HOW MEN SEE RED
I need not tell at length of the wonderful talk, so new and strange to
me, in which men and things were judged wholly from a revolutionary
point of view. But all the same I began to perceive that the men before
me were really and fundamentally simple souls, to whom the future state
of Liberty and Equality appeared as a kind of fairy godmother. Out of
some inexhaustible bag she would pay each man according to his family
needs, money sufficient for his wants and pleasures. He would labour
just long enough to place an equivalent in the Fairy Godmother's hands,
but no longer. Their wives would keep in order the wardrobes of the
bachelor leaders and orators. They would at certain hours also set their
houses in order. Others would clean the schools and public-buildings,
and for such services additional monies would accrue.
The immediate settlement with the Small Arms Company and its manager was
considered purely a temporary matter. Oh, yes, Monsieur Deventer was a
good man, and no one could find any fault with him so far as the work
was concerned. But, of course, there would be no real peace till they
themselves owned the mines and factories, the rolling-mills, the
assembling sheds and the hard-stone quarries. Then, indeed, a golden
flood would flow directly into their pockets, and in a year or two they
might be busily building houses "like proprietors." It was their own
word, and even then they did see the delightful incongruity of the
proposal. I did not think it worth while to point out that if they
disinherited the mill-owners, a younger and still more advanced
generation would very hastily expropriate any villas they might build.
But one question I did put to them. "Supposing," I said, "that you take
possession of the Arms Factories and carry them on dividing the proceeds
among you in proper ratio, after all machinery such as you use is
delicate. It wears out quickly. Who is to replace it? Will you keep back
so much each week from your wages? Whom will you entrust with the money?
How do you know that he will not escape to Switzerland or Italy,
carrying your new machinery with him in his breeches pocket?"
This they could not answer themselves. They had not thought of it. Of
course, they were accustomed to seeing Deventer and his gang installing
a new machine, but where it came from or who paid for it never crossed
their minds. With one accord they looked to Gaston Cremieux. He would
know what to reply, for he had taught them all they knew. Only by his
teaching did they understand even so much. His answer was ready.
"The Commune will lay aside so much of the factory profits each week or
month for repairs, the renewal of machinery, the introduction of new
types, and so on. This deduction shall be made before wages can be
paid."
Such was the oracle's decision, which to me seemed just and natural, but
it was wonderful to see the swiftly darkening brows of those who
listened.
"What, the Commune would keep back a part of our earnings!" cried
Pipe-en-Bois. "Then I say that we will only have exchanged one master
for another, and it is not worth the trouble."
Nor could he be moved from his position. Gaston Cremieux could silence
him, telling him that doubtless he would himself be a member of the
Commune of Aramon. But the man's dark mask as of a gargoyle only took on
a deeper scowl, and he looked from one to the other of his companions,
sure of their sympathy as he repeated, "What is the use of changing when
the Commune will steal from us the earnings of our hands even as the
masters do now?"
These were early days and militant theorists (as at present) found
construction as difficult as destruction was easy.
Marvelling I sat, and viewed about me these grave men, the elect of the
factories and mills, accomplished artisans, yet even now incapable of
leadership, or even of submitting to the guiding brain which would give
them a chance of success. This thoughtful young advocate of Marseilles
was their idol, yet for a mere difference of opinion they were ready to
cast him down from the throne they had just set for him. I conceived a
new opinion as to the value of popular favour, and I noted that the head
of an iconoclast had no easier a resting-pillow than that of the king
whose crown he threatened.
We waited till the feast had begun to degenerate a little. Sundry jests
and snatches of song seemed to offend the austere thoughtfulness of
Cremieux. So I made a signal to Jeanne, previously agreed upon, and she
hastened away to get ready the boat, while Gaston and I regulated the
expenses with the good hostess, her face still shining from her culinary
labours.
While she was changing a ten-franc piece from an immense pocket which
swung from her side under her blue rep petticoat, she seemed suddenly to
become aware of the noise within. She stepped to the door of the
dining-room, listened a moment, and then opening it sharply, said, "Pere
Felix, if you continue as you are doing, I shall ask you to leave my
house!"
"Pardon, Madame," said her husband instantly, rising to his feet and
bowing, and the company, feeling themselves somehow vaguely in the
wrong, rose to their feet and bowed also in the direction of the door at
which appeared the heated face of Madame la Menagere.
There was no doubt about it that Mere Felix intended to be both master
and mistress in her own house, and behind her back the men rubbed their
hands and thought how differently _they_ could manage a woman.
We stepped outside into the clean well-aired vault of the twilight. The
breeze was from the east, which in Provence of the South has not the
terrors of our wind of that name, but is soft and perfumed with the
early blossoms along the Gulf of Genoa. The Coast of Azure was sending
us up an evening blessing.
We strolled a long way in silence, taking the river road which leads
towards Aramon. Then Cremieux broke the silence by asking me brusquely
if I had known Rhoda Polly long. I did not think the question ought to
have been asked in that tone, but he had done a good deal for me that
day and I most certainly owed him a civil answer.
"I have known Rhoda Polly," I said, "ever since I can remember. We used
to fight in the garden for pig-nuts and in the woods for acorns. Rhoda
Polly scratched my face with long sharp nails, and I thumped her back
with little attention to chivalry. She could run faster than I, scratch
more savagely, and when trapped she would sometimes bite like a little
squirrel taken in the hand--yes, bite till the blood came."
Gaston Cremieux listened with a rather forced smile upon his lips. "And
the others--were they present? Were you two allowed to run about the
woods all by yourselves?"
You can change anything about a Frenchman except his idea concerning the
co-education of the sexes. Here the anarchist is at one with Monsieur
the Count de Mun, and Monsieur Jean Jaures with the Archbishop of Paris.
The convent rule, whether applied by lay mistress or sister of the Sacre
Coeur, constant supervision, a fiction of ignorance of things of the
commonest knowledge, the girl never to be out of sight of her mother or
aunt till the day she is delivered to her husband--these are what the
heart of every Frenchman believes to be the only path which the girls he
would marry should be allowed to tread. He may praise English and
American methods, allow the charm of the result, but in his heart he
prefers for himself his "snow-white gosling."
"Tell me about the college to which Rhoda Polly went," he continued,
putting aside the early fightings and scratchings as too unsatisfactory
for comment.
I told him of the restless yet ordered activity of Selborne College, of
the work and of the professors, of the days when the students were
permitted to receive young men of other colleges, properly introduced
and vouched for. I dwelt mischievously upon the friendships which arose
during the common intellectual life of these years. I pitched it all a
little strong, because I could not see why in the world he could not
take Rhoda Polly as she was, and accept her marked kindness to him
without submitting her past to hostile analysis.
When I told him all, he seemed to shake himself suddenly as a man half
awake by force of will breaks his way out of a bad dream.
"Good night," he said, "I must go back to Aramon."
And so he left me planted open-mouthed upon the river bank.