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crescendo of random outrage, violent rural "Swing bands" and proletarian
Luddites attacked aristocratic homes and capitalist factories alike. Mobs in
London shattered the windows in the house of the Duke of Wellington and other
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file:///F|/rah/New%20Folder/Difference%20Engine,%20The.txt peers, and,
cobblestones in hand, lay sullenly in wait for the passing carriages of the
elite. The
Anglican bishops, who had voted against Reform in the Lords, were burned in
effigy. Ultra-radical conspirators, fired to frenzy by the furious polemics of
the atheist R B. Shelley, attacked and looted Establishment churches.
On 12 December Lord Byron introduced a new Reform Bill, more radical yet,
proposing outright disfranchisement of the hereditary British aristocracy,
including himself. This was more than the lories could bear, and Wellington
involved himself in covert planning for a military coup.
The crisis had polarized the nation. At this juncture, the middle-classes,
terrified of the prospect of anarchy, made their own move and came down on the
side of the Radicals. A tax-strike was declared, to force Wellington from
office; there was a deliberate run on the banks, in which merchants demanded
and hoarded gold specie, bringing the national economy to a grinding halt.
In Bristol, after three days of major riots, Wellington ordered the Army to
put down
"Jacobinism" by any means necessary. In the resulting massacre three hundred
people, including three prominent Radical M.P.'s, lost their lives. When the
news of the massacre reached him, a furious Byron, now calling himself
"Citizen Byron," and appearing without coat or necktie at a
London rally, called for a general strike. This rally was also attacked by
Tory cavalry, with bloody results, but Byron eluded capture. Two days later
the nation was under martial-law.
In future, the Duke of Wellington would turn his considerable military genius
against his own countrymen. The first uprisings against the Tory Regime -- as
it must now be called -- were swiftly and efficiently put down, while garrison
troops ruled all major cities. The Army remained loyal to the victor of
Waterloo, and the aristocracy, to their discredit, also threw in their lot
with the Duke.
But the Radical Party elite had escaped apprehension, abetted by a
well-organized covert network of Party faithful. By the spring of '31, any
hope of a swift military solution was over.
Mass hangings and deportations were answered by sullen resistance and vicious
guerrilla reprisals.
The Regime had destroyed any vestige of popular support, and England was in
the throes of class-
war.
-The Time of Troubles: A Popular History, 1912, BY W. E. PRATCHETT, Ph.D.,
F.R.S.
========
Somber Melodies of the Automatic Organs
[This private letter of July 1855 conveys Benjamin Disraeli's eye-witness
impressions of the funeral of Lord Byron. The text derives from a tape-spool
emitted by a Colt & Maxwell Typing
Engine. The addressee is unknown.]
Lady Annabella Byron entered on the arm of her daughter, looking very frail.
She seemed a little dazed. Both mother and daughter were very worn and white,
at the end of their forces. Then a funeral march was played -- very fine --
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the panmelodium sounding splendid amid the somber melodies of the automatic
organs.
Then the processions arrived. The Speaker first, proceeded by heralds with
white staves but in mourning-dress. The Speaker was quite splendid. He walked
slowly and firmly, very impassive and dignified; an almost Egyptianate face.
The mace was carried before him, and he wore a gold-laced gown, very fine.
Then the Ministers; Colonial Secretary, very dapper indeed. Viceroy of India
looks quite recovered from his malaria. Chairman of the Commission on Free
Trade looked the wickedest of the human race, as if writhing under a load of
disreputable guilt.
Then the House of Lords. The Lord Chancellor absolutely grotesque, and made
more so by the tremendous figure of the Sergeant-at-Arms with a silver chain
and large, white silk bows on his shoulders for mourning. Lord Babbage, pale
and upright, most dignified. Young Lord Huxley, lean, light on his feet, very
splendid. Lord Scowcroft, the shiftiest person I ever saw, in threadbare
clothes like a sexton.
The coffin came solemnly along, the bearers holding feebly onto it. The Prince
Consort Albert foremost among them, with the oddest gnawing look -- duty,
dignity, and fear. He was kept waiting, I hear, just in the doorway, and
muttered in German about the Stink.
When the coffin entered, the widowed Iron Lady looked a thousand years old.
========
The Widowed Iron Lady
So now the world falls into the hands of the little men, the hypocrites and
clerks. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]