CHAPTER II.
RICHARD LINCOLN.
The palace of a thousand wings, that nearly two thousand years had goneto build, had been tumbled into ruins in a day, and out of the monstrousconfusion no fair structure had yet arisen.
Rich as a crimson sunset, with traditions splendid as sunlit clouds,English Royalty had sunk into the night, and the whole sky waslightless, except where the glory had descended.
The government which had lifted itself like a tower in the eyes andminds of Englishmen for a hundred generations had disappeared, and theideal government of the people had not yet filled its place.
The British Republic was seventeen years old. For seventeen years KingGeorge the Fifth had been an exile in the United States, and the fiftymillions of British people had been on trial as self-governors.
Providence had smiled on the young Republic. Its first guardians hadbeen true to their trust; and like the fathers who laid the deepfoundations of American freedom, their souls expanded with the magnitudeof duty and responsibility.
The world looked on, sympathized, but for weeks and months almostfeared to speak. But half a year passed, and the dreadful crest ofAnarchy had not once been raised.
The French Republic, over seventy years old, strong, unenvious andequitable, was the first to applaud.
The Commonwealths of Germany, thirty-three years old, one after anotherspoke their congratulation.
The aristocratic Republic of Russia was officially silent. The nobleNihilists, who had murdered four Czars to obtain power, were nowconstitutionally terrorizing the masses; but the Russian people hadlearned from their rulers, and the popular press thundered encouragementto the English Commons.
America smiled like an elder sister, and held out her hand in lovingfriendship.
From the day of the revolution, the three names which forever belong tothe history of British Republicanism were in the front--O'DonovanRourke, the first President, and his two famous Ministers, JonathanSimms and Richard Lincoln.
But the story of that first great Administration is read now in theschool-books. The sudden death of the President was the first seriousloss of the Republic. Had he lived another decade how different wouldhave been the later history of England!
Matthew Gower, the Vice-President, entered on the unexpired term of thePresidency. He was a weak, well-meaning man, and he was jealous of theextraordinary popularity and personal influence of Richard Lincoln, theSecretary of State. When his cabinet was announced, Richard Lincoln,released from his long service in harness, with a deep feeling ofrelief, went back to his home in Nottingham.
At this time he was forty-six years of age. He had been a widower forover twenty years. At twenty-five he had married the beautiful girl heloved, and within the year his wife died, leaving the lonely man alittle daughter whose eyes renewed his grief and love.
This was the tall girl who flung her arms round the neck of thedismissed minister when he entered his home at Nottingham.
"No one else, papa!" she cried, as she buried her face against hisheart, sobbing with joy. "Do not speak to any one else till I am donewith you."
The rest, the love, the peace of home were very sweet. Richard Lincolnrenewed, or tried to renew, his interest in the work of his youngerdays. His daughter loved to go with him through the town, proud of thefamous man who was hers, heedful of any curious or respectful glance ofthe people on the street.
He gave himself up to the new life. He began to wonder at and enjoy thebeauty, accomplishments and unceasing amiability of his daughter.
Mary Lincoln was a rare type of womanhood. She had inherited hermother's grace and lithe beauty of form, and from her father she took astrong and self-sustained nature. But there was added a quality that washers alone--a strange, silent power of enthusiasm--a fervor that did notcry out for ideals, but filled all her blood with a deep music ofdevotion. A man with such a nature had been a poet or the founder of acreed. But the ideal of a man is an idea, while the ideal of a woman isa man. Time alone can bring the touchstone to such a heart.
It was not strange that under such home influences public affairs shouldsink into a secondary place in Richard Lincoln's mind. He hardly lookedat the newspapers, and he never expressed political opinions orpredictions. When he did speak of the government, it was with confidenceand respect. If he doubted or distrusted, no one knew.
For two years he had lived this quiet life; but, though he turned hiseyes from many signs, the astute and silent man saw danger growing likea malarial weed beneath the waters of the social and political life ofhis country.
One morning Patterson, his business partner, who was an excitablepolitician, threw down his _Times_, and turned to Lincoln with animpatient manner.
"We are going to smash, sir, with our eyes open. We are going to thedevil on two roads."
"Who is going to smash?" asked Lincoln.
"The country. See here; there are two rocks ahead, the aristocrats andthe demagogues, and which is worse no one can say. They are gettingready for something or other, and the good sense and patriotism ofEngland stand by and do nothing."
"Has anything particular happened?"
"Yes; at West Derby yesterday, the Duke of Bayswater was elected toParliament, getting a large majority over Tyler, a sound Republican."
"Pooh! You don't take that as a specimen of all our elections? The Derbyvoters are mainly farmers, and the farmers retain their old respect forthe lords of the manor."
"And that means something," rejoined Patterson; "it is not as if thosearistocrats had accepted the Republic, which they don't even pretend todo. There are now over forty of them in the lower house."
"Well," answered the ex-Minister, "they have been elected by thepeople."
"Yes; by the uninstructed people," said Patterson, warmly. "The peopleare talked to by these fellows with empty titles on one hand and by thedemagogues on the other, and they think the only choice lies between thetwo."
"Surely, papa," said Mary, who was interested in the conversation, "thepeople will not be so easily deceived?"
"Deceived!" interrupted Mr. Patterson. "Why, Mary, here was an electionin which the people were led to vote against one of the best Republicansin England, and for a lord who is nearly seventy, who has never done anygood for himself or the country--an old pauper, who goes to Parliamentfor the salary and the chance to plot against the people."
Mary looked at her father as if she wished him to speak.
"These men," he said, "do not regain power as lords, but as commoners.That is good, instead of bad--their withdrawal would be more dangerous.We must remember that those who have lost by the revolution are still asmuch a part of the English people as those who have gained."
"I don't know about that," said Patterson, stubbornly. "I believe thosearistocrats are actually plotting treason; and a traitor separateshimself from his people."
Richard Lincoln's silence only stirred up the old Radical. He shot homenext time.
"I believe we shall have a lord returned for Nottingham next election."
A slow flush rose in Lincoln's face, and he unconsciously raised hishead.
"For the last two years," continued Patterson, seeing the effect of hiswords, "only two Englishmen have been heard of to any extent--thedemagogue leader, Bagshaw, and Sir John Dacre, the insolent young leaderof the aristocrats."
This time it was the daughter that flushed at Mr. Patterson's words.
"Mr. Dacre is not insolent," said Mary, warmly. "I have met him severaltimes. He is a most remarkable man."
"He couldn't well be insolent to you, Mary," the wily Pattersonanswered, with a smile for his favorite, who usually agreed with hisradicalism, "but his tone to the public is a different thing."
"You extremists are at least responsible for one of these--for thedemagogue--" said Richard Lincoln.
"Yes; I admit it. The election of Bagshaw for Liverpool was a terriblemistake. But, if we had had our way, the other evil should have lost itshead--O, I beg your pardon, Mary;
I did not mean your friend, Mr. Dacre,but the principle he represents."
Mary Lincoln had exclaimed as if shocked, which brought out theconcluding words from Mr. Patterson.
"If one were gone, would not the danger be greater?" asked RichardLincoln. "They keep each other in check. They are useful enemies."
"Take care they don't some day turn round and be useful friends,"retorted Patterson. "I believe they did so in Derby yesterday. If theywere to do it in Nottingham they would sweep the city."
Mr. Patterson had scored his mark. The ex-Minister was silent andthoughtful.
"The Republic is like an iceberg," he said presently, "a dozen yearsabove water, but a century below. We shall be able to handle ourdifficulties--Don't you think so, Mary?" he added lightly, as they wentout.
"Papa," said Mary, as they walked across the main street, "I met SirJohn Dacre at Arundel House when I was visiting Lucy Arundel last year,and I can assure you he is not an evil-minded man."
"Indeed!" answered the father, rather amused at the relation; "you likehim, then?"
"Very much, indeed. He is a perfect old-fashioned cavalier, and the mostdistinguished-looking man I ever saw, except you."
Her father laughed at the unconscious flattery.
"And the very oldest men are constantly consulting him," continued Mary,who was on a subject which evidently interested her.
There was something in Mary's voice that made her father glance down ather face. But he did not pursue the subject.
The months rolled on in this unrestful peace, and day by day it grewclear that the internal troubles of the Republic were forming adangerous congestion.
Richard Lincoln again became an attentive reader of the newspapers. Noman in England studied more carefully the signs of the times. Daily,too, he listened to the denunciation of the aristocrats by his radicalold friend.
"They ought to be banished!" exclaimed Mr. Patterson, one morning. "Isaid it would come to this."
He pointed to an announcement of a meeting of "gentlemen who stillretained respect for their Sacred Cause," to be held at Arundel Housethe following week, the wording of which was rather vague, as ifintended to convey more than the verbal meaning. The notice was signed:"John Dacre, Bart."
"Why, that is Mary's friend," thought Richard Lincoln. And when he metMary, an hour later, he said, half-jestingly:
"Is your friend, Mr. Dacre, a conspirator?"
"He is only an acquaintance, papa; and I hardly know what a conspiratoris. But Mr. Dacre is certainly nothing wrong. You should see his face,papa."
"Oh, yes; those dreamers--"
"Papa!" said Mary, almost angrily, "Mr. Dacre is not a dreamer. He is aleader of men--a natural leader--like you!"
The eloquence of voice and gesture surprised Richard Lincoln; but he wastoo puzzled by Mary's manner to reply. Looking at her as if from adistance, he only remembered, sadly, how little of her life he hadseen--how much there was from which he had been left out in the heart ofhis motherless girl.
Mary read something in his eyes that made her run to him and fold herarms around his neck.
"You were thinking of mamma then," she whispered, with brimming eyes.
"Your face was like hers, Mary," he said, and kissed her tenderly.
In the growing excitement of the times, father and daughter were growingdaily into closer union. The Parliamentary elections were coming on, andRichard Lincoln took a deep interest in the preparations. He had beenasked to stand for several places, but he had firmly declined;nevertheless he had become almost a public character during thecampaign. From all sides men looked to him for counsel. Hiscorrespondence became burdensome, and Mary, having urged him long to lether help, at last had her way.
In this way it was that she became familiar with the troubled issues ofthe time, and learned to think with her father in all his moods. Theirhouse in Nottingham, with comings and goings, committees and councils,was soon like the office of a great Minister.
"This can't last," said Mr. Patterson to Mary Lincoln, one day; "he isneeded in London again, and he will go. I believe they mean to nominatehim for President."
Two days later, Patterson, with all the rest of England, was allowed tosee the secret that had moved the political sea for years.
The National Convention was held to nominate the President. The Radicalwing (they were proud to call themselves anarchists) had developedunlooked-for strength, chiefly from the cities and great towns, and hadput forward as their candidate the blatant demagogue, Lemuel Bagshaw,whose name has left so deep a stain on his country's record.
On the first day of the National Convention the news of Bagshaw'sstrength caused only a pained surprise throughout England. Men awaitedwith some irritation the proper work of the Convention. But on thesecond day, when the two strongest opposing candidates did not togethercount as many votes as the demagogue, there was downright consternation.
Then the Aristocrats showed their hand: they abandoned their shamcandidate and voted solidly for the demagogue--and Lemuel Bagshaw, theatheist and anarchist, received the nomination for the Presidency ofthe British Republic!
The ship was fairly among the shoals and the horizon was ridged withominous clouds. The petrels of disorder were everywhere on the wing. TheRepublic was driving straight into the breakers.
A few days later a great meeting was held in Nottingham, at which aworkingman proposed the name of Richard Lincoln as their representativein Parliament.
A great shout of acclamation greeted the name and spoke for allNottingham. Then the meeting broke up, the crowd hurrying and pressingtoward Richard Lincoln's house.
Mary Lincoln heard the growing tumult, and looked up at her fatheralarmed. She had been playing softly on an organ in the dimly-lightedroom, while her father sat thinking and half listening to the low music,as he gazed into the fire.
He had heard the crowd gathering in the square below, but he had notheeded, till he started at last as a voice outside addressed themultitude, calling for three cheers for the Member of Parliament forNottingham. The response, ringing from thousands of hearts, made MaryLincoln leap to her feet.
Her father sat still, looking toward the open window beneath which wasthe tumult.
"Father," said Mary, calling him so for the first time in her life;"they have nominated you. You will not refuse?"
"No," he said, almost mournfully. "I shall accept--and leave you again."
"Never again," she cried, "my own dear father. I shall go with you toLondon. Oh, I am so proud of you!"
And Richard Lincoln accepted the nomination, and was elected. His namerallied throughout the whole country the men who had its good at heart.
But the demagogue was raised to the highest place in the Republic, andhis party would have grown drunken with exultation had they not beendeterred by the solid front and the stern character of the opposition,the leader of which from the first meeting of the new Parliament wasRichard Lincoln.