Cobden had secured seats for them in the gallery, but Garrison and Douglass lingered in the crowd, craning their necks. The bobbies were forcing them back to keep the way clear when a modest, closed carriage drew up and a tall figure in a high silk hat stepped out. “It’s Peel! It’s Robert Peel!” shouted Garrison and that started the crowd cheering. They had not recognized the Prime Minister. But the tall, pale man looked neither to the right or left. He walked straight ahead, unsmiling, and disappeared. The people were disappointed. They wanted to know him. They wanted to be friends. The cheers had not gone unheeded. In the great, open carriage with prancing horses that now turned into the square, Disraeli tightened his lips. The carriage stopped with a clatter, the footman sprang down and threw open the door. Disraeli stepped out, his head high, his silken cape enveloping him with majesty. The crowd pressed forward. “Who is it?” “Who is that man?” “Disraeli!” someone answered. “The Jew!” another voice added. They drew back then, and let him pass in silence. Frederick Douglass followed him with his eyes. There was something painful in the defiant swagger. As he disappeared Frederick caught his breath sharply. He felt a hurt in his chest. “I’m sorry for that man,” he said, in a heavy tone. “Why?” asked Garrison coolly. “He would spit upon you!” Frederick shook his head. “Let’s go in.” Suddenly, he was very tired. Inside he forgot his singular depression when, from the throne of England, Queen Victoria declared the session of Parliament open. She was only thirty-one years old at that time, not beautiful perhaps, but a radiantly happy woman. Prince Albert was at her side. She was adored by her people. None of their hardships were laid at her door. Now she felt that a crisis had been successfully averted. Her voice rang with confidence and pride as she addressed her trusted Prime Minister. And all the Lords and Ministers of the realm bowed low. The royal couple took their leave, and the business of running an empire was resumed. Every eye turned toward Robert Peel. The Prime Minister rose, very pale, and began to state his case. He had the facts. Step by step, he unfolded his plan for combating the economic stalemate: cheap raw materials for the manufacturer, no protection against fair foreign competition, cheaper seed for the farmer, the open door for foreign meat and corn; for all, cheaper living. No longer was his face cold and remote. The fires of deep conviction glowed in his eyes, and there was passion in his final declaration of independence.