Thord pushed him gently aside, and went into the house. There on the floor lay the naked body of a dead child, so emaciated as to be almost a skeleton; and across it, holding it close with one arm, was stretched a woman, half clothed, her face hidden in her unbound dark hair, breathing heavily in a drugged sleep. Great tears filled Thord’s eyes.
“God exists!” he said,— “And He can bear to look upon a sight like this! If I were God, I should hate myself for letting such things be!”
“Perhaps He does hate Himself!” said the man Matsin, who had also come in, and now looked at the scene with sullen apathy— “That may be the cause of all our troubles! I don’t understand the ways of God; or the ways of man either. I have done no harm. I married the woman — and we had that one child. I worked hard for both. I could not get sufficient money to keep us going; I did metal work — very well, so I was told. But they make it all abroad now by machinery — I cannot compete. They don’t want new designs they say — the old will serve. I do anything now that I can — but it is difficult. You, too, — you starve with us!”
“I am poor, if that is what you mean,” said Thord,— “but take all I have to-night, Matsin—” and he emptied a small purse of silver coins into the man’s hand. “Bury the poor little innocent one; — and comfort the mother when she wakes. Comfort her! — love her! — she needs love! I will be back again to-morrow.”
He strode away quickly, and Matsin remained at his door turning over the money in his hand.
“He will sacrifice something he needs himself, for this,” he muttered. “Yet that is the man they say the King would hang if ever he got hold of him! By Heaven! — the King himself should hang first!”
Meanwhile Sergius Thord went on, slackening his pace a little as he came near his own destination, a tall and narrow house at the end of the street, with a single light shining in one of the upper windows. There was a gas-lamp some few paces off, and under this stood a man reading, or trying to read, a newspaper by its flickering glare. Thord glanced at him with some suspicion — the stranger was too near his own lodging for his pleasure, for he was always on his guard against spies. Approaching more closely, he saw that though the man was shabbily attired in a rough pilot suit, much the worse for wear, he nevertheless had the indefinable look and bearing of a gentleman. Acting on impulse, as he often did, Thord spoke to him.
“A rough night for reading by lamplight, my friend!” he said.
The man looked up, and smiled.
“Yes, it is, rather! But I have only just got the evening paper.”
“Any special news?”
“No — only this—” and he pointed to a bold headline— “The King versus The Jesuits.”
“Ah!” said Thord, and he studied the looks and bearing of the stranger with increasing curiosity. “What do you think of it?”
“What do I think? May I ask, without offence, what you think?”
“I think,” said Thord slowly, “that the King has for once in his life done a wise thing.”
“‘For once in his life!’” repeated the stranger dubiously— “Then I presume your King is, generally speaking, a fool?”
“If you are a subject of his—” began Thord slowly ——
“Thank Heaven, I am not! I am a mere wanderer — a literary loafer — a student of men and manners. I read books, and I write them too, — this will perhaps explain the eccentricity of my behaviour in trying to read under the lamplight in the rain!”
He smiled again, and the smile was irresistibly pleasant. Something about him attracted Thord, and after a pause he asked:
“If you are, as you say, a wanderer and a stranger in this town, can I be of service to you?”
“You are very kind!” said the other, turning a pair of deep, dark, grey meditative eyes upon him,— “And I am infinitely obliged to you for the suggestion. But I really want nothing. As a matter of fact, I am waiting for two friends of mine who have just gone into one of the foul and filthy habitations here, to see what they can do for a suddenly bereaved family. The husband and father fell dead in the street before our eyes, — and those who picked him up said he was drunk, but it turned out that he was merely starved, — merely! — you understand? Merely starved! We found his home, — and the poor widow is wailing and weeping, and the children are crying for food. I confess myself quite unable to bear the sight, and so I have sent all the money I had about me to help them for to-night at least. By my faith, they are most hopelessly, incurably miserable!”
“Their lot is exceedingly common in these quarters,” said Thord, sorrowfully. “Day after day, night after night, men, women and children toil, suffer and die here without ever knowing what it is to have one hour of free fresh air, one day of rest and joy! Yet this is a great city, — and we live in a civilized country!” He smiled bitterly, then added— “You have done a good action; and you need no thanks, or I would thank you; for my life’s work lies among these wretched poor, and I am familiar with their tragic histories. Good-night!”
“Pray do not go!” said the stranger suddenly— “I should like to talk to you a little longer, if you have no objection. Is there not some place near, where we can go out of this rain and have a glass of wine together?”
Sergius Thord stood irresolute, — gazing at him, half in liking, half in distrust.
“Sir,” he said at last, “I do not know you — and you do not know me. If I told you my name, you would probably not seek my company!”
“Will you tell it?” suggested the stranger cheerfully— “Mine is at your service — Pasquin Leroy. I fear my fame as an author has not reached your ears!”
Thord shook his head.
“No. I have never heard of you. And probably you have never heard of me. My name is Sergius Thord.”
“Sergius Thord!” echoed the stranger; “Now that is truly remarkable! It is a happy coincidence that we should have met to-night. I have just seen your name in this very paper which you caught me reading — see! — the next heading under that concerning the King and the Jesuits— ‘Thord’s Rabble.’ Are not you that same Thord?”
“I am!” said Thord proudly, his eyes shining as he took the paper and perused quickly the few flashy lines which described the crowd outside the Cathedral that afternoon, and set him down as a crazy Socialist, and disturber of the peace, “And the ‘rabble’ as this scribbling fool calls it, is the greater part of this city’s population. The King may intimidate his Court; but I, Sergius Thord, with my ‘rabble’ can intimidate both Court and King!”
He drew himself up to his full majestic height — a noble figure of a man with his fine heroic head and eagle-like glance of eye, — and he who had called himself Pasquin Leroy, suddenly held out his hand.
“Let me see more of you, Sergius Thord!” he said,— “You are the very man for me! They say in this paper that you spoke to a great multitude outside the Cathedral this afternoon, and interfered with the religious procession; they also say you are the head of a Society called the Revolutionary Committee; — now let me work for you in some department of that business!”
“Let you work for me?” echoed Thord astonished— “But how?”
“In this way—” replied the other— “I write Socialistic works, — and for this cause have been expelled from my native home and surroundings. I have a little money — and some influence, — and I will devote both to your Cause. Will you take me, and trust me?”
Thord caught his extended hand, and looked at him with a kind of fierce intentness.
“You mean it?” he said in thrilling tones— “You mean it positively and truly?”
“Positively and truly!” said Leroy— “If you are working to remedy the frightful evils abounding in this wretched quarter of the poor, I will help you! If you are striving to destroy rank abuses, I ask nothing better than to employ my pen in your service. I will get work on the press here — I will do all I can to aid your purposes and carry out your intentions. I have no master, so am free to do
as I like; and I will devote myself to your service so long as you think I can be of any use to you.”
“Wait!” said Thord— “You must not be carried away by a sudden generous impulse, simply because you have witnessed one scene of the continual misery that is going on here daily. To belong to our Committee means much more than you at present realize, and involves an oath which you may not be willing to take! And what of the friends you spoke of?”
“They will do what I do,” replied Leroy— “They share my fortunes — likewise my opinions; — and here they come, — so they can speak for themselves,” this, as two men emerged from a dark street on the left, and came full into the lamplight’s flare— “Axel Regor, Max Graub — come hither! Fortune has singularly favoured us to-night! Let me present to you my friend—” and he emphasized the word, “Sergius Thord!”
Both men started ever so slightly as the introduction was performed, and Thord looked at them with fresh touches of suspicion here and there lurking in his mind. But he was brave; and having once proceeded in a given direction was not in the habit of turning back. He therefore saluted both the new-comers with grave courtesy.
“I trust you!” he then said curtly to Leroy, “and I think you will not betray my trust. If you do, it will be the worse for you!”
His lips parted in a slight sinister smile, and the two who were respectively called Axel Regor and Max Graub, exchanged anxious glances. But Leroy showed no sign of hesitation or alarm.
“Your warning is quite unnecessary, Sergius Thord,” he said,— “I pledge you my word with my friendship — and my word is my bond! I will also hold myself responsible for my companions.”
Thord bent his head in silent recognition of this assurance.
“Then follow me, if such is your desire,” he said— “Remember, there is yet time to go in another direction, and to see me no more; but if you once do cast in your lot with mine the tie between us is indissoluble!”
He paused, as though expecting some recoil or hesitation on the part of those to whom he made this statement, but none came. He therefore strode on, and they followed, till arriving at the door of the tall, narrow house, where the light in the highest window gleamed like a signal, he opened it with a small key and entered, holding it back courteously for his three new companions to enter with him. They did so, and he closed the door. At the same moment the light was extinguished in the upper window, and the outside of the house became a mere wall of dense blackness in the driving rain.
CHAPTER VII. — THE IDEALISTS
Up a long uncarpeted flight of stairs, and into a large lofty room on the second storey, Thord led the way for his newly-found disciples to follow. It was very dark, and they had to feel the steps as they went, their guide offering neither explanation nor apology for the Cimmerian shades of gloom. Stumbling on hands and knees they spoke not a word; though once Max Graub uttered something like an oath in rough German; but a whisper from Leroy rebuked and silenced him, and they pursued their difficult ascent until, arriving at the room mentioned, they found themselves in the company of about fifteen to twenty men, all sitting round a table under two flaring billiard lamps, suspended crookedly from the ceiling. As Thord entered, these men all rose, and gave him an expressive sign of greeting with the left hand, the same kind of gesture which had passed between him and Zegota on the Cathedral steps in the morning. Zegota himself was one of their number. There was also another personage in the room who did not rise, and who gave no sign whatever. This was a woman, who sat in the embrasure of a closed and shuttered window with her back to the whole company. It was impossible to say whether she was young or old, plain or handsome, for she was enveloped in a long black cloak which draped her from shoulder to heel. All that could be distinguished of her was the white nape of her neck, and a great twist of dead gold hair. Her presence awakened the liveliest interest in Pasquin Leroy, who found it impossible to avoid nudging his companions, and whispering —
“A woman! By Heaven, this drama becomes interesting!”
But Axel Regor and Max Graub were seemingly not disposed to levity, and they offered no response to their lighter minded comrade beyond vague hasty side-looks of alarm, which appeared to amuse him to an extent that threatened to go beyond the limits of caution. Sergius Thord, however, saw nothing of their interchange of glances for the moment, — he had other business to settle. Addressing himself at once to the men assembled, he said. —
“Friends and brothers! I bring you three new associates! I have not sought them; they have sought me. On their own heads be their destinies! They offer their names to the Revolutionary Committee, and their services to our Cause!”
A low murmur of approbation from the company greeted this announcement. Johan Zegota advanced a little in front of all the rest.
“Every man is welcome to serve us who will serve us faithfully,” he said. “But who are these new comrades, Sergius Thord? What are they?”
“That they must declare for themselves,” said Thord, taking a chair at the head of the table which was evidently his accustomed place— “Put them through their examination!”
He seated himself with the air of a king, his whole aspect betokening an authority that would not be trifled with or gainsaid.
“Gott in Himmel!”
This exclamation burst suddenly from the lips of the man called Max Graub.
“What ails you?” said Thord, turning full upon him his glittering eyes that flashed ferocity from under their shaggy brows— “Are you afraid?”
“Afraid? Not I!” protested Graub— “But, gentlemen, think a moment! You speak of putting us — myself and my friends — through an examination! Why should you examine us? We are three poor adventurers — what can we have to tell?”
“Much, I should imagine!” retorted Zegota— “Adventurers are not such without adventures! Your white hairs testify to some experience of life.”
“My white hairs — my white hairs!” exclaimed Graub, when a touch from Axel Regor apparently recalled something to his mind for he began to laugh— “True, gentlemen! Very true! I had forgotten! I have had some adventures and some experiences! My good friend there, Pasquin Leroy, has also had adventures and experiences, — so have we all! Myself, I am a poor German, grown old in the service of a bad king! I have been kicked out of that service — Ach! — just for telling the truth; which is very much the end of all truth telling, is it not? Tell lies, — and kings will reward you and make you rich and great! — but tell truth, and see what the kings will give you for it! Kicks, and no halfpence! Pardon! I interrupt this so pleasant meeting!”
All the men present looked at him curiously, but said nothing in response to his outburst. Johan Zegota, seating himself next to Sergius Thord, opened a large parchment volume that lay on the table, and taking up a pen addressed himself to Thord, saying —
“Will you ask the questions, or shall I?”
“You, by all means! Proceed in the usual manner.”
Whereupon Zegota began. —
“Stand forth, comrades!”
The three strangers advanced.
“Your names? Each one answer separately, please!”
“Pasquin Leroy!”
“Axel Regor!”
“Max Graub!”
“Of what nationality, Pasquin Leroy?”
Leroy smiled. “Truly I claim none!” he said; “I was born a slave.”
“A slave!”
The words were repeated in tones of astonishment round the room.
“Why, yes, a slave!” repeated Leroy quietly. “You have heard of black slaves, — have you not heard of white ones too? There are countries still, where men purchase other men of their own blood and colour; — tyrannous governments, which force such men to work for them, chained to one particular place till they die. I am one of those, — though escaped for the present. You can ask me more of my country if you will; but a slave has no country save that of his master. If you care at all for my services, you will spare me furt
her examination on this subject!”
Zegota looked enquiringly at Thord.
“We will pass that question,” said the latter, in a low tone.
Zegota resumed —
“You, Axel Regor — are you a slave too?”
Axel Regor smiled languidly.
“No! I am what is called a free-born subject of the realm. I do what I like, though not always how I like, or when I like!”
“And you, Max Graub?”
“German!” said that individual firmly; “German to the backbone — Socialist to the soul! — and an enemy of all ruling sovereigns, — particularly the one that rules me!”
Thord smiled darkly.
“If you feel inclined to jest, Max Graub, I must warn you that jesting is not suited to the immediate moment.”
“Jesting! I never was more in earnest in my life!” declared Graub,— “Why have I left my native country? Merely because it is governed by Kaiser Wilhelm!”
Thord smiled again.
“The subject of nationality seems to excite all three of you,” he said, “and though we ask you the question pro forma, it is not absolutely necessary that we should know from whence you come. We require your names, and your oath of fealty; but before binding yourselves, I will read you our laws, and the rules of membership for this society; rules to which, if you join us, you are expected to conform.”
“Suppose, for the sake of argument,” said Pasquin Leroy,— “that after hearing the rules we found it wisest to draw back? Suppose my friends, — if not myself, — were disinclined to join your Society; — what would happen?”
As he asked the question a curious silence fell upon the company, and all eyes were turned upon the speaker. There was a dead pause for a moment, and then Thord replied slowly and with emphasis: —
“Nothing would happen save this, — that you would be bound by a solemn oath never to reveal what you had heard or seen here to-night, and that you would from henceforth be tracked every day and hour of your life by those who would take care that you kept your oath!”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 531
