And now it seemed to be growing larger until what had been a tiny picture, in the pupils of the Dumpling's eyes, was the life-size head of a man, looking at me with eyes of its own—eyes so stern, so cold, so cruel, so commanding, that the bidding of the set lips beneath them few men would dare to disobey. At the bidding of those lips, at one glance from those eyes—men, regiments, an army, even, had gone forth unhesitatingly to die.
That all this could be seen in the picture, which is formed in the pupils of one man's eyes, sounds incredible, and I can only explain it by saying that what I saw lay not in the pupils themselves, but lay behind those pupils, through which I looked as one looks through a window.
Then suddenly the face which I had seen faded away. Silhouetted against the sky, I saw the solitary figure of a man standing upon the rocky point of an island, and looking out—the soul of him more lonely than that lone island, so far away from other land, and surrounded by a wasteful wilderness of waters—the heart of him torn with unrest, wilder, sadder, more hopeless, than the surging, sobbing unrest of those surrounding seas.
Then, too, this picture faded, and I was looking upon the face of the Dumpling, and listening to the words which fell sharply, incisively, from his lips.
Clearly he had decided to trust me with his great secret, and something of the excitement which I saw upon his face communicated itself to me as I listened.
"Why has the Great Revolution, why has the cause of Labour failed thus far?" he asked, turning upon me almost savagely. "I will tell you," he went on, without waiting for an answer. "Because great revolutions are only brought about by great men; and for ten, twenty, thirty years, perhaps more, the womb of England has been barren of great men. The histories of religions, we are told, are written in the life-stories of great men. The histories of politics are no more than the life-stories of great men. To-day there are parties, but no politics. What are your Labour party, your Liberal party, if you like—your Campbell-Bannermans, Asquiths, Bryces, Birrells, Morleys, Burnses, Keir Hardies? Amiable men, able men, capable men, well-meaning men, conscientious men, but spoken of in a comparative sense, as compared with your real makers of history, of statecraft, what are they? Mediocrities, every one of them. Parnell had it in his power to have been a great man had he lived, and had he not made a mess of his life, but for the rest"—he stopped short for a moment—"for the rest," he went on, "judged by any standard of greatness, for the rest"—he snapped his fingers contemptuously—"that! The whole of them combined couldn't do in a year what one great man—a Napoleon, for instance—could do in an hour. The great revolution has failed of coming thus far, the cause of Labour has failed thus far, for one reason, and one reason only—there is no Napoleon to lead the people to victory. Once find Labour her Napoleon, and Labour will rule the land.
"Listen!
"I who stand before you am he—not Labour's Napoleon only, not merely the Napoleon of Labour, but Napoleon the Corsican, Napoleon the First Consul, Napoleon the Emperor himself! In me you see not only Napoleon re-incarnate, but Napoleon's very self—the conqueror of Europe, the Cæsar of France, now come again to earth, even as the Christ came two thousand years ago, to save and to redeem the people. I am here to lead the leaderless armies of Labour to victory—I am here to set King Labour on his rightful throne. The world has waited over-long for the coming of Napoleon. But at last he is come. I who stand before you am he!"
CHAPTER XX.
THE NEW NAPOLEON.