“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.