“Rather; I think all the world was there, or trying to be there. I don’t think I have ever seen such a crowd before.”
“What a wonderful speaker he is, to be sure!”
“Yes. With the exception of Gladstone, I don’t suppose there ever was one like him, or ever will be again. Talk of orators of bygone days! Pooh! they never came up to him.”
“Well, the women have got the Suffrage in full at last, thanks to him. The next thing is to see what use they’ll make of it.”
“Better, perhaps, than we men have.”
The speakers are two men, the Honourable Tredegar Molyneux, M.P., and Colonel des Vœux of the Blues. Nearly four years have passed since the events related in the last chapter. The world has been slowly marching forward, and many things have happened between that time and this. In the political world, and in Parliament, like everywhere else, Hector D’Estrange has made a stir. His eloquence and debating power are the wonder of all who hear him, and his practical, sympathetic knowledge of the social questions of the day has made him the idol of the masses. He has just succeeded in carrying his Woman’s Suffrage Bill by a large majority, thereby conferring on women, married or unmarried, in this respect, identical rights with men. And now to-day in the monster Hall of Liberty, which he has founded, and which has been erected by the lavish subscriptions of the women of Great Britain, Ireland, and the world at large, he is to preside at the ceremony of its opening. It is a monster building. Talk of Olympia, of the Albert Hall—why, they are dwarfs beside it!
In shape it is circular, and towers aloft towards heaven, its great dome pinnacle crowned by a cap of glass, which report declares to consist of a million panes. Around this glass a gilded crown is twined, and holding it there—one in a kneeling attitude, the other upright, with one hand high upraised towards heaven—are two gilded women’s forms. They are the Statues of Liberty.
The interior of this vast structure is wonderful to look upon. The floor or centre is raised, and constructed so as to move on a pivot slowly round. It consists of an immense ring, the middle of which presents the appearance of a giant circus. On the right, or side facing the great entrance, is a monster swimming bath, and exactly opposite, or on the other side of the circus, is a huge platform. Suspended in mid air, a very network of trapezes and other gymnastic appliances hang, while stretched tightly beneath them is a monster net. Around the arena, with a low palisade separating it from the same, is a broad circular horse-ride, and raised slightly above this, running all round in a similar manner, a roomy promenade. Then come tier above tier, tier above tier of seats, amidst which here and there boxes are placed promiscuously, while dotted about all over these countless and seemingly never-ending stories, are cosy platforms enthroned in a wealth of green, where abundance of refreshments are obtainable.
The seats come to an end at last, and are replaced by six broad balconies running entirely round the building, and built one above the other; opening on to these balconies are what appear to the spectator in the arena as thousands of pigeon-holes. In reality they are doors, communicating each one with a tiny but compact room, in which stands a bed, two chairs, a washhand-stand, a small dressing table, and a writing table. It is stated that in all, opening off from these balconies, are ten thousand rooms. These rooms have been included in the building to accommodate women students from all parts of the world, who may wish to take part in the physical drill or educational advantages afforded by this great central institute for the training of womankind. Attached to the Hall of Liberty are large lecture-rooms, studying-rooms, and reading-rooms, and in connection with these a monster library. Outside the building are the stables, one of the wonders of London, the grooms being entirely composed of girls and women; and clustering round the mother structure like a miniature town, are the pretty cottages and dwellings of the immense staff of instructors, teachers, and lecturers connected with the institution. It is a wonderful structure, and its erection is a triumph, the magnitude of which can hardly be measured, for Hector D’Estrange. It was he who conceived it, it was he who submitted it to the approval of his countrymen, and it was he who commanded the expenditure of the voluminous subscriptions, which in answer to his appeal poured in from all quarters of the globe. No less marvellous was the rapidity with which it arose, thousands of workmen having been employed in its construction.
It is finished now; it towers to heaven like a mighty giant from some unknown world. The gilded Statues of Liberty flash back the sun’s rays, and stand out to view for miles and miles around. All London is flocking to the ceremony of its opening, for is not the genius that conceived and placed it there to be the principal functionary of the day?