WAS IT EXPEDIENT THAT ONE SHOULD DIE?
Our story has dealt with the people rather than with the upper classes;
but when a detailed history of these times shall be written, one of the
foremost places will certainly be given to the Prince. He had worked
quietly (the Society journals had kindly left him very much alone), and
he was, besides, only a young man, but his influence amongst the
aristocratic classes of England had been immeasurably great. His mother
was of the Royal family, but his father was a commoner, and he seemed to
have been born to such a heritage of sympathy as could not be confined
to any class. He had a passion for philanthropy, but his love of justice
was even stronger still. He regarded the rights of others, as he did his
own; and nothing could make him believe that England ought, or was
obliged, to have within her borders a million of people in poverty. But
the way out was by the gate of work and wages, and not alms; and so sure
was he of this that it was frequently remarked of him, “The Prince gives
nothing away.” What he gave, how he gave it, and to whom, were his own
secrets, and he kept them; but every one knew that in the length and
breadth of the land none was more really a friend to the poor than he.
Nor had any done more to convince his class that they who owned much of
the wealth of the land had no right to satisfy their consciences by
gifts of soup and coals to the poor, but that it was their duty to find
work and pay wages. He was a doughty champion who was always ready to
fight for the lowest; and his own people loved him the more because he
spoke the truth to them in tones that there was no mistaking.
The age, that was rich in valiant young men, had none more true, and
honourable, and kingly than this man who had craved so earnestly to be
allowed to die for his country.
It is needless to say that the New Tournament occupied both public and
private attention, to the exclusion of all other topics; until, if only
for the sake of relieving the strain, which every day became more
intolerable, everybody hoped that the matter would be decided speedily.
And, indeed, there was little reason for delay, excepting in the
circumstance that the two young men had asked for a week in which to
become better acquainted with each other.
What passed between them was never known; only a written document,
signed by both of them, and containing reasons why the two nations
should trust each other, gave some indication of the themes on which
they conversed.
It was a lovely spot among the hills that had been chosen for the fight;
and thither on a bright morning a great multitude repaired. Medical men
were on the spot, and several of the most eminent Judges of the two
countries. Many people went with the hope still in their hearts that the
contest would not really be to the death; but no such hope or wish was
in the mind of either of the brave knights who had come to fight for his
country.
“Let the arrangements be as simple as possible,” the Englishman had
said. But no pomp or show could have added to the awful solemnity of the
occasion. As the two men faced each other, looking so resolute and
brave, and yet so gentle, a thousand eyes grew dim. They shook hands
cordially with each other, and spent a few moments in private
conversation. It was hoped that they would address the assembly, which,
indeed, consisted of the greatest men of all nations, and the hope was
not disappointed.
“It is no time for words,” said the English Prince, “but the occasion is
a marked one, and perhaps words, however poor, may prove to be seeds
which shall hereafter grow into a harvest. The brave knight of France
has become my dear friend, and therefore there is no enmity, but only
love to each other in our hearts this morning; and our friendship is
none the less strong because one of us will certainly kill the other. We
are both more willing to-day than ever to sacrifice our lives in the
cause of peace and in the interests of our country. I am for England
with all my heart, and to the very backbone—brave, heroic, Christian
England. She has been spoilt by some faults, but the morning of her
regeneration has arrived, and I call upon you Englishmen, in God’s name,
to be worthy of her traditions, and arise to the demands of the new era
which is upon us.” Then, in a voice that pierced to the outer edge of
the crowd, he cried, “Never more shall war mean the slaying of
thousands! And _God bless England_!”
The Frenchman’s speech was longer, and it called upon his countrymen to
live and die for fair France.
Then the trumpeters gave the signal for the contest to begin, and men
held their breath—watching with their souls in their eyes. There was a
little play and parrying at first; but presently the men fought in
deadly earnest, and their flashing swords became stained with blood.
Suddenly there was a halt—the Prince’s sword had snapped, and a new one
was required. Then there was a cry for intervention. “Let the contest
cease! Enough! Enough!” But the young men would not yield to that cry,
and again there was a clashing of swords. The moments seemed ages to
those who looked on, and several fainted and could gaze no longer;
indeed, the excitement proved too great to be endured. But the contest
was not to be prolonged. Presently one fell from his horse, wounded
fatally.
It was the English Prince.
The doctors were at his side in a moment. He could still speak a few
words.
“The wound is fatal, I know,” he said. “Bayard, where are you?” The
Frenchman took the Prince in his arms and put his head on his shoulder.
“Forgive me,” he said, hastily.
“Oh, do not ask that! We have no quarrel—the real fighters in a real war
seldom have. God bless you, Bayard, and your country—_Vive la France_!
But God bless my country too—old England! destined to be the leader in
peace and righteousness yet. God bless England! Bayard, say it, too.”
And the Frenchman repeated the words. Then the Prince whispered, “Better
I than you. To be with Christ.”
And so he died.
* * * * *
A sense of infinite loss fell upon England, in which the whole world had
some share. And with the loss came not only pain, but anger.
The Prince’s family had the worst of the sorrow to bear. And the upper
classes were loud in their execration. “Better a host were slain than
he,” they said. And the masses for once felt with them. So did the army,
which was likely, everybody thought, to give trouble in the future. The
time was altogether a dangerous one, and a terrible revolution might
have been brought in with blood but for those leaders of the people who
were able in the emergency to possess their souls in quietness. America
was saved once by the voice of a man who cried, “God is not dead, though
Lincoln is!” And now in England there were ten thousand men who, in
pulpits, on platforms, and through the Press, said the same thing. And
they earnestly besought their hearers to help in the great work of
preventing the Prince’s sacrifice from being non-effective. He had been
willing to die, as everybody knew; but only because he hoped that a
better life would come to many through his death. And now, if the people
were actuated by revenge and hatred, not only to France, but also to the
new English Government as well—as seemed likely to be the case—then,
indeed, the best blood of the land would have been shed in vain. And so
universal among Christian men was the adoption of this speech that the
people were quieted, and wise counsels prevailed, together with a
profound conviction that the Prince’s prophecy would be fulfilled, and
England become “the leader in peace and righteousness.”
They brought the body of the beloved Prince home to England, and in that
sepulchre of kings, Westminster Abbey, they buried him.
The publication of the Prince’s will created a profound sensation.
The little which had been given to him by the nation was to go back to
whom it belonged. But that which had been given to him for his own use
and distribution, by private individuals, and which constituted a most
surprisingly large sum, was, he considered, entirely at his disposal.
The times had seen many gifts of enormous sums to the poor, not a few of
which had come from anonymous donors; but it was not before known that
so great had been the love of the people for their Prince, and so
absolute their confidence in him, that many had preferred to trust him
with their money, assured that he would use it wisely. It was to this
wealth that the will written by his own hand chiefly referred. It set
forth his faith that soon after his death the Government of England
would set an example of peace to the nations of the world by permitting
those who chose to withdraw from the British army, after making all
necessary arrangements for the calling together of volunteers from among
them in case of an emergency. The Prince declared that he had found
constant solace and strength from the thought of the joy with which
these men, now kept in idleness at the expense of the country, with no
rights as citizens, and unable for the most part to secure domestic
joys, would go home to their friends and take their rightful places in
the world. But he recognised the fact that at first they would be at a
disadvantage with their fellows because they had forgotten how to till
the ground, or choose and sell the merchandise, or guide the machine.
And he therefore directed that his money should be kept in trust until
required, and then used for the purpose of instructing the soldiers in
the arts of peace; and, if necessary, for providing for them in the
meantime, and until they could become engaged in remunerative
occupations. And he asked as a favour to himself that _the piece of land
which was the original cause of the quarrel should be set apart for the
free use of discharged English and French soldiers_. He knew that the
money which had been entrusted to him—much as it was—would be all too
little for so large a purpose, though he prayed that it might be wisely
managed by able and honest men, and so he left, as his dying bequest to
all who loved him, an importunate prayer that they would of their riches
add to the sum until it should answer the end designed. And the Prince
appointed as his executors his sister, the Archbishop of Canterbury,
Peter Macdonald, and Arthur Knight, whom he trusted to see that the
terms of his will were duly carried out.
A committee was at once appointed to consider this remarkable will, and
work with the executors. And this committee proved itself to be composed
of men who had understanding of the spirit of the Prince, and
determination to give effect to his wishes. They lost no hours in
fruitless debate; nor did they cavil with one another in regard to
phrases, nor multiply difficulties which might never exist. They met
every day for a time, and as soon as possible were ready with their
report.
The first fact which they made public was the gratifying one that the
money left by the Prince had already been doubled by the contributions
of rich men who had been waiting for some opportunity to dispose of part
of their wealth for the good of their country. This was the fruit of a
conviction that had been for many past years growing, that a Christian
man has no right to keep to himself the wealth which has been entrusted
to him.
Another fact, which for the first time was put into words for the public
information, was the somewhat disquieting one, for the war party, that
it had now become exceedingly difficult to secure men for the British
Army. The youth of the nation of these times had no taste for swords,
and guns, and red coats. The veterans of the army often wondered what
England could possibly do if she had to engage in a big war while so
short of men. And although Englishmen believed still that their nation
was destined to lead the world, it was evident to all thoughtful minds
that it must be by other means than war, for even now she could not cope
with other nations in regard to military power.
But, all the same, the Government was asked to reduce the standing army,
since it would be wiser to do that than to let it die out gradually and
ignominiously; and it was absolutely certain that this would be the case
in the near future, since the Christian Churches of England had enlisted
the youth of the nation in the grand army of the Young Crusaders, every
member of which had solemnly sworn to preserve peace.
The committee, therefore, recommended the Government to give immediate
effect to the Prince’s will; to allow men who had already served ten
years in the army to leave it if they chose; and to give them, under
certain conditions, a lump sum, instead of a pension, so that they might
commence business or emigrate, or provide themselves with tools and
equipments for labour. Had all this happened before, there would have
been a great outcry that the already overstocked labour market would
become congested by the turning into it of thousands of new men; but
people were really wise enough now to see that it would be cheaper for
these men to work than to be kept in idleness at the expense of the
State, and they were learning to solve the problem of the
over-production of commodities by the industrial classes by making it
possible for the industrial classes themselves to enjoy the commodities
which they were producing.
So the suggestions of the committee were accepted.
“Our Quixotic Government can no further go,” said one of the papers next
morning; but its small light was snuffed out during the day, for the
journals that were of consequence took the other side, and it became
evident that the life and death of the Prince had converted an enormous
number of thinkers.
Still, it was decided that such a drastic measure could not be carried
out till after an appeal to the people, and the House of Commons first
adopted the suggestion of the committee and then resigned. The step was
at once proved to have been unnecessary. The people were in advance of
their leaders, and had come to be their friends, and supporters of these
good measures. The world looked on in wonder as one after another of the
constituencies decided to return without opposition their present
representatives to the new Parliament. In only a few cases was there a
contested election, and in nearly every one of these there was returned
a man more strongly on the side of the people, and for peace, than the
one who had been deposed. The Government, therefore, went back to its
work with its hands greatly strengthened.
And the first thing it did was to ask that a Council might be elected,
consisting of the same number as the House of Commons, and elected in
the same way, each constituency to send one man as the representative of
the united churches of the locality, whose duty it would be to act for
the churches in the direction of the social and domestic affairs of the
nation. This Council was to sit in London for ten days of each quarter;
and it was to take into consideration more than a few changes which were
now admitted to be within the range of practical politics.
One of these was a new poor law. There was to be no more separation of
the aged poor from their friends. No more was the answer to an appeal
for help in the last extremity to be “The House or Nothing!” If an old
man or woman, or both, had sons and daughters, or grandchildren willing
to undertake the care of the failing life, if only a little pecuniary
assistance were given, the assistance was to be at once vouchsafed.
Young men who had become absolutely penniless through affliction, or
loss, or through no fault of their own were to be henceforth helped into
some sphere of work where they could live by their own earnings. If they
were ill, they were to be nursed back into health, or sent into a
convalescent home; if they were idiots, to an asylum; or, if incapable,
to a place where kindly patient teachers would foster the little spark
of intelligence within them. The children were to be taken away from the
workhouse into a home—or, rather, the great uncomfortable building was,
in some cases, to be itself altered and made home-like. But, for the
most part, the workhouse was to be true to its name. If a man refused to
work for his wife and children, he was to be captured and brought there
with them, and compelled to support himself and them, unless he
preferred to starve. If he treated them cruelly, he was to be, for the
second offence, punished with the lash; and it was wonderful how soon
this treatment made cowardly brutes civil in their treatment of those
who were weak. But, at the same time, everything was done that could be
to make the workhouse a city of refuge, where those who had made
themselves and one another wretched learned to love one another and be
happy.
And over these buildings were painted the words which Christendom was
bent upon obeying, with shame that the obedience came so late: “All
things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to
them.”