The Crisis — Complete

by Winston Churchill

  CHAPTER XI. HOW A PRINCE CAME

  Who has not heard of the St. Louis Agricultural Fair. And what memoriesof its October days the mere mention of at brings back to us who knewthat hallowed place as children. There was the vast wooden amphitheatrewhere mad trotting races were run; where stolid cattle walked past theChinese pagoda in the middle circle, and shook the blue ribbons on theirhorns. But it was underneath the tiers of seats (the whole way aroundthe ring) that the chief attractions lay hid. These were the churchbooths, where fried oysters and sandwiches and cake and whit candy andice-cream were sold by your mothers and sister for charity. These ladieswore white aprons as they waited on the burly farmers. And toward theclose of the day for which they had volunteered they became distracted.Christ Church had a booth, and St. George's; and Dr. Thayer's,Unitarian, where Mrs. Brice might be found and Mr. Davitt's, conductedby Mr. Eliphalet Hopper on strictly business principles, and the RomanCatholic Cathedral, where Miss Renault and other young ladies of Frenchdescent presided: and Dr. Posthelwaite's, Presbyterian, which we shallcome to presently. And others, the whole way around the ring.

  There is one Fair which old St. Louisans still delight to recall,--thatof the autumn of 1860--Think for a minute. You will remember thatVirginia Carvel came back from Europe; and made quite a stir in atown where all who were worth knowing were intimates. Stephen caught aglimpse of her an the street, received a distant bow, and dreamed of herthat night. Mr. Eliphalet Hopper, in his Sunday suit, was at the ferryto pay his respects to the Colonel, to offer his services, and totell him how the business fared. His was the first St. Louis face thatVirginia saw (Captain Lige being in New Orleans), and if she conversedwith Eliphalet on the ferry with more warmth than ever before, there isnothing strange in that. Mr. Hopper rode home with them in the carriage,and walked to Miss Crane's with his heart thumping against his breast,and wild thoughts whirling in his head.

  The next morning, in Virginia's sunny front room tears and laughtermingled. There was a present for Eugenie and Anne and Emily and Pussand Maude, and a hear kiss from the Colonel for each. And more tearsand laughter and sighs as Mammy Easter and Rosetta unpacked the Englishtrunks, and with trembling hands and rolling eyes laid each Parisiangown upon the bed.

  But the Fair, the Fair!

  At the thought of that glorious year my pen fails me. Why mention thedread possibility of the negro-worshiper Lincoln being elected thevery next month? Why listen, to the rumblings in the South? Pompeii hadchariot-races to the mutterings of Vesuvius. St. Louis was in gala garbto greet a Prince.

  That was the year that Miss Virginia Carvel was given charge of thebooth in Dr. Posthelwaite's church,--the booth next one of the greatarches through which prancing horses and lowing cattle came.

  Now who do you think stopped at the booth for a chat with Miss Jinny?Who made her blush as pink as her Paris gown? Who slipped into her handthe contribution for the church, and refused to take the cream candy shelaughingly offered him as an equivalent?

  None other than Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, Duke of Saxony, Duke ofCornwall and Rothesay, Earl of Chester and Carrick, Baron Renfrew, andLord of the Isles. Out of compliment to the Republic which he visited,he bore the simple title of Lord Renfrew.

  Bitter tears of envy, so it was said, were shed in the other booths.Belle Cluyme made a remark which is best suppressed. Eliphalet Hopper,in Mr. Davitt's booths, stared until his eyes watered. A great throngpeered into the covered way, kept clear for his Royal Highness andsuite, and for the prominent gentlemen who accompanied them. And whenthe Prince was seen to turn to His Grace, the Duke of Newcastle, and thesubscription was forthcoming, a great cheer shook the building, whileVirginia and the young ladies with her bowed and blushed and smiled.Colonel Carvel, who was a Director, laid his hand paternally on theblue coat of the young Prince. Reversing all precedent, he presentedhis Royal Highness to his daughter and to the other young ladies. It wasdone with the easy grace of a Southern gentleman. Whereupon Lord Renfrewbowed and smiled too, and stroked his mustache, which was a habit hehad, and so fell naturally into the ways of Democracy.

  Miss Puss Russell, who has another name, and whose hair is now white,will tell you how Virginia carried off the occasion with credit to hercountry.

  It is safe to say that the Prince forgot "Silver Heels" and "Royal Oak,"although they had been trotted past the Pagoda only that morning for hisdelectation. He had forgotten his Honor the Mayor, who had held fast tothe young man's arm as the four coal-black horses had pranced throughthe crowds all the way from Barnum's Hotel to the Fair Grounds. HisRoyal Highness forgot himself still further, and had at length withdrawnhis hands from the pockets of his ample pantaloons and thrust his thumbsinto his yellow waistcoat. And who shall blame him if Miss Virginia'sreplies to his sallies enchained him?

  Not the least impressive of those who stood by, smiling, was the figureof the tall Colonel, his hat off for once, and pride written on hisface. Oh, that his dear wife might have lived to see this!

  What was said in that historic interview with a future Sovereign ofEngland, far from his royal palaces, on Democratic sawdust, with anAmerican Beauty across a board counter, was immediately recorded by theColonel, together with an exact description of his Royal Highness's bluecoat, and light, flowing pantaloons, and yellow waist-coat, and coloredkids; even the Prince's habit of stroking his mustache did not escapethe watchful eye. It is said that his Grace of Newcastle smiled twice atMiss Virginia's retorts, and Lord Lyons, the British Minister, has morethan two to his credit. But suddenly a strange thing happened. MissVirginia in the very midst of a sentence paused, and then stopped. Hereyes had strayed from the Royal Countenance, and were fixed upon apoint in the row of heads outside the promenade. Her sentence wascompleted--with some confusion. Perhaps it is no wonder that my LordRenfrew, whose intuitions are quick, remarked that he had alreadyremained too long, thus depriving the booth of the custom it otherwiseshould have had. This was a graceful speech, and a kingly. Followed byhis retinue and the prominent citizens, he moved on. And it was remarkedby keen observers that his Honor the Mayor had taken hold once more ofthe Prince's elbow, who divided his talk with Colonel Carver.

  Dear Colonel Carvel! What a true American of the old type you were. You,nor the Mayor, nor the rest of the grave and elderly gentlemen were notblinded by the light of a royal Presence. You saw in him only an amiableand lovable young man, who was to succeed the most virtuous and lovableof sovereigns, Victoria. You, Colonel Carvel, were not one to cringe toroyalty. Out of respect for the just and lenient Sovereign, his mother,you did honor to the Prince. But you did not remind him, as you mighthave, that your ancestors fought for the King at Marston Moor, and thatyour grandfather was once an intimate of Charles James Fox. But whatshall we say of Mr. Cluyme, and of a few others whose wealth aloneenabled them to be Directors of the Fair? Miss Isabel Cluyme was dulypresented, in proper form, to his Royal Highness. Her father owned a"peerage," and had been abroad likewise. He made no such bull as theColonel. And while the celebrated conversation of which we have spokenwas in progress, Mr. Cluyme stood back and blushed for his countryman,and smiled apologetically at the few gentlemen of the royal suite whoglanced his way.

  His Royal Highness then proceeded to luncheon, which is described by amost amiable Canadian correspondent who sent to his newspaper an accountof it that I cannot forbear to copy. You may believe what he says, ornot, just as you choose: "So interested was his Royal Highness in theproceedings that he stayed in the ring three and a half hours witnessingthese trotting matches. He was invited to take lunch in a little woodenshanty prepared for the Directors, to which he accordingly repaired, butwhether he got anything to eat or not, I cannot tell. After much troublehe forced his way to the table, which he found surrounded by a lot ofravenous animals. And upon some half dozen huge dishes were piled slicesof beef, mutton, and buffalo tongue; beside them were great jugs oflager beer, rolls of bread, and plates of a sort of cabbage cut intothin shreds, raw, and mixed with vinegar. There were n
either salt spoonsnor mustard spoons, the knives the gentlemen were eating with serving intheir stead; and, by the aid of nature's forks, the slices of beef andmutton were transferred to the plates of those who desired to eat. Whileyour correspondent stood looking at the spectacle, the Duke of Newcastlecame in, and he sat looking too. He was evidently trying to lookdemocratic, but could not manage it. By his side stood a man urging himto try the lager beer, and cabbage also, I suppose. Henceforth, let theNew York Aldermen who gave to the Turkish Ambassador ham sandwiches andbad sherry rest in peace."

  Even that great man whose memory we love and revere, Charles Dickens,was not overkind to us, and saw our faults rather than our virtues. Wewere a nation of grasshoppers, and spat tobacco from early morning untillate at night. This some of us undoubtedly did, to our shame be itsaid. And when Mr. Dickens went down the Ohio, early in the '40's, hecomplained of the men and women he met; who, bent with care, boltedthrough silent meals, and retired within their cabins. Mr. Dickenssaw our ancestors bowed in a task that had been too great for otherblood,--the task of bringing into civilization in the compass of acentury a wilderness three thousand miles it breadth. And when his RoyalHighness came to St. Louis and beheld one hundred thousand people at theFair, we are sure that he knew how recently the ground he stood upon hadbeen conquered from the forest.

  A strange thing had happened, indeed. For, while the Prince lingeredin front of the booth of Dr. Posthelwaite's church and chatted withVirginia, a crowd had gathered without. They stood peering over thebarricade into the covered way, proud of the self-possession of theiryoung countrywoman. And here, by a twist of fate, Mr. Stephen Bricefound himself perched on a barrel beside his friend Richter. It wasRichter who discovered her first.

  "Himmel! It is Miss Carvel herself, Stephen," he cried, impatient at theimpassive face of his companion. "Look, Stephen, look there."

  "Yes," said Stephen, "I see."

  "Ach!" exclaimed the disgusted German, "will nothing move you? I haveseen German princesses that are peasant women beside her. How shecarries it off! See, the Prince is laughing!"

  Stephen saw, and horror held him in a tremor. His one thought was ofescape. What if she should raise her eyes, and amid those vulgar staresdiscern his own? And yet that was within him which told him that shewould look up. It was only a question of moments, and then,--and thenshe would in truth despise him! Wedged tightly between the people, tomove was to be betrayed. He groaned.

  Suddenly he rallied, ashamed of his own false shame. This was becauseof one whom he had known for the short, space of a day--whom he wasto remember for a lifetime. The man he worshipped, and she detested.Abraham Lincoln would not have blushed between honest clerks and farmersWhy should Stephen Brice? And what, after all, was this girl to him? Hecould not tell. Almost the first day he had come to St. Louis the wiresof their lives had crossed, and since then had crossed many times again,always with a spark. By the might of generations she was one thing, andhe another. They were separated by a vast and ever-widening breach onlyto be closed by the blood and bodies of a million of their countrymen.And yet he dreamed of her.

  Gradually, charmed like the simple people about him, Stephen became lostin the fascination of the scene. Suddenly confronted at a booth in apublic fair with the heir to the English throne, who but one of her ownkind might have carried it off so well, have been so complete a mistressof herself? Since, save for a heightened color, Virginia gave no sign ofexcitement. Undismayed, forgetful of the admiring crowd, unconscious oftheir stares until--until the very strength of his gaze had compelledher own. Such had been the prophecy within him. Nor did he wonderbecause, in that multitude of faces, her eyes had flown so straightlyhomeward to his.

  With a rough effort that made an angry stir, Stephen flung the peopleaside and escaped, the astonished Richter following in his wake. Norcould the honest German dissuade him from going back to the office forthe rest of the day, or discover what had happened.

  But all through the afternoon that scene was painted on the pages ofStephen's books. The crude booth in the darkened way. The free poseof the girl standing in front of her companions, a blue wisp of autumnsunlight falling at her feet. The young Prince laughing at her sallies,and the elderly gentleman smiling with benevolence upon the pair.