The Napoleon of Notting Hill
Romans and Florentines have adopted her phraseology for expressing
their own patriotism? Is Nazareth angry because as a little village it
has become the type of all little villages out of which, as the Snobs
say, no good can come? Has Athens asked every one to wear the chlamys?
Are all followers of the Nazarene compelled to wear turbans. No! but
the soul of Athens went forth and made men drink hemlock, and the soul
of Nazareth went forth and made men consent to be crucified. So has
the soul of Notting Hill gone forth and made men realise what it is to
live in a city. Just as we inaugurated our symbols and ceremonies, so
they have inaugurated theirs; and are you so mad as to contend against
them? Notting Hill is right; it has always been right. It has moulded
itself on its own necessities, its own _sine qua non_; it has accepted
its own ultimatum. Because it is a nation it has created itself; and
because it is a nation it can destroy itself. Notting Hill shall
always be the judge. If it is your will because of this matter of
General Wilson's statue to make war upon Bayswater--"
A roar of cheers broke in upon his words, and further speech was
impossible. Pale to the lips, the great patriot tried again and again
to speak; but even his authority could not keep down the dark and
roaring masses in the street below him. He said something further, but
it was not audible. He descended at last sadly from the garret in
which he lived, and mingled with the crowd at the foot of the houses.
Finding General Turnbull, he put his hand on his shoulder with a queer
affection and gravity, and said--
"To-morrow, old man, we shall have a new experience, as fresh as the
flowers of spring. We shall be defeated. You and I have been through
three battles together, and have somehow or other missed this peculiar
delight. It is unfortunate that we shall not probably be able to
exchange our experiences, because, as it most annoyingly happens, we
shall probably both be dead."
Turnbull looked dimly surprised.
"I don't mind so much about being dead," he said, "but why should you
say that we shall be defeated?"
"The answer is very simple," replied Wayne, calmly. "It is because we
ought to be defeated. We have been in the most horrible holes before
now; but in all those I was perfectly certain that the stars were on
our side, and that we ought to get out. Now I know that we ought not
to get out; and that takes away from me everything with which I won."
As Wayne spoke he started a little, for both men became aware that a
third figure was listening to them--a small figure with wondering
eyes.
"Is it really true, my dear Wayne," said the King, interrupting, "that
you think you will be beaten to-morrow?"
"There can be no doubt about it whatever," replied Adam Wayne; "the
real reason is the one of which I have just spoken. But as a
concession to your materialism, I will add that they have an organised
army of a hundred allied cities against our one. That in itself,
however, would be unimportant."
Quin, with his round eyes, seemed strangely insistent.
"You are quite sure," he said, "that you must be beaten?"
"I am afraid," said Turnbull, gloomily, "that there can be no doubt
about it."
"Then," cried the King, flinging out his arms, "give me a halberd!
Give me a halberd, somebody! I desire all men to witness that I,
Auberon, King of England, do here and now abdicate, and implore the
Provost of Notting Hill to permit me to enlist in his army. Give me a
halberd!"
He seized one from some passing guard, and, shouldering it, stamped
solemnly after the shouting columns of halberdiers which were, by this
time, parading the streets. He had, however, nothing to do with the
wrecking of the statue of General Wilson, which took place before
morning.
CHAPTER II--_The Last Battle_
The day was cloudy when Wayne went down to die with all his army in
Kensington Gardens; it was cloudy again when that army had been
swallowed up by the vast armies of a new world. There had been an
almost uncanny interval of sunshine, in which the Provost of Notting
Hill, with all the placidity of an onlooker, had gazed across to the
hostile armies on the great spaces of verdure opposite; the long
strips of green and blue and gold lay across the park in squares and
oblongs like a proposition in Euclid wrought in a rich embroidery. But
the sunlight was a weak and, as it were, a wet sunlight, and was soon
swallowed up. Wayne spoke to the King, with a queer sort of coldness
and languor, as to the military operations. It was as he had said the
night before--that being deprived of his sense of an impracticable
rectitude, he was, in effect, being deprived of everything. He was out
of date, and at sea in a mere world of compromise and competition, of
Empire against Empire, of the tolerably right and the tolerably wrong.
When his eye fell on the King, however, who was marching very gravely
with a top hat and a halberd, it brightened slightly.
"Well, your Majesty," he said, "you at least ought to be proud to-day.
If your children are fighting each other, at least those who win are
your children. Other kings have distributed justice, you have
distributed life. Other kings have ruled a nation, you have created
nations. Others have made kingdoms, you have begotten them. Look at
your children, father!" and he stretched his hand out towards the
enemy.
Auberon did not raise his eyes.
"See how splendidly," cried Wayne, "the new cities come on--the new
cities from across the river. See where Battersea advances over
there--under the flag of the Lost Dog; and Putney--don't you see the
Man on the White Boar shining on their standard as the sun catches it?
It is the coming of a new age, your Majesty. Notting Hill is not a
common empire; it is a thing like Athens, the mother of a mode of
life, of a manner of living, which shall renew the youth of the
world--a thing like Nazareth. When I was young I remember, in the old
dreary days, wiseacres used to write books about how trains would get
faster, and all the world be one empire, and tram-cars go to the moon.
And even as a child I used to say to myself, 'Far more likely that we
shall go on the crusades again, or worship the gods of the city.' And
so it has been. And I am glad, though this is my last battle."
Even as he spoke there came a crash of steel from the left, and he
turned his head.
"Wilson!" he cried, with a kind of joy. "Red Wilson has charged our
left. No one can hold him in; he eats swords. He is as keen a soldier
as Turnbull, but less patient--less really great. Ha! and Barker is
moving. How Barker has improved; how handsome he looks! It is not all
having plumes; it is also having a soul in one's daily life. Ha!"
And another crash of steel on the right showed that Barker had closed
with Notting Hill on the other side.
"Turnbull is there!" cried Wayne. "See him hurl them back! Barker is
checked! Turnbull charges--wins! But our left is broken. Wilson has
smashed Bowles and Mead, and may turn our flank. Forward, the
Provost's Guard!"
And the whole centre moved forward, Wayne's face and hair and sword
flaming in the van.
The King ran suddenly forward.
The next instant a great jar that went through it told that it had met
the enemy. And right over against them through the wood of their own
weapons Auberon saw the Purple Eagle of Buck of North Kensington.
On the left Red Wilson was storming the broken ranks, his little green
figure conspicuous even in the tangle of men and weapons, with the
flaming red moustaches and the crown of laurel. Bowles slashed at his
head and tore away some of the wreath, leaving the rest bloody, and,
with a roar like a bull's, Wilson sprang at him, and, after a rattle
of fencing, plunged his point into the chemist, who fell, crying,
"Notting Hill!" Then the Notting Hillers wavered, and Bayswater swept
them back in confusion. Wilson had carried everything before him.
On the right, however, Turnbull had carried the Red Lion banner with a
rush against Barker's men, and the banner of the Golden Birds bore up
with difficulty against it. Barker's men fell fast. In the centre
Wayne and Buck were engaged, stubborn and confused. So far as the
fighting went, it was precisely equal. But the fighting was a farce.
For behind the three small armies with which Wayne's small army was
engaged lay the great sea of the allied armies, which looked on as yet
as scornful spectators, but could have broken all four armies by
moving a finger.
Suddenly they did move. Some of the front contingents, the pastoral
chiefs from Shepherd's Bush, with their spears and fleeces, were seen
advancing, and the rude clans from Paddington Green. They were
advancing for a very good reason. Buck, of North Kensington, was
signalling wildly; he was surrounded, and totally cut off. His
regiments were a struggling mass of people, islanded in a red sea of
Notting Hill.
The allies had been too careless and confident. They had allowed
Barker's force to be broken to pieces by Turnbull, and the moment that
was done, the astute old leader of Notting Hill swung his men round
and attacked Buck behind and on both sides. At the same moment Wayne
cried, "Charge!" and struck him in front like a thunderbolt.
Two-thirds of Buck's men were cut to pieces before their allies could
reach them. Then the sea of cities came on with their banners like
breakers, and swallowed Notting Hill for ever. The battle was not
over, for not one of Wayne's men would surrender, and it lasted till
sundown, and long after. But it was decided; the story of Notting Hill
was ended.
When Turnbull saw it, he ceased a moment from fighting, and looked
round him. The evening sunlight struck his face; it looked like a
child's.
"I have had my youth," he said. Then, snatching an axe from a man, he
dashed into the thick of the spears of Shepherd's Bush, and died
somewhere far in the depths of their reeling ranks. Then the battle
roared on; every man of Notting Hill was slain before night.
Wayne was standing by a tree alone after the battle. Several men
approached him with axes. One struck at him. His foot seemed partly to
slip; but he flung his hand out, and steadied himself against the
tree.
Barker sprang after him, sword in hand, and shaking with excitement.
"How large now, my lord," he cried, "is the Empire of Notting Hill?"
Wayne smiled in the gathering dark.
"Always as large as this," he said, and swept his sword round in a
semicircle of silver.
Barker dropped, wounded in the neck; and Wilson sprang over his body
like a tiger-cat, rushing at Wayne. At the same moment there came
behind the Lord of the Red Lion a cry and a flare of yellow, and a
mass of the West Kensington halberdiers ploughed up the slope,
knee-deep in grass, bearing the yellow banner of the city before them,
and shouting aloud.
At the same second Wilson went down under Wayne's sword, seemingly
smashed like a fly. The great sword rose again like a bird, but Wilson
seemed to rise with it, and, his sword being broken, sprang at Wayne's
throat like a dog. The foremost of the yellow halberdiers had reached
the tree and swung his axe above the struggling Wayne. With a curse
the King whirled up his own halberd, and dashed the blade in the man's
face. He reeled and rolled down the slope, just as the furious Wilson
was flung on his back again. And again he was on his feet, and again
at Wayne's throat. Then he was flung again, but this time laughing
triumphantly. Grasped in his hand was the red and yellow favour that
Wayne wore as Provost of Notting Hill. He had torn it from the place
where it had been carried for twenty-five years.
With a shout the West Kensington men closed round Wayne, the great
yellow banner flapping over his head.