THE ARMY OF AVENGERS
The awful nature of the crisis, and the strangeness of the sight, kept
the streets in the neighbourhood of the Camp in Hyde Park full of women,
young and old. They roamed about among the tents, looking at the sullen
faces of the men, examining their arms, and gazing upon them curiously,
as if they were wild beasts. Not one among them expressed the least
friendliness or kind feeling. The men were regarded by those who paid
them, as well as by the rebels, with undisguised loathing.
About midnight the crowd lessened; at two o'clock, though there were
still a few stragglers, most of the curious and anxious politicians had
gone home to bed; at three, some of them still remained; at four--the
darkest and deadest time of an autumn night--all were gone home, every
special constable even, and the Camp was left in silence, the men in
their tents, and asleep.
There still remained, however, a little crowd of some two or three dozen
girls; they were collected together about the Marble Arch. They had
formed, during the evening, part of the crowd; but now that this was
dispersed, they seemed to gather together, and to talk in whispers.
Presently, as if some resolution was arrived at, they all poured into
the Park, and entered the sleeping Camp.
The men were lying down, mostly asleep; but they were not undressed, so
as to be ready for their early march. No sentries were on duty, nor was
there any watch kept.
Presently the girls found, in the darkness, a cart containing drums.
They seized them and began drumming with all their might. Then they
separated, and ran about from tent to tent; they pulled and haled the
sleepers, startled by the drums, into terrified wakefulness; they cried
as soon as their men were wide awake, 'Wake up all!--wake up!--run for
your lives!--the rebels will be on us in ten minutes! They are a hundred
thousand strong: run for your lives!--they have sworn to hang every
Convict Warden who is not shot. Oh, run, run, run!' Then they ran to the
next tent, and similarly exhorted its sleepers. Consider the effect of
this nocturnal alarm. The men slept eight in a tent. There were about
thirty girls, and somewhat more than a thousand tents. It is creditable
to the girls that the thirty made so much noise that they seemed like
three thousand to the startled soldiers. To be awakened suddenly in the
dead of night, to be told that their enemies were upon them, to hear
cries and screams of warning, with the beating of drums, produced
exactly the consequences that were expected. The men, who had no
experience of collective action, who had no officers, who had no heart
for their work, were bewildered; they ran about here and there, asking
where was the enemy: then shots were heard, for the girls found the
rifles and fired random shots in the air; and then a panic followed, and
they fled--fled in wild terror, running in every direction, leaving
their guns behind them in the tents, so that in a quarter of an hour
there was not one single man of all the Army of Avengers left in the
Camp.
* * * * *
The orders were that the march should begin about six o'clock in the
morning--that is, as soon after sunrise as was possible.
It was also ordered that the Army of Avengers should be followed by the
Head of the Police Department, Lady Princetown, with her assistant
secretaries, clerks, and officers, and that they should be supplied with
tumbrils for the conveyance to prison of any who might escape the
vengeance prepared for them and be taken prisoners.
At a quarter past six o'clock an orderly clerk proceeded to the Camp. To
her great joy the Camp was empty; she did not observe the guns lying
about, but as there were no men visible, she concluded that the Army was
already on the march. She returned and reported the fact.
Then the order of the Police Procession was rapidly arranged; and it too
followed, as they thought, the march of the Avengers.
By this time a good many women were in the streets or at the windows of
the houses. Most of the streets were draped with black hangings, in
token of general shame and woe that man should be found so inexpressibly
guilty. The church bells tolled a knell; a service of humiliation was
going on in all of them, but men were not allowed to participate. It was
felt that it was safer for them to be at home. Consequently, the strange
spectacle of a whole city awake and ready for the day's work, without a
single man visible, was, for one morning only, seen in London.
The Police Procession formed in Whitehall, and slowly moved north. It
was headed by Lady Princetown, riding, with her two assistant
secretaries; after them came the chief clerks and senior clerks of the
Department, followed by the messengers, police constables, and servants,
who walked; after them followed, with a horrible grumbling and grinding
of wheels, the six great black tumbrils intended for the prisoners.
The march was through Regent Street, Oxford Street, the Tottenham Court
Road, Chalk Farm, and so up Haverstock Hill. Everywhere the streets were
lined with women, who looked after the dreadful signs of punishment with
pity and terror, even though they acknowledged the justice and necessity
of the step.
These men, they told each other, had torn down Religion, scoffed at
things holy, and proclaimed divorce where the husband had been forced to
marry; they pretended that theirs was the right to rule; they were going
to destroy every social institution. Should such wretches be allowed to
live?
Yet, always, the whisper, the suspicion, the doubt, the question, put
not in words, but by looks and gestures,--'What have we women done that
we should deserve to rule? and which among us does not know that the
Religion of the Perfect Woman was only invented by ourselves for the
better suppression of man? Who believes it? What have we done with
Love?'
And the sight, the actual sight, of those officers of law going forth to
bring in the prisoners, was a dreadful thing to witness.
Meantime, what were the Army of Avengers doing?
Slaughtering, shooting down, bayoneting, no doubt. No farther off than
the heights of Hampstead their terrible work was going on. It spoke well
for the zeal of these devoted soldiers that they had marched so early in
the morning that no one had seen them go by. Very odd, that no one at
all had seen them. Would Lord Chester escape? And what--oh what!--would
be done with Lady Carlyon, Professor Ingleby and her two daughters, and
the crowd of girls who had flocked to London with the rebels?
Hanging--mere hanging--was far too good for them. Let them be tortured.
The Procession reached the top of Haverstock Hill. Hampstead Hill alone
remained. In a short time the relentless Lady Princetown would be on the
field of action. Strange, not only that no sign of the Army had been
seen, but that no firing had been heard! Could Lord Chester have fled
with all his men?
Now just before the Police Procession reached the Heath, they were
astonished by a clattering of mounted soldiers, richly dressed and
gallantly armed, who rode down the narrow streets of the town and
surrounded them. They were a detachment of cavalry headed by Captain
Dunquerque, who saluted Lady Princetown laughing. All the men laughed
too.
'I have the honour,' he said, 'to invite your ladyship to take a seat in
a tumbril. You are my prisoner.'
'Where--where--where is the Army?'
'You mean the Convict Wardens? They fled before daylight. Come, my lads,
time presses.'
They were actually in the hands of the enemy!
In a few moments the whole of the Chiefs of the great Police Department
were being driven in the rumbling black tumbrils, followed by the
Lancers, towards the rebel camp. They looked at each other in sheer
despair.
'As for you women,' said Captain Dunquerque, addressing the clerks and
constables, 'you can go free. Disperse! Vanish!'
He left them staring at each other. Presently a few turned and hurried
down the Hill to spread the news. But the greater part followed timidly,
but spurred by curiosity, into the Camp.
Here, what marvels met their eyes!
Men, such as they had never dreamed of, bravely dressed, and bearing
themselves with a gallant masterfulness which frightened those who saw
it for the first time. Presently a trumpet blew and the men fell in.
Then the astonished women saw that wonderful thing, the evolutions of an
army. The regiments were drawn up in a great hollow square. At one
corner stood the fatal black tumbril with Lady Princetown and her
_aides_ sitting dolefully and in amazement. Bands of music stood in the
centre. Presently Lord Chester, the Chief, rode in with his Staff, and
the bands broke out in triumphal strains.
'Men of England!' he cried, 'our enemies have fled. There is no longer
any opposition. We march on London immediately.'
The shouts of the soldiers rent the air. When silence was possible, the
Bishop, venerable in lawn-sleeves and cassock, spoke,--
'I proclaim Edward, sometime called Earl of Chester, lawful hereditary
King of Great Britain and Ireland. God save the King!'
Then the officers of the Staff did homage, bending the knee and kissing
the hand of their Sovereign. And the bands struck up again, playing the
old and wellnigh forgotten air 'God save the King!' And the soldiers
shouted again. And Lady Princetown saw, indeed, that the supremacy of
women was gone.
* * * * *
Then the march on London was resumed.
After the advance-cavalry came the Guards, preceding and following the
King. Before him was borne the Royal Standard, made long ago for such an
occasion by Grace and Faith Ingleby. The bands played and the soldiers
sang 'God save the King' along the streets. The houses were crowded with
women's faces--some anxious, some sad, some angry, some rejoicing, but
all frightened; and the wrath of those who were wrathful waxed fiercer
when the company of girls followed the soldiers, dressed in 'loyal'
ribbons and such finery as they could command, and singing, like the
men, 'God save the King.'
* * * * *
The House of Peeresses was sitting in permanence. Some of the ladies had
been sitting all night; a few had fallen asleep; a few more had come to
the House early, unable to keep away. They all looked anxious and
haggard.
At nine o'clock the first of the fugitives from the Police Procession
arrived, and brought the dreadful news that the Army of Avengers had
dispersed without striking a blow, that Lady Princetown was a prisoner,
and that the rebels would probably march on London without delay.
Then the Duchess of Dunstanburgh informed the terror-stricken House that
she had ordered out the three regiments of Guards. They were to be
hurled, she said, at the rebels; they would serve to harass and keep
them in check while a new army was gathered together. She exhorted the
Peeresses to remain calm and collected, and, above all, to be assured
that there was not the slightest reason for alarm.
Alas! the barracks were empty!
What then, had become of the Guards?
At the first news of the dispersion of the Avengers, the wives of the
Guardsmen, acting with one common consent, made for the barracks and
dragged away the soldiers, every woman her own husband to her own home,
where she defied the clerks of the War Office, who rushed about trying
to get the men together. For greater safety the women hid away the
boots--those splendid boots without which the Horse Guards would be but
as common men. Of the three thousand, there remained only two orphan
drummer-boys and a sergeant, a widower without sisters. To hurl this
remnant against Lord Chester was manifestly too absurd even for the
clerks of the War Office. Besides, they refused to go.
On the top of this dreadful news, the House was informed by the
Chancellor that the officers sent to carry out the arrest of Lady
Carlyon reported that her ladyship had fled, and was now in Lord
Chester's camp with the rebels.
What next?
'The next thing, ladies,' said a middle-aged Peeress who had been
conspicuous all her life for nothing in the world except an entire want
of interest in political questions, 'is that our reign is over. Man has
taken the power in his own hands. For my own part, I am only astonished
that he has waited so long. It needed nothing but the courage of one
young fellow to light the fire with a single spark. I propose that a
vote of thanks be passed to her Grace the Duchess of Dunstanburgh, whose
attempt to marry a man young enough to be her great-grandson has been
the cause of this House's overthrow.'
She sat down, and the Duchess sprang to her feet, crying out that the
House was insulted, and that these traitorous words should be taken
down.
'We shall all be taken down ourselves,' replied the noble lady who had
spoken, 'before many hours. Can we not devise some means of dying
gracefully? At least let us spare ourselves the indignity of being
hustled down the steps of Westminster Hall, as the unlucky Department of
Police has been this morning hustled on Hampstead Heath.'
Several proposals were made. It was proposed to send a deputation of
religion. But the Preaching Sisters had been rejected with scorn, when
the army was still small and hesitating. What would happen, now that
they were victorious? It was proposed that they should send a thousand
girls, young, beautiful, and richly dressed, to make overtures of peace,
and charm the men back to their allegiance. The young Lady Dunlop--aged
eighteen--icily replied that they would not get ten girls to go on such
an errand.
It was proposed, again, that they should send a messenger offering to
treat preliminaries on Hampstead Hill. The messenger was despatched--she
was the Clerk of the House--but she never came back.
Then the dreadful news arrived that the conqueror had assumed the title
of King, and was marching with all his forces to Westminster, in order
to take over the reins of power.
At this intelligence, which left nothing more to be expected but
complete overthrow, the Peeresses cowered.
'As everything is gone,' said the middle-aged lady who had first
expressed her opinion, 'and as the streets will be extremely
uncomfortable until these men settle down, I shall go home and stay
there. And I should recommend your ladyships to do the same, and to keep
your daughters at home until they can learn to behave--as they have
tried to make the men behave. My dears, submission belongs to the sex
who do none of the work.'
She got up and went away, followed by about half the House. About a
hundred Peeresses were left.
'I,' said the Duchess of Dunstanburgh, 'shall remain with the Chancellor
till I am carried out.'
'I,' said the Chancellor, 'shall remain to protest against the invasion
of armed men and the trampling upon law.'
'And I,' said young Lady Dunlop, loud enough to be heard all over the
House, 'shall remain to see Lord Chester--I mean, His Majesty the King.
He is a handsome fellow, and of course Constance will be his Queen.'
'Ladies,' said the Duchess, dignified and austere to the last, 'it is at
least our duty to make a final stand for religion.'
Lady Dunlop scoffed. 'Religion!' she cried. 'Have we not had enough of
that nonsense? Which of us believes any more in the Church? Even men
have ceased to believe--especially since they were called upon to marry
their grandmothers. The Perfect Woman! Why, we are ourselves the best
educated, the best bred, the best born--and look at us! As for me, I
shall go over to Lord Chester's religion, and in future worship the
Perfect Man, if he likes to order it so.'
The Duchess made no reply. She had received so many insults; such
dreadful things had been said; her cherished faiths, prejudices, and
traditions had been so rudely attacked,--that all her forces were wanted
to maintain her dignity. She sat now motionless, expectant, haggard. The
game was played out. She had lost. She would have no more power.
It was then about half-past three in the afternoon. They waited in
silence, these noble ladies, like the Senators of Rome when the Gaul was
in the streets--without a word. Before long the tramp of feet and the
clatter of arms were heard in Westminster Hall.
The very servants and officers, the clerks, of the House, had run away;
there was not a woman in the place except themselves: the House looked
deserted already.
There hung behind the Chancellor a heavy curtain rich with gold and
lace: no one in that House had ever seen the curtain drawn. Yet it was
known that behind it stood the image in marble of the only Sovereign
acknowledged by the House--the Perfect Woman.
When the trampling of feet was heard in Westminster Hall, the Duchess of
Dunstanburgh rose and slowly walked--she seemed ten years older--towards
this curtain: when the doors of the House were thrown open violently,
she stood beside the Chancellor, her hand upon the curtain.
Tan-ta-ra-ta-ra! A flourish of trumpets, and the trumpeters stood aside.
The Guards came after, marching up the floor of the House. They formed a
lane. Then came the Bishop in his robes, preceded by his chaplain, the
Rev. Clarence Veysey, surpliced, carrying a Book upon a velvet cushion;
then the officers of the Staff with drawn swords; last, in splendid
dress and flowing robes, the King himself.
As he entered, the Duchess drew aside the curtain and revealed, standing
in pure white marble, with undraped limbs, wonderful beyond expression,
the Heaven-descended figure of the Perfect Woman.
'Behold!' she cried. 'Revere the Divine Effigy of your Goddess.'
The young priest in surplice and cassock sprang upon the platform on
which the figure stood and hurled it upon the floor. It fell upon the
marble pavement with a crash.
'So fell the great God Dagon,' he cried.
Then no more remained. The ladies rose with a shriek, and in a moment
the House was empty. It is not too much to say that the Duchess
scuttled.
And while the King took his place upon the throne, the bands struck up
again, the soldiers shouted, volleys of guns were fired for joy, and the
bells were rung.
Strange to say, the dense crowd which gathered about the army of victory
outside the Hall consisted almost wholly of women.
CONCLUSION
The Great Revolution was thus accomplished. No woman was insulted: there
was no pillage, no licence, no ill-treatment of anybody, no revenge. The
long reign of woman, if it had not destroyed the natural ferocity and
fighting energy of men, had at least taught them respect for the weaker
sex.
The next steps, are they not written in the Books of the Chronicles of
the country?
A few things remain to be noted.
Thus, because the streets were crowded with women come out to see, to
lament, sometimes to curse, a proclamation was made ordering all women
to keep within doors for the present, except such as were sent out to
exercise children, and such as received permission for special purposes:
they were forbidden the right of public meeting; the newspapers were
stopped; religious worship of the old kind was prohibited.
These apparently harsh and arbitrary measures, tendered necessary by the
refractory and mutinous conduct of the lower classes of women, who
resented their deposition, were difficult to enforce, and required that
every street should be garrisoned. To do this, thirty thousand
additional men were needed: these were sent up by Jack Kennion, who had
recruited double that number. As the women refused to obey, and it was
impossible to use violence towards them, the men were ordered to turn
the hose upon them. This had the desired effect; and a few draggled
petticoats, lamentable in themselves, proved sufficient to clear the
streets.
Then the word was given to bring out all the men and parade them in
districts. Indeed, before this order, there were healthy and encouraging
signs on all sides that the spirit of revolt was spreading even in the
most secluded homes.
The men who formed the first army were entirely country born and bred.
They had been accustomed to work together, and freedom became natural to
them from the first. The men whom the Order of Council brought out of
the houses of London were chiefly the men of the middle class--the most
conventional, the worst educated, the least valuable of any. They lacked
the physical advantages of the higher classes and of the lower; they
were mostly, in spite of the laws for the Promotion of Health and
Strength of Man, a puny, sickly race; they had been taught a trade, for
instance, which it was not considered genteel to practice; they were not
allowed to work at any occupation which brought in money, because it was
foolishly considered ungentlemanly to work for money, or to invade, as
it was called, woman's Province of Thought. Yet they had no money and no
_dot_; they had very little hope of marrying; and mostly they lounged
at home, peevish, unhappy, ignorantly craving for the life of
occupation.
Yet when the day of deliverance came, they were almost forcibly dragged
out of the house, showing the utmost reluctance to go, and clinging like
children to their sisters and mothers.
'Alas!' cried the women, 'you will find yourselves among monsters and
murderers, who have destroyed Religion and Government. Poor boys! What
will be your fate?'
They were brought in companies of a hundred each before the officers of
the Staff. At first they were turned out to camp in Hyde Park and other
open places, where the best among them, finding themselves encouraged to
cheerfulness, and in no way threatened or ill treated by these monsters,
began to fraternise, to make friends, to practise gymnastics, to
entertain rivalries, and in fact to enter into the body corporate. To
such as these, who were quickly picked out from the ignoble herd, this
new life appeared by no means disagreeable. They even began to listen to
the words of the new Preachers, and the doctrines of the new Religion;
they turned an obedient ear to the exhortations of those who exposed the
inefficacy of the old Government. Finally, they were promoted to work of
all kinds in the public departments, or were enlisted in the Army. It
presently became the joy of these young fellows to go home and show
their new ideas, their new manners, their new uniforms, and their new
religion to the sisters whose rule they acknowledged no longer.
There came next the feeble youths who had not the courage to shake off
the old chains, or the brains to adopt the new teaching. These poor
creatures could not even fraternise; they knew not how to make friends.
It was thought that their best chance was to be kept continually in
barracks, there to work at the trade they had been taught, to eat at a
common table, to live in common rooms, and to be made strong by physical
exercise. Out of this poor material, however, very little good stuff
could be made. In the long-run, they were chiefly turned into
copying-clerks, the lowest and the meanest of all handicrafts.
Allusion has been made to the barracks in which were confined the
unmarried men who had no friends to keep them. Among these were the poor
creatures afflicted with some impediment to marriage, such as hump-back,
crooked back, consumptive tendencies, threatenings of heart disease,
cerebral affections, asthma, gout, and so forth. They were employed in
houses of business at a very small rate of pay, receiving in return for
their labour nothing for themselves but free board and lodging in the
barracks. It is curious to relate that these poor fellows proved in the
reorganisation of civic matters the most useful allies: they had lived
so long together that they knew how to act together; they were so cheap
as servants, and so good, that they had been entrusted with most
important offices; in short, when the Government seemed about to fall to
pieces by the threatened closing of all the mercantile houses, these
honest fellows stepped to the front, took the reins, directed the
banks, received the new men-clerks, taught and assigned their duties,
and, in fine, carried on the trade of the country.
The question of religion was the greatest difficulty. Where were the
preachers? There were but two or three in whom trust could be placed;
and these, though they did their best, could not be everywhere at once.
Therefore, for a while, the Religion of the Perfect Woman having been
abolished, there seemed as if nothing else would take its place.
The Government for the present consisted of the titular King, who was
not yet crowned, and the Council of State. There were no ministers, no
departments, no Houses of Parliament. As regards the Lower House, it
would have been unwise to elect it until the constituencies had learned
by experience in local matters, something of the Art of Government. But
the Upper? Consider that for two hundred years the title had descended
through the mother to the eldest daughter. This being reversed, it
became necessary to seek out the rightful heirs to the old titles by the
male line. No titles were to be acknowledged except those which dated
back to the old kings. These, which had been bestowed in obedience to
the old laws, were to be claimed by their rightful owners. Now, it is
easy to see that while a title held the female branches of the House
together, because each would hope that the intervening claimants would
drop out, the male branches would not be so careful to preserve their
genealogies, and so a great many titles would be lost. This, indeed,
proved to be the case, and out of the six hundred Peers who enjoyed
their rank under Victoria of the nineteenth century, scarcely fifty were
recovered. Many of these, too, were persons of quite humble rank, who
had to be instructed in the simplest things before they were fit to wear
a coronet.
All later titles were swept away together; nor was any woman allowed a
title save by marriage, unless she was the daughter of a Duke, a
Marquis, or an Earl, when she might bear a courtesy-title. Of course,
the late Peeresses found themselves not only deprived of their power,
but even of their very names; and it was the most cruel of all the
misfortunes which befell the old Duchess of Dunstanburgh, that she found
herself reduced from her splendid position to plain and simple Mrs
Pendlebury, which had been the name of her third husband. All her
estates went from her, and she retired to a first-floor lodging at
Brighton, where she lived on the allowance made her by the Relief
Commission appointed by Government for such cases as hers.
As regards public opinion on this and other changes, there was none,
because Society was as yet not re-established; and the new daily papers
were only feeling their way slowly to the expression of opinion. It
remains to be told how these changes were received by the sex thus
rudely set aside and deposed.
It cannot be denied that among the elders there was disaffection
amounting to blind hatred. Yet what could they do? They could no longer
combine; they had no papers; they had no club; they had no halls; they
had no theatres for meeting; they had no discussion-forums,--as of old.
Even they had no churches; and although in the past days they seldom
went into a church, regarding religion as a thing belonging to men, they
now made it their greatest grievance, that religion had been abolished.
In private houses the worship of the Perfect Woman was long continued by
those who had been brought up in that faith, and in days when it was
actually believed in and accepted.
As for the younger women, they, too, differed: The lower orders, for a
long time, regretted their ancient liberty, when they could leave the
husband to work in the house, children and all, and talk together the
livelong day. But in time they came round. The middle-aged women,
especially those of the professional classes, no doubt suffered greatly
by being deprived of the work which was to them their chief pleasure.
Some compensation was made to them by a system of partnership, in which
practice in their own houses and private consultations were allowed some
of them for life. As for the very young, it took a short time indeed to
reconcile them to the change.
No more reading for professions! Hurrah! Did any girl ever really _like_
reading law? No more drudgery in an office! Very well. Who would not
prefer liberty and seeing the men work?
They gave in with astonishing readiness to the new state of things.
They ceased to grumble directly they realised what the change meant for
them.
First, no anxiety about study, examinations, and a profession. Next, no
responsibilities. Next, unlimited time to look after dress and matters
of real importance. Then, no longer having to take things gravely on
account of the weaker sex,--the men, who now took things merrily--even
too merrily. Lastly, whereas no one was formerly allowed to marry unless
she could support a husband and family, and then one had to go through
all sorts of humiliating conferences with parents and guardians,--under
the new régime every man seemed making love with all his might to every
girl. Could anything be more delightful? Was it not infinitely better to
be wooed and made love to when one was young, than to woo for oneself
when one had already passed her best?
Then was born again that sweet feminine gift of coquetry: girls once
more pretended to be cruel, whimsical, giddy, careless, and mischievous;
the hard and anxious look vanished from their faces, and was replaced by
sweet, soft smiles; flirtation was revived under another name--many
names. A maiden loved to have half a dozen--yea, she did not mind half a
hundred--dangling after her, or kneeling at her feet, men were taught
that they must woo, not be wooed, and that a woman's love is not a thing
to be had for the mere asking: and dancing was revived--real honest
dancing of sweetheart and maid. There was laughter once more in the
land; and all the songs were rewritten; and such pieces were enacted
upon the stage as would but a month ago have taken everybody's breath
away. And there was a general burning of silly books and bad pictures;
and they began to open churches for the new Worship, and always more and
more the image of the Divine Man filled woman's heart.
Finally, these things having been settled in the best way possible, it
was resolved to hold the Coronation of the King at Westminster Abbey.
* * * * *
'Constance,' he said holding her in his arms, 'you believe that I have
always loved you, do you not?'
'I pray your Majesty,' she said, humbly, 'to forgive my errors of the
past.'
'My dear, what is there to forgive?'
'Nay, now I know. There is the Perfect Woman; but she lives in the
shadow of the Divine Man: she has her place in the Order of the World;
but it is not the highest place. We reigned for a hundred years and
more, and everything fell to pieces; you return, and all begins to
advance again. It is as if the foot of woman destroyed the flowers which
spring up beneath the foot of man. King, if I am to become your wife, I
shall also become your most faithful subject.'
'You are my Queen,' he said; 'together we will reign: it may be for the
good of our people. We have little strength of ourselves, but we seek
it--love----'
'We seek it,' she replied, lifting her eyes to Heaven, 'of the Divine
Man.'
* * * * *
On the day of the Coronation, by Royal Order, all classes of the people
were bidden to the ceremony; as many as could be admitted were invited
to the Abbey. Along the line of march they had raised seats one above
the other, covered with awnings. An innumerable crowd of people gathered
at early morning, and took their places, waiting patiently for eleven,
the hour of the procession.
At ten the Peers began to arrive--the newly recognised Peers--the men
who had been brought up in ignorance of their origin and rank. They were
uneasy in their robes and coronets; they had been carefully instructed
in their part of the ceremony, but they were nervous. However, the
people outside did not know this, and they cheered lustily.
Long before half-past ten there was not a vacant place in the Abbey; the
venerable church was crowded with ladies, who were anxious to make the
Coronation the point of a new departure; Society, it was said, would
begin again with a King. No doubt, many ladies whispered, women were,
after all, poor administrators; their nature was too tender, too much
disposed to pity, which produced weakness. Men, who received these
confessions, laughed courteously, but remembered the crowded prisons,
and the prisoners, and the Convict Wardens.
At eleven o'clock the procession started from Buckingham Palace. The
ancient ceremonials were copied as closely as possible. After the bands
came the mounted Guards; then followed heralds; then came the Venerable
Bishop of London, who was to crown the King, in a carriage; then
officers of State on horseback; then the King's faithful Guards, those
sturdy gamekeepers who stood by him at the beginning; and last of all,
save for a regiment of cavalry which brought up the rear, the King
himself on horseback--gallant, young, handsome, his face lit with the
sunshine of success; and riding beside him--at sight of whom a shout
went up that rent the air--no other than the beautiful Lady Carlyon
herself.
It appeared, when they arrived at the Abbey, that the coronation was to
be preceded by another and an unexpected ceremony. For the organ pealed
forth the 'Wedding March'; there were waiting at the gates a dozen
bridesmaids in white and silver; the choristers were ready with a
wedding-hymn; and the Bishop, with the Very Rev. Clarence Veysey, newly
appointed Dean of the Abbey, was within the altar-rails to make this
illustrious pair man and wife.
Then followed, without pause, the Coronation service, with the braying
of trumpets, the proclamation of heralds, the King's solemn oath, the
crowning of King and Queen, and the homage of the Peers. And amid the
shouts of the people, while cannon fired _feux de joie_, and the bells
rang, and the bands played 'God save the King,' the newly-crowned
monarch rode back to his Palace, bringing home with him the sweetheart
of his childhood.
Now there is so much grace and virtue in a real love match that it goes
straight to the heart of all who witness it. And since such fruits as
these manifestly followed with Man's administration, not a maiden among
them all but cried and waved her handkerchief, and sang 'God save the
King!'
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_LIST OF TITLES_
AINSWORTH, H.
74 Windsor Castle
200 The Tower of London
À KEMPIS, THOMAS
98 The Imitation of Christ
ANDERSEN, HANS
175 Fairy Tales
ARNOLD, MATTHEW
138 Poems
AURELIUS, MARCUS
82 The Meditations of
AUSTEN, JANE
53 Sense and Sensibility
103 Pride and Prejudice
190 Emma
193 Mansfield Park
BACON, FRANCIS
167 Essays
BARHAM, Rev. R. H.
71 The Ingoldsby Legends
BEACONSFIELD, Lord
183 Vivian Grey
BLACKMORE, R. D.
176 Lorna Doone
BORROW, GEORGE
141 Lavengro
BRONTË, ANNE
97 Tenant of Wildfell Hall
BRONTË, CHARLOTTE
7 Shirley
11 Jane Eyre
64 Villette
BRONTË, EMILY
31 Wuthering Heights
BRONTË, THE SISTERS
91 Agnes Grey, The Professor,
and Poems
BROWNING, MRS E. B.
67 Poems--Series I.
127 Poems--Series II.
BROWTNING, ROBERT
156 Poetical Works of
BUNYAN, JOHN
24 The Pilgrim's Progress
BURNS, ROBERT
164 Poetical Works of
CARLYLE, THOMAS
61 Heroes and Hero
Worship
109 Sartor Resartus
114 French Revolution, I.
115 Do.--II.
155 Past and Present
CARROLL, LEWIS
81 Alice in Wonderland
COLLINS, WILKIE
18 The Woman in White
20 No Name
130 The Moonstone
COOPER, FENIMORE
134 The Deerslayer
188 The Pathfinder
CRAIK, MRS
5 John Halifax, Gentleman
80 A Noble Life
137 A Life for a Life
DARWIN, CHARLES
69 Voyage of the Beagle
149 On the Origin of Species
DAUDET, ALPHONSE
182 Tartarin of Tarascon
DE QUINCEY, THOMAS
75 The Confessions of an Opium Eater
de WINDT, HARRY
129 Through Savage Europe
DICKENS, CHARLES
1 David Copperfield
14 Great Expectations
29 Barnaby Rudge
33 Oliver Twist
35 A Tale of Two Cities
36 The Old Curiosity Shop
37 Nicholas Nickleby
38 Pickwick Papers
39 Sketches by Boz
40 Dombey and Son
41 American Notes
42 Hard Times
43 A Child's History of England
44 Christmas Books
45 Reprinted Pieces
46 Martin Chuzzlewit
47 Bleak House
48 Little Dorrit
49 Master Humphrey's Clock, etc.
50 Stories and Sketches
73 Our Mutual Friend
154 The Uncommercial Traveller
DODD, WILLIAM
169 The Beauties of Shakespeare
DUMAS, ALEXANDER
62 The Three Musketeers
123 Twenty Years After
132 Count of Monte-Cristo (Vol. I.)
133 Count of Monte-Cristo (Vol. II.)
160 The Black Tulip
165 Marguerite de Valois
173 Vicomte de Bragelonne
178 Louise de la Vallière
185 The Man in the Iron Mask
199 The Forty-five Guardsmen
ELIOT, GEORGE
3 Adam Bede
13 The Mill on the Floss
19 Silas Marner
32 Scenes of Clerical Life
68 Romola
96 Felix Holt
EMERSON, R. W.
99 Essays and Representative Men
FROUDE, J. A.
125 Short Studies
GASKELL, Mrs
54 North and South
57 Cranford
186 Mary Barton
GOLDSMITH, OLIVER
94 The Vicar of Wakefield
GRANT, JAMES
122 The Romance of War
GRIMM BROS.
143 Fairy Tales
HAWTHORNE, N.
17 The Scarlet Letter
28 The House of the Seven Gables
HAZLITT, WILLIAM
172 Table Talk
HOLMES, O. W.
59 The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table
92 The Professor at the Breakfast Table
113 The Poet at the Breakfast Table
124 Elsie Venner
HUGHES, THOMAS
8 Tom Brown's Schooldays
HUGO, VICTOR
128 The Hunchback of Notre-Dame
142 Les Misérables
162 The Toilers of the Sea
202 Ninety-Three
IRVING, WASHINGTON
107 The Sketch Book
KEATS, JOHN
179 Poetical Works of
KINGSLEY, HENRY
116 Ravenshoe
140 The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn
KINGSLEY, CHARLES
4 Two Years Ago
6 Westward Ho!
86 Hypatia
89 Hereward the Wake
106 Alton Locke
108 The Heroes
161 Yeast
LAMB, CHARLES
56 The Essays of Elia
LAMB, CHAS. and MARY
76 Tales from Shakespeare
LEVER, CHARLES
15 Charles O'Malley
148 Harry Lorrequer
LLOYD, ALBERT B.
135 Uganda to Khartoum
LONGFELLOW, H. W.
65 Poems
LOVER, SAMUEL
60 Handy Andy
LYTTON, LORD
27 The Last of the Barons
55 Last Days of Pompeii
77 Rienzi
87 Harold
126 The Caxtons
152 Eugene Aram
191 My Novel
MACAULAY, LORD
118 Historical Essays
119 Miscellaneous Essays
MARRYAT, CAPTAIN
84 Mr Midshipman Easy
195 The Children of the New Forest
MELVILLE, HERMAN
146 Typee
MELVILLE, WHYTE
85 The Gladiators
105 The Interpreter
145 The Queen's Maries
196 Cerise
MILLER, HUGH
104 My Schools and Schoolmasters
MORRIS, WILLIAM
197 The Life and Death of Jason
OLIPHANT, MRS
102 Miss Marjoribanks
PALGRAVE, F. T.
95 The Golden Treasury
PAYN, JAMES
110 Lost Sir Massingberd
POE, EDGAR ALLAN
201 Tales of Mystery and Imagination
PROCTER, ADELAIDE
72 Legends and Lyrics
READE, CHARLES
9 It is never too Late to Mend
21 Cloister and the Hearth
52 Hard Cash
136 Peg Woffington and Christie Johnstone
150 Love Me Little, Love Me Long
170 Put Yourself in His Place
RUSKIN, JOHN
70 Sesame and Lilies and The Political Economy of Art
78 Unto this Last, and The Two Paths
SCOTT, SIR WALTER
2 Kenilworth
12 The Talisman
22 Ivanhoe
58 Waverley
63 Heart of Midlothian
90 Old Mortality
101 Poetical Works
112 Bride of Lammermoor
117 The Fair Maid of Perth
131 Guy Mannering
139 Rob Roy
153 The Monastery
157 The Abbot
163 The Antiquary
168 Redgauntlet
174 Fortunes of Nigel
177 Woodstock
180 The Pirate
187 Quentin Durward
194 Peveril of the Peak
SHAKESPEARE, WM.
189 Tragedies
SLADEN, DOUGLAS
146A The Japs at Home
SOUTHEY, ROBERT
111 The Life of Nelson
TENNYSON, Lord
25 Poems
THACKERAY, W. M.
23 Henry Esmond
34 Vanity Fair
66 The Newcomes
83 The Virginians
120 Adventures of Philip
121 Pendennis
144 Yellowplush Papers
151 Four Georges
158 Christmas Books
171 Lovel the Widower
181 Barry Lyndon, etc.
184 Book of Snobs
192 The Great Hoggarty Diamond
198 Paris Sketch Book
TROLLOPE, ANTHONY
79 Barchester Towers
100 Framley Parsonage
147 Orley Farm
159 The Claverings
WALTON, IZAAK
88 The Compleat Angler
WOOD, MRS HENRY
10 East Lynne
16 The Channings
26 Mrs Halliburton's Troubles
30 Danesbury House
51 Verner's Pride
YONGE, C. M.
93 The Heir of Redclyffe
166 The Dove in the Eagle's Nest
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