Captains and the Kings

by Taylor Caldwell

  "You don't resign from a club like that," Joseph had said, with a twitch of his mouth. "To use another metaphor, I have a tiger by the tail, and you know what happens to a man who lets go the tail." "But you want me to know them, and for them to know me?" Joseph had considered him a few moments. "Yes. They can make you, Rory. They can make you President of the United States of America, though you'd never see a hand of them anywhere, or hear one of their voices, or catch a glimpse of them. And--they could destroy you, too, and no one would ever know who did it." He really smiled then. "Don't be afraid of that, though. I, like Disraeli, know too much about them." "And all I'd have to do is serve them like a good little valet? Is that it, Pa? An obedient little servant. Never questioning. Running about with a silver salver." Then Joseph's face had become bleak. "Aren't we all servants in one way or another? Don't be a fool, Rory." There were those who were always silenced by Joseph's ambiguous remarks, or confused by them, but Rory was not among them, a fact which Joseph did not as yet know. "You should never have joined them in the first place, Pa." "Idiot," Joseph had replied, and he was smiling again. "Without them I'd really not be what I am. And what I am is what I have lived for, all the days of my life." Now, as Rory sat among the men of whom his father had told him, he understood completely what his father had meant: That it was very probable that they did not consider themselves in the least wicked or reprehensible or evil or amoral. They had looked upon the world and made that world their own. They were a criminal conspiracy, but they did not regard themselves as either criminal or conspirators. They were businessmen, realists. What gave them power was, in their eyes, virtuous and righteous and reasonable, for who was more worthy than themselves to control and manipulate the world of men? Someone had to rule, and who better than men of intellect, money, strength, and unemotional judgment? But what could they do, thought Rory now as he listened with youthful deference to the gentlemen about the table, if the tens, hundreds, of millions of people opposed them? Call out their mercenaries in every country in the world, their armies, their navies, which they control? Could they slaughter a whole planet? But there was no danger of that, of the corrupted people rebelling, for the people never learned or knew the names of their enemies, of those who ordered wars or their cessation, of those who threw down or raised up governments, of those who inflated or devalued money, who decided who was to live and who to die or be exiled. In fact, the people would not care under any circumstances so long as their tiny pleasures and tiny needs were met. It was such an ancient story: bread and circuses. Benevolent despotism accompanied by an entertaining show of elections and plebiscites--which meant nothing at all. For Rory, listening, understood that these men did consider themselves benevolent, and that they were convinced that their aims were for the benefit of mankind in general. The gentleman from Zurich, with an eye to informing this young man, spoke in a soft and even compassionate voice. Had not the world from the very beginning been torn into bloody fragments by ambitious petty rulers, tyrants, politicians, emperors, national factions, chauvinism, and other gaudy barbarisms? That was because the world had always been ruled by passions and emotions, and never by reason and discipline. "Once we are in full power," said the gentleman, "working together, collaborating together, all over the world, then will we have a true millennium of general prosperity' and absolute peace. Once we control governments, without dispute, their currencies and their people, their schools, universities and churches, the earth will know its first tranquility." The others nodded their grave approval. Why, the sons of bitches believe they are Messiahs! thought Rory, and smiled and smiled his resplendent smile, and nodded when it seemed the occasion to nod. The tremendous individualism which was his as an Irishman listened and thought under the bright cover of his amiability. He knew that his father had heard this same story thousands of times, and that he had derided it in himself, and to his son only. "There's many a murderer," Joseph had said, "who believed he was doing his victim a favor, and probably convinced that victim, too. And there's many a thief, individual or government, who persuaded their victims that by depriving them of their money through taxes or other confiscations they were advancing the 'public good,' or removing a source of corruption. Yet all the time they are driven only by the lust for supreme power, the lust to elevate themselves over their fellowmen, to become supermen, the Elite. You have to hate your brother a lot to come to that conclusion, I am thinking." Rory, relaxed, free, deferential and boyish, listened, not with the black inner rage which had been his father's, but with intensity of purpose and an immense if amused contempt. He did not underestimate them. He knew their power. All at once, and for the first time, he felt a surge of ambition for the destiny his father had decided for him. He loved a fight. In his youth and strength and pride he felt equal in potency to any of these men, for he had blood in his veins and not bankers' ink, and he had been told that he had eloquence both in speaking and writing. From nowhere came the memory of what he had been taught in random religious lessons concerning the Revelations of St. John, who had prophesied these men and had written that one day they would rule the world entirely, and that none could buy or sell without their permission, "both small and great, rich and poor, free or bond." Was it the mark of the Beast, that men would have to wear on their foreheads? Rory could not remember, and his smile became more respectful and even a little tender. Because Rory was a superb actor, which his father was not, he could control the very glinting of his eyes and could hide twitches of muscles or the slightest facial expression. They had never fully liked or accepted Joseph, because of his irony and sardonic remarks at the gravest and more portentous moments. They did not like men who made sallies against what was accepted as sacred. Joseph had served them, and they had served him, but their trust was not complete. Looking at his son there was not one there who did not conclude that Rory was their "man" for the future, young, personable, ambitious, materialistic, and a fine politician. They knew he was acting; they were not deceived. They knew he was trying to impress them, and they felt kindly towards him for that. He was a young man without illusions. Under their tutelage, and perhaps under his father's, he would be theirs. Rory knew what they were thinking, and he thought, Why, they are only human after all, damn their black souls! Rory also knew that he must never tell his father his real opinion of his associates, for Joseph was no hypocrite, no dissembler, and no actor, and it was possible that at some time, in a fit of revulsion, he might inadvertently convey to them his son's true convictions. That would be fatal. Rory was not overly patriotic, as were other young men of his age, nor was he fervent in his belief that America was the noblest, most pure, most righteous, most free, most benign of any nation of the past or present. He had listened to too many politicians, the mouthpieces of these men. He knew that America was on the road to empire, and that she had already begun to flex her muscles and test the edge of her sword. But, after all, she was his country. Too, no son of a bitch was ever going to tell Rory Armagh what to do. Rory was no humanitarian, no defender of the public weal, but he revolted at the thought of being the serf of these creatures, and his children serfs also, their convictions formed in their schools and by their religious and political leaders, who were in their pay or dared not reveal the face of the enemy. The complete enslavement of humanity not only in their daily work and rounds but in their souls and their minds--which was the more terrible--made Rory's Irish spirit glow like an internal core of fire ready to burst into a conflagration. To obtain what they had plotted for so long, from grandfather to father to son, they must first throw the world into chaos, dismantle governments, incite violence and fury among the mindless masses, cause enfeebling wars which would weaken any nation ready to contest with them, raise up tyrants who would subdue the people, destroy the validity of nations' currencies. Then, in the general catastrophe they could exert their unbelievable power and assume command. Not by any coarse or rude or cynical word did they convey all this to Rory, but with an air of judicious virtue and impregnable confidence
. They did not say, "We shall have the damned world on its knees to us." They said, "It is time that men of experience, culture, intellect and justice exert their influence for a Better World for Everyone, under one government and one Constitution. we are already busy in The Hague--" I bet, thought Rory, and gave them his soft respectful look. Joseph watched him and for the first time wondered if he really knew anything about this shining son of his, and if he had ever guessed his thoughts. There was wine on the table and hard English biscuits and the decanter was passed from man to man, and the silver salver also, for they would not permit a servant who might eavesdrop on conversations which affected the life and death of a planet. The wine was excellent. Rory toasted the French gentleman, who first looked surprised, then smiled palely, and nodded. The English gentlemen, for there were several here, would have preferred sherry but they drank the wine with an air of condescension--who drank table wine except at dinner? Rory felt hilarious. They made more tiny little mouths over the wine than they did over their infamous plots. The rainy dusk outside deepened and there was a hiss of hail at the tall draped windows and the fires flared up in orange spurts. The gentlemen got down to the business of America, as well as of the world in general. "Your Scardo Society," the gentleman from Russia said to Joseph. "Is it progressing?" "We now have an equal number of Democrats and Republicans in it, and a few Populists and Socialist-Farmers." The gentleman from Russia nodded. "It goes well, then." "But Gospodin," said the French gentleman, "how goes it in Russia?" "Still not ready," said the Russian gentleman, with a rueful air. "But soon. Our young Lenin is coming along splendidly. He was doing very well at Samara as a barrister. His polemic writings are attracting wide attention among disaffected Russian youth. Not too long ago he went to meet Zasulich, Axelrod, and Plekhanov, and the Marxist Osvobozhdcnie Truda (Deliverance of Labor.) As you know, he was exiled in 897 to the Yenisei Proviuec in Siberia. He recently married a good comrade, Natasha Krupskaya, and has finished his great work, The Development of Capitalism in Russia, which we will soon contrive to have published. The Prussian Czar is very lenient." The gentleman smiled. "Yes, we have great hopes for Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov. He is our best theoretician against the falsifiers of Marx." Dear little proletarian, thought Rory. Dear little aristocrat. Now they turned in earnest to the subject of America. "I thought," said the gentleman from Zurich, "that we had succeeded very well in America, in 1894, when your Congress enacted a z percent Federal income tax on incomes over $4000 a year. As a beginning--of the control of the people's property. Yet, Herr Armagh, it was permitted by one of your old fools, Senator Sherman, to call it 'communism, socialism, devilism,' and another of your old fools, Joseph Choate, the dean of the New York Bar, dared to proclaim to the United States Supreme Court that the tax 'was a communist march on private property'--" "Well, isn't it?" said Joseph. It was the sort of remark, reflected Rory, for which Pa was probably famous here, and he saw the other gentlemen's faint frowns. The gentleman from Zurich delicately cleared his throat. "That is beside the point, Herr Armagh. We have discussed this question, and the debacle, a few times before, and we discuss it now because of the urgency of the occasion. Your Supreme Court declared, on May o, 1895, that the income tax was un-Constitutional. You have never told us fully what you did about it." "I told you all I knew," said Joseph, in an irascible tone which was clearly out of place in this genteel gathering. "I talked confidentially with old Justice John Harlan before the decision was rendered, and he delivered his opinion to the Court that their final decision was 'a monstrous, wicked injustice to the many for the benefit of the favored few.' We had newspapers denounce the Court's decision. We arranged for a young man you all know, William Jennings Bryan, to give his famous proclamation: 'You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns, you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.' While this did not refer directly to the income tax, it was understood to be so. In fact, we got him nominated for President, free silver or no, to expand the currency, about which most of my countrymen are dubious. You must admit that all this is no mean advance in America, which is suspicious of the tax-gatherer, the demagogue and enthusiastic innovators of all kinds, not to mention tinkerers with the currency." "Yes, yes," said the gentleman from Germany, with impatience. "But Americans are still in favor of the gold standard, and a country with a gold standard is not easily--" "Have a little patience," said Joseph. "Rome wasn't built in a day, to coin a new aphorism." "But we are not immortal," said an English gentleman, who could not forget that Joseph was Irish. "Your newspapers, Mr. Armagh, are entirely too powerful, still, in America, and in the main they oppose our ultimate plans--which they cannot guess at as yet. Still, something has alerted them. Someone. Marcus Alonzo Hanna--he is an ambiguous man, whose measure we have not yet determined. He is a powerful Republican industrial millionaire, yet he forced many of his associates to sign intimate working agreements between them and labor. Who has alerted him to us? He helped to defeat Bryan. and was the force that elected your present President, Mr. McKinley. Did he not make speeehes, and made Mr. McKinley make speeches, that American currency was 'in danger'? who gave him that information, Sir. Armagh, which we believed had been discussed only in the midst of absolute secrecy?" "Dammed if I know," said Joseph, with more irascibility. "I know he is adamant on the subject of the gold standard, but his man, McKinley, once voted with the free critcs when he was in Congress. If he has changed his mind, Itanna changed it for him. he honestly believes that freedom can only survive on a gold standard, and, as we know, he is quite right." I le looked at his friends. "Do you suggest that Hanna meet with an accident?" his tone was derisive, but Rory saw the faces of the other men. They don't like Papa, thought Rory, with enjoyment. And my Papa is quite a man, yes sir, he is quite a man. "You must not think--though you believe you have evidence to the contrary--that all Americans are soft sheep," said Joseph. "I know it sounds incredible to you, but we do have a few men of integrity yet in the government, and in the country. They are aware, if only by instinct, of what is "behind the scenes,' as Disraeli called it. We can't murder them all, can we?" There was a thick black silence in the room, and now all the faces, despite the flickering chandelier, seemed to float, disembodied, in the gloom. Thou a gentleman said in a pained voice, "Mr. Armagh. We know vu come of a violent race, but we are not violent men. I am sure none here has ever lifted his hand against anyone. What we do is by way of reason, persuasion, public opinion, the press--whatever comes to our hands." what philanthropists! thought Rory, bending forward as if to listen with greater concentration. Joseph was assuring his colleagues that a Federal income tax was "certain to come in America in the near future," and also a Federal Reserve System, a private organization controlled by these gentlemen (a new Amendment to the Constitution, which would take from Congress the power to coin money). On the agenda was also the discussion of direct election by "the people" of United States Senators. The gentlemen nodded in approval, but appeared dissatisfied. "Only an American war can rapidly bring these things about," I see it now, thought Rory. This meeting is just a rdsum6 for my exclusive education, for all these things have been long in discussion. I should be flattered. They appear, though, to be telling a lot, but in fact they are not as vet telling me very much. They want to see how I take it before I become a Member in Good Standing.

  A Spanish gentleman looked at Joseph and said, "I liked your editorial in your newspapers, Senor Armagh, concerning Cuba: 'Blood on the roadsides, blood in the fields, blood on the doorsteps, blood, blood, blood! Is there no nation wise enough, brave enough, and strong enough to restore peace in this blood-smitten land?' Very telling, though not in the least subtle. But appealing, I gather, to American innocence and simplicity?" "I don't deserve credit for those editorials," said Joseph. "We just quoted the New York World's editorial in an issue of 896. But Americans are really in sympathy with the insurrections of Cuba, against Spanish rule, innocence and simplicity or not. with the help of the press. Pulitzer's newspaper, World, and New Yor
k Journal, speak of nothing but 'Cuban blood' now. Some of their 'extras' are even printed in red ink. Teddy Roosevelt is a wonderful help, too. He foams at Spain in almost every speech. He is an authentic internationalist." "Unfortunately, Mr. McKinley is President, and Mr. Roosevelt is only Assistant Navy Secretary," said the French gentleman, and there was another silence. Rory felt it weighing on him, but no one spoke of Mr. Roosevelt again. "I think we have done a good job in Hawaii, too," said Joseph. "we have not been idle in America, gentlemen, though you often imply that. American sugar planters and Marines have been inflamed through our efforts against Queen Liliuokalani, and are now asking the President to annex Hawaii. I often have conversations with my good friend, Captain Alfred T. Mahan of the U. S. Navy, of whom I have spoken before, and he agrees with me that America must expand beyond her borders. Cuba and Hawaii are only the beginning, he assured me. He told me that we Americans will have to 'decide the most important question confronting us, whether Eastern or Western civilization is to dominate throughout the earth and to control its future. is certainly our man, if he knows it or not." he glanced at the Russian gentleman. "You, or us?" The Russian gentleman smiled gently. "As you know, Gospodin, it is neither. It is only us, together." Rory smiled gently also. They do insist on spelling it all out for me, be thought, in case Pa hasn't told me enough in the last couple of years. But it is nice of them. I really do appreciate it. So, they were advancing a war in Cuba, against Spain, were they? how were they going to manage that? Mr. McKinley was not a warmonger, but a peaceable man. What was done would have to be catastrophic, to plunge an already hysterical America into war. Rory's pale blue eves narrowed, and then he saw his father watching him for his reactions to what be had already beard, and he gave that gentle smile again and let his eyelids relax and he looked hardly twenty years old. When they were in their carriage returning to the hotel Joseph said-- for Rory, the voluble, was uncharacteristically quiet--"What do you think of all that, my bucko?" "You've told me a lot about them before, Pa. But now I've seen them. A couple are not much older than I am, yet they all look old. Is it the portrait of Dorian Gray in reverse? Are they young somewhere else?" "Don't be frivolous," said Joseph, who knew his son was not. "I've told you: The majority of them are Good Christian Gentlemen, with quiet secluded homes and devoted families. If you asked them just what they are they would answer that they are a fraternal organization engaged in the business of consolidating the world under one government in the name of peace and tranquility and orderly society. Call--us--a mutual aid organization, too." "They are advancing their cause of a world-central government at The Hague, too, aren't they?" said Rory. Joseph gave him a sharp look, and then it softened into pride. "You are not as puerile as I thought you," he said, and touched his son on the shoulder. "But then, I don't think I ever did." "You are quite right, Pa," said Rory, after a moment. "They are, in fact, sons of bitches." He looked genial again. "I don't think they liked some of your remarks, and I don't think they entirely trust you, which is regrettable, isn't it?" "Just don't talk so much," said Joseph, and frowned. "Men's lives have hung on their tongues. Make no mistake: These men are the real rulers of the world, as I've told you before. They didn't give you their names today, but eventually they will. Yes, they will."