I
The Red Hundred
It is not for you or me to judge Manfred and his works. I say вАЬManfred,вАЭ though I might as well have said вАЬGonsalez,вАЭ or for the matter of that вАЬPoiccart,вАЭ since they are equally guilty or great according to the light in which you view their acts. The most lawless of us would hesitate to defend them, but the greater humanitarian could scarcely condemn them.
From the standpoint of us, who live within the law, going about our business in conformity with the code, and unquestioningly keeping to the left or to the right as the police direct, their methods were terrible, indefensible, revolting.
It does not greatly affect the issue that, for want of a better word, we call them criminals. Such would be mankindвАЩs unanimous designation, but I thinkвБ†вАФindeed, I knowвБ†вАФthat they were indifferent to the opinions of the human race. I doubt very much whether they expected posterity to honour them.
Their action towards the cabinet minister was murder, pure and simple. Yet, in view of the large humanitarian problems involved, who would describe it as pernicious?
Frankly I say of the three men who killed Sir Philip Ramon, and who slew ruthlessly in the name of Justice, that my sympathies are with them. There are crimes for which there is no adequate punishment, and offences that the machinery of the written law cannot efface. Therein lies the justification for the Four Just MenвБ†вАФthe Council of Justice as they presently came to call themselvesвБ†вАФa council of great intellects, passionless.
And not long after the death of Sir Philip and while England still rang with that exploit, they performed an act or a series of acts that won not alone from the Government of Great Britain, but from the Governments of Europe, a sort of unofficial approval and Falmouth had his wish. For here they waged war against great world-criminals; they pitted their strength, their cunning, and their wonderful intellects against the most powerful organization of the underworld; against past masters of villainous arts, and brains equally agile.
It was the day of days for the Red Hundred. The wonderful international congress was meeting in London, the first great congress of recognised Anarchism. This was no hole-and-corner gathering of hurried men speaking furtively, but one open and unafraid with three policemen specially retained for duty outside the hall, a commissionaire to take tickets at the outer lobby, and a shorthand writer with a knowledge of French and Yiddish to make notes of remarkable utterances.
The wonderful congress was a fact. When it had been broached there were people who laughed at the idea; Niloff of Vitebsk was one because he did not think such openness possible. But little Peter (his preposterous name was Konoplanikova, and he was a reporter on the staff of the foolish Russkoye Znam≈Їa), this little Peter who had thought out the whole thing, whose idea it was to gather a conference of the Red Hundred in London, who hired the hall and issued the bills (bearing in the top left-hand corner the inverted triangle of the Hundred) asking those Russians in London interested in the building of a Russian SailorsвАЩ Home to apply for tickets, who, too, secured a hall where interruption was impossible, was happyвБ†вАФyea, little brothers, it was a great day for Peter.
вАЬYou can always deceive the police,вАЭ said little Peter enthusiastically; вАЬcall a meeting with a philanthropic object andвБ†вАФvoil√†!вАЭ
Wrote Inspector Falmouth to the assistant-commissioner of police:вБ†вАФ
вАЬYour respected communication to hand. The meeting to be held tonight at the Phoenix Hall, Middlesex Street, E., with the object of raising funds for a Russian SailorsвАЩ Home is, of course, the first international congress of the Red Hundred. Shall not be able to get a man inside, but do not think that matters much, as meeting will be engaged throwing flowers at one another and serious business will not commence till the meeting of the inner committee.
вАЬI enclose a list of men already arrived in London, and have the honour to request that you will send me portraits of undermentioned men.вАЭ
There were three delegates from Baden, Herr Schmidt from Frieburg, Herr Bleaumeau from Karlsruhe, and Herr Von Dunop from Mannheim. They were not considerable persons, even in the eyes of the world of Anarchism; they called for no particular notice, and therefore the strange thing that happened to them on the night of the congress is all the more remarkable.
Herr Schmidt had left his pension in Bloomsbury and was hurrying eastward. It was a late autumn evening and a chilly rain fell, and Herr Schmidt was debating in his mind whether he should go direct to the rendezvous where he had promised to meet his two compatriots, or whether he should call a taxi and drive direct to the hall, when a hand grasped his arm.
He turned quickly and reached for his hip-pocket. Two men stood behind him and but for themselves the square through which he was passing was deserted.
Before he could grasp the Browning pistol, his other arm was seized and the taller of the two men spoke.
вАЬYou are Augustus Schmidt?вАЭ he asked.
вАЬThat is my name.вАЭ
вАЬYou are an Anarchist?вАЭ
вАЬThat is my affair.вАЭ
вАЬYou are at present on your way to a meeting of the Red Hundred?вАЭ
Herr Schmidt opened his eyes in genuine astonishment.
вАЬHow did you know that?вАЭ he asked.
вАЬI am Detective Simpson from Scotland Yard, and I shall take you into custody,вАЭ was the quiet reply.
вАЬOn what charge?вАЭ demanded the German.
вАЬAs to that I shall tell you later.вАЭ
The man from Baden shrugged his shoulders.
вАЬI have yet to learn that it is an offence in England to hold opinions.вАЭ
A closed motorcar entered the square, and the shorter of the two whistled and the chauffeur drew up near the group.
The Anarchist turned to the man who had arrested him.
вАЬI warn you that you shall answer for this,вАЭ he said wrathfully. вАЬI have an important engagement that you have made me miss through your foolery andвБ†вАФвАЭ
вАЬGet in!вАЭ interrupted the tall man tersely.
Schmidt stepped into the car and the door snapped behind him.
He was alone and in darkness. The car moved on and then Schmidt discovered that there were no windows to the vehicle. A wild idea came to him that he might escape. He tried the door of the car; it was immovable. He cautiously tapped it. It was lined with thin sheets of steel.
вАЬA prison on wheels,вАЭ he muttered with a curse, and sank back into the corner of the car.
He did not know London; he had not the slightest idea where he was going. For ten minutes the car moved along. He was puzzled. These policemen had taken nothing from him, he still retained his pistol. They had not even attempted to search him for compromising documents. Not that he had any except the pass for the conference andвБ†вАФthe Inner Code!
Heavens! He must destroy that. He thrust his hand into the inner pocket of his coat. It was empty. The thin leather case was gone! His face went grey, for the Red Hundred is no fanciful secret society but a bloody-minded organisation with less mercy for bungling brethren than for its sworn enemies. In the thick darkness of the car his nervous fingers groped through all his pockets. There was no doubt at allвБ†вАФthe papers had gone.
In the midst of his search the car stopped. He slipped the flat pistol from his pocket. His position was desperate and he was not the kind of man to shirk a risk.
Once there was a brother of the Red Hundred who sold a password to the Secret Police. And the brother escaped from Russia. There was a woman in it, and the story is a mean little story that is hardly worth the telling. Only, the man and the woman escaped, and went to Baden, and Schmidt recognized them from the portraits he had received from headquarters, and one night.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ You understand that there was nothing clever or neat about it. English newspapers would have described it as a вАЬrevolting murder,вАЭ because the details of the crime were rather shocking. The thing that stood to SchmidtвАЩs credit in the books of the Society was that the murderer was undiscovered.
The memory of this episode came back to the Anarchist as the car stoppedвБ†вАФperhaps this was the thing the police had discovered? Out of the dark corners of his mind came the scene again, and the voice of the man.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ вАЬDonвАЩt! donвАЩt! O Christ! donвАЩt!вАЭ and Schmidt sweated.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
The door of the car opened and he slipped back the cover of his pistol.
вАЬDonвАЩt shoot,вАЭ said a quiet voice in the gloom outside, вАЬhere are some friends of yours.вАЭ
He lowered his pistol, for his quick ears detected a wheezing cough.
вАЬVon Dunop!вАЭ he cried in astonishment.
вАЬAnd Herr Bleaumeau,вАЭ said the same voice. вАЬGet in, you two.вАЭ
Two men stumbled into the car, one dumbfounded and silentвБ†вАФsave for the wheezing coughвБ†вАФthe other blasphemous and voluble.
вАЬWait, my friend!вАЭ raved the bulk of Bleaumeau; вАЬwait! I will make you sorry.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
The door shut and the car moved on.
The two men outside watched the vehicle with its unhappy passengers disappear round a corner and then walked slowly away.
вАЬExtraordinary men,вАЭ said the taller.
вАЬMost,вАЭ replied the other, and then, вАЬVon DunopвБ†вАФisnвАЩt heвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
вАЬThe man who threw the bomb at the Swiss PresidentвБ†вАФyes.вАЭ
The shorter man smiled in the darkness.
вАЬGiven a conscience, he is enduring his hour,вАЭ he said.
The pair walked on in silence and turned into Oxford Street as the clock of a church struck eight.
The tall man lifted his walking-stick and a sauntering taxi pulled up at the curb.
вАЬAldgate,вАЭ he said, and the two men took their seats.
Not until the taxi was spinning along Newgate Street did either of the men speak, and then the shorter asked:
вАЬYou are thinking about the woman?вАЭ
The other nodded and his companion relapsed into silence; then he spoke again:
вАЬShe is a problem and a difficulty, in a wayвБ†вАФyet she is the most dangerous of the lot. And the curious thing about it is that if she were not beautiful and young she would not be a problem at all. WeвАЩre very human, George. God made us illogical that the minor businesses of life should not interfere with the great scheme. And the great scheme is that animal men should select animal women for the mothers of their children.вАЭ
вАЬVenenum in auro bibitur,вАЭ the other quoted, which shows that he was an extraordinary detective, вАЬand so far as I am concerned it matters little to me whether an irresponsible homicide is a beautiful woman or a misshapen negro.вАЭ
They dismissed the taxi at Aldgate Station and turned into Middlesex Street.
The meeting-place of the great congress was a hall which was originally erected by an enthusiastic Christian gentleman with a weakness for the conversion of Jews to the New Presbyterian Church. With this laudable object it had been opened with great pomp and the singing of anthems and the enthusiastic proselytizer had spoken on that occasion two hours and forty minutes by the clock.
After twelve monthsвАЩ labour the Christian gentleman discovered that the advantages of Christianity only appeal to very rich Jews indeed, to the Cohens who become Cowans, to the Isaacs who become Grahames, and to the curious low-down Jews who stand in the same relation to their brethren as White Kaffirs to a European community.
So the hall passed from hand to hand, and, failing to obtain a music and dancing licence, went back to the mission-hall stage.
Successive generations of small boys had destroyed its windows and beplastered its walls. Successive fly-posters had touched its blank face with colour. Tonight there was nothing to suggest that there was any business of extraordinary importance being transacted within its walls. A Russian or a Yiddish or any kind of reunion does not greatly excite Middlesex Street, and had little Peter boldly announced that the congress of the Red Hundred were to meet in full session there would have been no local excitement andвБ†вАФif the truth be toldвБ†вАФhe might still have secured the services of his three policemen and commissionaire.
To this worthy, a neat, cleanly gentleman in uniform, wearing on his breast the medals for the relief of Chitral and the Sudan Campaigns, the two men delivered the perforated halves of their tickets and passed through the outer lobby into a small room. By a door at the other end stood a thin man with a straggling beard. His eyes were red-rimmed and weak, he wore long narrow buttoned boots, and he had a trick of pecking his head forward and sideways like an inquisitive hen.
вАЬYou have the word, brothers?вАЭ he asked, speaking German like one unaccustomed to the language.
The taller of the two strangers shot a swift glance at the sentinel that absorbed the questioner from his cracked patent leather boots to his flamboyant watch-chain. Then he answered in Italian:
вАЬNothing!вАЭ
The face of the guardian flushed with pleasure at the familiar tongue.
вАЬPass, brother; it is very good to hear that language.вАЭ
The air of the crowded hall struck the two men in the face like the blast from a destructor. It was unclean; unhealthyвБ†вАФthe scent of an early-morning dosshouse.
The hall was packed, the windows were closed and curtained, and as a precautionary measure, little Peter had placed thick blankets before the ventilators.
At one end of the hall was a platform on which stood a semicircle of chairs and in the centre was a table draped with red. On the wall behind the chairsвБ†вАФevery one of which was occupiedвБ†вАФwas a huge red flag bearing in the centre a great white C. It had been tacked to the wall, but one corner had broken away revealing a part of the painted scroll of the mission workers: вАЬвА¶¬†are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.вАЭ
The two intruders pushed their way through a group that were gathered at the door. Three aisles ran the length of the building, and they made their way along the central gangway and found seats near the platform.
A brother was speaking. He was a good and zealous worker but a bad orator. He spoke in German and enunciated commonplace with hoarse emphasis. He said all the things that other men had said and forgotten. вАЬThis is the time to strikeвАЭ was his most notable sentence, and notable only because it evoked a faint buzz of applause.
The audience stirred impatiently. The good Bentvitch had spoken beyond his allotted time; and there were other people to speakвБ†вАФand prosy at that. And it would be ten oвАЩclock before the Woman of Gratz would rise.
The babble was greatest in the corner of the hall, where little Peter, all eyes and startled eyebrows, was talking to an audience of his own.
вАЬIt is impossible, it is absurd, it is most foolish!вАЭ his thin voice rose almost to a scream. вАЬI should laugh at itвБ†вАФwe should all laugh, but the Woman of Gratz has taken the matter seriously, and she is afraid!вАЭ
вАЬAfraid!вАЭ
вАЬNonsense!вАЭ
вАЬOh, Peter, the fool!вАЭ
There were other things said because everybody in the vicinity expressed an opinion. Peter was distressed, but not by the epithets. He was crushed, humiliated, beaten by his tremendous tidings. He was nearly crying at the horrible thought. The Woman of Gratz was afraid! The Woman of Gratz who.вБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ It was unthinkable.
He turned his eyes toward the platform, but she was not there.
вАЬTell us about it, Peter,вАЭ pleaded a dozen voices; but the little man with the tears twinkling on his fair eyelashes waved them off.
So far from his incoherent outburst they had learnt only thisвБ†вАФthat the Woman of Gratz was afraid.
And that was bad enough.
For this womanвБ†вАФshe was a girl really, a slip of a child who should have been finishing her education somewhere in GermanyвБ†вАФthis same woman had once risen and electrified the world.
There had been a meeting in a small Hungarian town to discuss ways and means. And when the men had finished their denunciation of Austria, she rose and talked. A short-skirted little girl with two long flaxen braids of hair, thin-legged, flat-chested, angular, hiplessвБ†вАФthat is what the men of Gratz noticed as they smiled behind their hands and wondered why her father had brought her to the meeting.
But her speechвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ two hours she spoke and no man stirred. A little flat-chested girl full of sonorous phrasesвБ†вАФmostly she had collected them from the talk in Old JosephвАЩs kitchen. But with some power of her own, she had spun them together, these inconsiderable truisms, and had endowed them with a wondrous vitality.
They were old, old platitudes, if the truth be told, but at some time in the history of revolution, some long dead genius had coined them, and newly fashioned in the furnace of his soul they had shaped menвАЩs minds and directed their great and dreadful deeds.
So the Woman of Gratz arrived, and they talked about her and circulated her speeches in every language. And she grew. The hollow face of this lank girl filled, and the flat bosom rounded and there came softer lines and curves to her angular figure, and, almost before they realised the fact, she was beautiful.
So her fame had grown until her father died and she went to Russia. Then came a series of outrages which may be categorically and briefly set forth:вБ†вАФ
General Maloff shot dead by an unknown woman in his private room at the Police Bureau, Moscow.
Prince Hazallarkoff shot dead by an unknown woman in the streets of Petrograd.
Colonel Kaverdavskov killed by a bomb thrown by a woman who made her escape.
And the Woman of Gratz leapt to a greater fame. She had been arrested half a dozen times, and whipped twice, but they could prove nothing against her and elicit nothing from herвБ†вАФand she was very beautiful.
Now to the thundering applause of the waiting delegates, she stepped upon the platform and took the last speakerвАЩs place by the side of the red-covered table.
She raised her hand and absolute and complete silence fell on the hall, so much so that her first words sounded strident and shrill, for she had attuned her voice to the din. She recovered her pitch and dropped her voice to a conversational tone.
She stood easily with her hands clasped behind her and made no gesture. The emotion that was within her she conveyed through her wonderful voice. Indeed, the power of the speech lay rather in its delivery than in its substance, for only now and then did she depart from the unwritten text of Anarchism: the right of the oppressed to overthrow the oppressor; the divinity of violence; the sacredness of sacrifice and martyrdom in the cause of enlightenment. One phrase alone stood apart from the commonplace of her oratory. She was speaking of the Theorists who counsel reform and condemn violence, вАЬThese Christs who deputize their Calvaries,вАЭ she called them with fine scorn, and the hall roared its approval of the imagery.
It was the fury of the applause that disconcerted her; the taller of the two men who sat watching her realized that much. For when the shouting had died down and she strove to resume, she faltered and stammered and then was silent. Then abruptly and with surprising vehemence she began again. But she had changed the direction of her oratory, and it was upon another subject that she now spoke. A subject nearer to her at that moment than any other, for her pale cheeks flushed and a feverish light came to her eyes as she spoke.
вАЬвА¶¬†and now, with all our perfect organization, with the world almost within our graspвБ†вАФthere comes somebody who says вАШStop!вАЩвБ†вАФand we who by our acts have terrorized kings and dominated the councils of empires, are ourselves threatened!вАЭ
The audience grew deadly silent. They were silent before, but now the silence was painful.
The two men who watched her stirred a little uneasily, as though something in her speech had jarred. Indeed, the suggestion of braggadocio in her assertion of the Red HundredвАЩs power had struck a discordant note.
The girl continued speaking rapidly.
вАЬWe have heardвБ†вАФyou have heardвБ†вАФwe know of these men who have written to us. They sayвАЭвБ†вАФher voice roseвБ†вАФвАЬthat we shall not do what we do. They threaten usвБ†вАФthey threaten meвБ†вАФthat we must change our methods, or they will punish asвБ†вАФas weвБ†вАФpunish; kill as we killвБ†вАФвАЭ
There was a murmuring in the audience and men looked at one another in amazement. For terror unmistakable and undisguised was written on her pale face and shone from those wondrous eyes of hers.
вАЬBut we will defyвБ†вАФвАЭ
Loud voices and the sound of scuffling in the little anteroom interrupted her, and a warning word shouted brought the audience to its feet.
вАЬThe police!вАЭ
A hundred stealthy hands reached for cunning pockets, but somebody leapt upon a bench, near the entrance, and held up an authoritative hand.
вАЬGentlemen, there is no occasion for alarmвБ†вАФI am Detective-Superintendent Falmouth from Scotland Yard, and I have no quarrel with the Red Hundred.вАЭ
Little Peter, transfixed for the moment, pushed his way towards the detective.
вАЬWho do you wantвБ†вАФwhat do you want?вАЭ he asked.
The detective stood with his back to the door and answered.
вАЬI want two men who were seen to enter this hall: two members of an organization that is outside the Red Hundred. TheyвБ†вАФвАЭ
вАЬHa!вАЭ The woman who still stood upon the platform leant forward with blazing eyes.
вАЬI knowвБ†вАФI know!вАЭ she cried breathlessly; вАЬthe men who threatened usвБ†вАФwho threatened meвБ†вАФThe Four Just Men!вАЭ