THE PROLOCUTOR.
This King was the King of Chivalry. It was to him were brought by his splendid son as a trove on the glorious field of Crecy the three white plumes of service, the three feathers of Bohemia that stand to the honour of the Black Prince, and the Prince of Wales even unto this day. At his crowning, the sword of state and the shield of state, even now shall ye see them in the Minster of Thorney Island, were carried in honour before him, and the priest in his honour preached on the saw, 'Vox populi, vox Dei.' Many have asked since whether the saw be true. Yet true it was for him and for his father before him.
This King, too, loved the craftsmen, & the Guilds were great in his day. They honoured him and wrought for him, & many, after they had forged steel, and graved armour for him in the fair city of London, followed him across the waters to France, and drew bow for him at Crecy. Himself was a Guildsman of London & for his prowess an armourer. He too was the first of the English Kings that made compact with the sea, and the sea showed him of her mystery, of her strong silent power, and how that with her in the end, with her as an ally, after all battles were won and lost, all treaties made or broken, with her in the end, and by the grace of God, lay the last dominion, the sealed word of rulership.
Ye shall see him as be sits on the prow of his vessel speeding from the Island Kingdom, the sails big with conquest and prophecy. It is writ in the Chronicle of Froissart the knight, how they sang songs as he came across the waters, and to them that have sailed the seas for full five hundred years, trolling chanties, this first coining of the barque of Chivalry, the herald of the ironclad, is fraught with meaning. Verily to all of English blood, the craft of Chivalry is the craft of the seas, for though gilded prows and oaken timbers are no more, though the sun lights no longer the woven badges of Flanders, yet the soul of man has touched the chivalry of steel, & the sun sparkles with a keener brilliance on the fierce iron as it forges windless through the waves.
As he was first in Chivalry, so was he first in English song, for in his day was born to England the father of her singers. Melody of birds, perfume of the rose, sound & music of many strings, and all the colour, the shimmer, the broidery of the Tourney, all that is joyous and debonair in life, go with Dan Chaucer as be peers before him, twinkling merriment, weighing rhyme. Verily it is good to be English for Dan Chaucer's sake, for his were lips kissed by the sunshine, and the sweet voice of him is as pearls rippling in a golden tressure of beauty.
The music plays again, and now triumphantly, the Ten Centuries once more lead their figure across the outer scene; it is now quicker, firmer and more lordly, and their movement is as it were a march of triumph. When the trumpet blows and there enters as before on the inner scene King Edward Fourth. He is robed for the crowning, and brings with him a printed book.
THE PROLOCUTOR.
This King carries with him the white rose of York. Among the most beautiful of English Kings was he, but of that beauty which snares the wearer, and less because the Gods loved him, than for over good living, did he die young. Yet was he a wise statesman, and a notable captain, & the land, that sore needed it, had peace in his day. Best was, however, that the people loved him and the love of a people is a strange and wondrous thing, for it is given less for this or for that, for one quality or for another, than in token of some spirit indefinable, some hidden grace which men cannot explain, though they feel that it is there, a grace that is put forth mayhap as the perfume of a white rose.
Great was he also for one thing, thought but a little thing in his time, yet the deeds of warriors and the vaunted things that men so highly praise in the days of their achievement are often but as chaff to Time the cutter, while the tiny living grains hide with us from the winnowing. Now this little thing was that he befriended, and cherished on Thorney, in the Chapel at Westminster, England's master printer, the first that gave her the printed book; and to this day in the gatherings of men in their unions & the many-mouthed meetings of compositors and pressmen, they call him that has most age and reverence among them the 'Father of the Chapel' in honour of Caxton. Mark him, this King, and deal tenderly with his memory, for though he was terrible in his wrath & indolent in his tenderness, yet was be a strong man, & it is strong men that make a great people.
Once more the Greek figure is danced to music across the outer scene till at the sound of the horn there enters Edward the Child King. He is dressed in the manner usually known of the princes in the Tower. He has no company with him but his little brother whom he leads by the hand.
THE PROLOCUTOR.
This King came to great sorrow, for the Crook-back killed him ere ever he came to the crowning. His little life was as that of a seedling cast on rocky ground, that withers away ere the sun has half blossomed it into being. To him the White Tower of Rufus was the tomb, and his bones were hidden away there under the hard stones, the stones that had seen many tragedies and few so bitter.
He was the child's King, and men knew him but as a child, and what shall a child do amid hard & selfish men whose love is power, whose power is gold. Christ cares for the little ones, and men say how maybe the Christ took him to another kingdom, a better even than the fair kingdom of England, giving him first a blossom from the crown of thorns, and that is an everlasting crown, whose rubies are tears of blood, whose pearls are the milk of innocence, and the green stones in it are as the tender blossoms of the young Spring that is seen but for a moment with the inner eye and so passes out of sight.
This was the Fifth Edward, though he never came to the crowning you shall see him ride through London to his doom, reigning as for a children's hour, his kingship played as in a little child's
