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 members 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 admiral 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