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- Марк Твен
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- Стр. 138/153
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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
!
"
