hacia l un rostro transfigurado de alegra y de amor. En el mismo instante un oficial de la guardia real la arranco de all con una maldicin, y la envi tambalendose al lugar de donde vino, con un vigoroso impulso de su fuerte brazo. Las palabras "No te conozco, mujer!" caan de los labios de Tom Canty cuando este lastimoso incidente ocurri, pero le hiri hasta el corazn verla tratada as, y cuando ella se volvi para mirarle por ltima vez, mientras la muchedumbre la apartaba de su vista, la mujer se vea tan herida, tan descorazonada, que la vergenza que lo cubri consumi su orgullo hasta las cenizas y marchit su usurpada realeza. Sus grandezas se le descubrieron; parecan sin valor desprenderse de l como harapos podridos.
La procesin sigui adelante y adelante, entre esplendores en aumento y crecientes tempestades de bienvenidas, pero para Tom Canty eran como si no existieran. l ni vea ni oa. La realeza haba perdido su gracia y su dulzura; sus pompas se haban convertido en reproche. El remordimiento estaba corroyendo su corazn. Dijo: –Pluguiera a Dios que, yo estuviese libre de mi cautiverio!
Inconscientemente haba vuelto a la fraseologa de los primeros das de su obligatoria grandeza.
La brillante procesin cvica sigui su rodeo, como una radiante serpiente interminable por las torcidas callejuelas de la curiosa vieja ciudad y por entre la multitud que lo vitoreaba; pero el rey an cabalgaba con la cabeza baja y la mirada perdida viendo slo el rostro de su madre, y esa expresin herida en l.
–Una ddiva, una ddiva!. –el grito llegaba a un odo distrado. –Viva Eduardo de Inglaterra! Pareca que la tierra se cimbraba con la explosin, pero no haba respuesta del rey. ste la oa como se oye el ruido del oleaje cuando llega al odo desde una gran distancia, porque era ahogado por otro sonido que estaba an ms prximo, en su propio pecho, en su acusadora conciencia, una voz que segua repitiendo aquellas vergonzosas palabras: "No te conozco, mujer."
Las palabras golpeaban el alma del rey como el doblar de una campana fnebre golpea el alma de un amigo sobreviviente cuando le recuerdan secretas traiciones hechas por su mano a aquel que se ha ido.
Nuevos encantos se revelaban a cada vuelta; nuevos prodigios, nuevas maravillas aparecan a la vista; los encerrados estruendos de las bateras eran liberados, nuevos raptos brotaban de las gargantas de las expectantes multitudes, pero el rey no daba seales de enterarse, y la voz acusadora que segua gimiendo en su desconsolado pecho era el nico sonido que escuchaba.
Pronto la alegra en los rastros del populacho cambi un poco, y mostraban algo parecido al afn o a la ansiedad; se observ tambin un descenso en la intensidad de los aplausos. El Lord Protector de inmediato repar en estas cosas, tanto como para descubrir la causa. Apret el paso hacia el rey, se inclin en la silla, con la cabeza descubierta, y dijo:
–Seor, mala ocasin es sta para soar. El pueblo observa tu inclinada cabeza, tu nublado semblante y lo toma por mal agero. S prudente; devela el sol de la realeza y deja que brille sobre esos agoreros vapores y los dispers. Levanta la cara y sonre al pueblo.
Diciendo esto, el duque esparci un puado de monedas a diestra y siniestra, y luego se retir a su sitio. El fingido rey hizo maquinalmente lo que le sugeran. Su sonrisa era forzada, pero pocos ojos estuvieron lo bastante cerca o fueron lo bastante perspicaces para descubrirlo. Los movimientos de su empenachada cabeza al saludar a sus sbditos eran llenos de gracia y gentileza; las ddivas que su mano prodigaba eran regiamente generosas; as se desvaneci la ansiedad del pueblo y las aclamaciones volvieron a estallar con la poderosa intensidad de antes.
De nuevo, sin embargo, poco antes de que acabara la procesin, el duque se vio obligado a adelantarse hacia el rey, y lo reconvino. Susurr:
–Oh, venerable soberano! Sacude se humor fatal; los ojos del mundo estn sobre ti. –Y aadi con vivo disgusto–: Maldita sea esa loca mendiga!, fue ella la que ha perturbado a Su Alteza.
La suntuosa figura volvi hacia el duque sus ojos sin brillo y exclam con voz desmayada:
–Era mi madre!
–Dios mo! –gimi el Protector, conteniendo su caballo para volver a su puesto–. El agero estaba preado de profeca! Se ha vuelto loco de nuevo!. |
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