For a gathering of men upon whose decision hung such momentous
issues, the Council which met that evening at Westminster seemed alike
unambitious in tone and uninspired in appearance. Some short time was
spent in one of the anterooms, where Julian was introduced to many
of the delegates. The disclosure of his identity, although it aroused
immense interest, was scarcely an unmixed joy to the majority of them.
Those who were in earnest--and they mostly were in grim and deadly
earnest--had hoped to find him a man nearer their own class. Fenn
and Bright had their own reasons for standing apart, and the extreme
pacifists took note of the fact that he had been a soldier. His coming,
however, was an event the importance of which nobody attempted to
conceal.
The Bishop was voted into the chair when the little company trooped
into the apartment which had been set aside for their more important
meetings. His election had been proposed by Miles Furley, and as it was
announced that under no circumstances would he become a candidate for
the permanent leadership of the party, was agreed to without comment. A
few notes for his guidance had been jotted down earlier in the day.
The great subject of discussion was, of course, the recently received
communication from an affiliated body of their friends in Germany,
copies of which had been distributed amongst the members.
“I am asked to explain,” the Bishop announced, in opening the
proceedings, “that this document which we all recognise as being of
surpassing importance, has been copied by Mr. Fenn, himself, and that
since, copies have been distributed amongst the members, the front
door of the building has been closed and the telephones placed under
surveillance. It is not, of course, possible that any of you could be
mistrusted, but it is of the highest importance that neither the Press,
the Government, nor the people should have any indication of what is
transpiring, until the delegate whom you choose takes the initial step.
It is proposed that until after his interview with the Prime Minister,
no delegate shall leave the place. The question now arises, what of
the terms themselves? I will ask each one of you to state his views,
commencing with Miss Abbeway.”
Every one of the twenty-three--or twenty-four now, including Julian--had
a few words to say, and the tenor of their remarks was identical. For
a basis of peace terms, the proposals were entirely reasonable, nor did
they appear in any case to be capable of misconstruction. They were laid
down in eight clauses.
1. The complete evacuation of Northern France and Belgium, with full
compensation for all damage done.
2. Alsace and Lorraine to determine their position by vote of the entire
population.
3. Servia and Roumania to be reestablished as independent kingdoms, with
such rectifications and modifications of frontier as a joint committee
should decide upon.
4. The German colonies to be restored.
5. The conquered parts of Mesopotamia to remain under the protection of
the British Government.
6. Poland to be declared an independent kingdom.
7. Trieste and certain portions of the Adriatic seaboard to be ceded to
Italy.
8. A world committee to be at once elected for the purpose of working
out a scheme of international disarmament.
“We must remember,” Miles Furley pointed out, “that the present
Government is practically pledged not to enter into peace negotiations
with a Hohenzollern.”
“That, I contend,” the Bishop observed, “is a declaration which should
never have been made. Whatever may be our own feelings with regard to
the government of Germany, the Kaiser has held the nation together and
is at the present moment its responsible head. If he has had the good
sense to yield to the demands of his people, as is proved by this
document, then it is very certain that the declaration must be
forgotten. I have reason to believe, however, that even if the
negotiations have been commenced in the name of the Kaiser, an immediate
change is likely to take place in the constitution of Germany.”
“Germany’s new form of government, I understand,” Fenn intervened, “will
be modelled upon our own, which, after the abolition of the House of
Lords, and the abnegation of the King’s prerogative, will be as near the
ideal democracy as is possible. That change will be in itself our most
potent guarantee against all future wars. No democracy ever encouraged
bloodshed. It is, to my mind, a clearly proved fact that all wars are
the result of court intrigue. There will be no more of that. The passing
of monarchical rule in Germany will mean the doom of all autocracies.”
There was a little sympathetic murmur. Julian, to whom Catherine had
been whispering, next asked a question.
“I suppose,” he said, “that no doubt can be cast upon the authenticity
of the three signatures attached to this document?”
“That’s been in my own mind, Mr. Fiske--leastwise, Mr. Orden,” Phineas
Cross, the Northumbrian, remarked, from the other side of the table.
“They’re up to any mortal dodge, these Germans. Are we to accept it as
beyond all doubt that this document is entirely genuine?”
“How can we do otherwise?” Fenn demanded. “Freistner, who is responsible
for it, has been in unofficial correspondence with us since the
commencement of the war. We know his handwriting, we know his character,
we’ve had a hundred different occasions to test his earnestness and
trustworthiness. This document is in his own writing and accompanied
by remarks and references to previous correspondence which render its
authenticity indisputable.”
“Granted that the proposals themselves are genuine, there still remain
the three signatures,” Julian observed.
“Why should we doubt them?” Fenn protested. “Freistner guarantees
them, and Freistner is our friend, the friend and champion of Labour
throughout the world. To attempt to deceive us would be to cover himself
with eternal obloquy.”
“Yet these terms,” Julian pointed out, “differ fundamentally from
anything which Germany has yet allowed to be made public.”
“There are two factors here which may be considered,” Miles Furley
intervened. “The first is that the economic condition of Germany is far
worse than she has allowed us to know. The second, which is even more
interesting to us, is the rapid growth in influence, power, and numbers
of the Socialist and Labour Party in that country.”
“Of both these factors,” the Bishop reminded them, “we have had very
frequent hints from our friends, the neutrals. Let me tell you all what
I think. I think that those terms are as much as we have the right to
expect, even if our armies had reached the Rhine. It is possible that
we might obtain some slight modifications, if we continued the war,
but would those modifications be worth the loss of a few more hundred
thousands of human lives, of a few more months of this hideous, pagan
slaughter and defilement of God’s beautiful world?”
There was a murmur of approval. A lank, rawboned Yorkshireman--David
Sands--a Wesleyan enthusiast, a local preacher, leaned across the table,
his voice shaking with earnestness:
“It’s true!” he exclaimed. “It’s the word of God! It’s for us to stop
the war. If we stop it to-night instead of to-morrow, a thousand lives
may be saved, human lives, lives of our fellow creatures. Our fellow
labourers in Germany have given us the chance. Don’t let us delay
five minutes. Let the one of us you may select see the Prime Minister
to-night and deliver the people’s message.”
“There’s no cause for delay that I can see,” Cross approved.
“There is none,” Fenn assented heartily. “I propose that we proceed to
the election of our representative; that, having elected him, we send
him to the Prime Minister with our message, and that we remain here in
the building until we have his report.”
“You are unanimously resolved, then,” the Bishop asked, “to take this
last step?”
There was a little chorus of assent. Fenn leaned forward in his place.
“Everything is ready,” he announced. “Our machinery is perfect. Our
agents in every city await the mandate.”
“But do you imagine that those last means will be necessary?” the Bishop
enquired anxiously.
“Most surely I do,” Fenn replied. “Remember that if the people make
peace for the country, it is the people who will expect to govern the
country. It will be a notice to the politicians to quit. They know that.
It is my belief that they will resist, tooth and nail.”
Bright glanced at his watch.
“The Prime Minister,” he announced, “will be at Downing Street until
nine o’clock. It is now seven o’clock. I propose that we proceed without
any further delay to the election of our representative.”
“The voting cards,” Fenn pointed out, “are before each person. Every
one has two votes, which must be for two different representatives. The
cards should then be folded, and I propose that the Bishop, who is not a
candidate, collect them. As I read the unwritten rules of this Congress,
every one here is eligible except the Bishop, Miss Abbeway, Mr. Orden
and Mr. Furley.”
There was a little murmur. Phineas Cross leaned forward in his place.
“Here, what’s that?” he exclaimed. “The Bishop, and Miss Abbeway, we all
know, are outside the running. Mr. Furley, too, represents the educated
Socialists, and though he is with us in this, he is not really Labour.
But Mr. Orden--Paul Fiske, eh? That’s a different matter, isn’t it?”
“Mr. Orden,” Fenn pronounced slowly, “is a literary man. He is a
sympathiser with our cause, but he is not of it.”
“If any man has read the message which Paul Fiske has written with a pen
of gold for us,” Phineas Cross declared, “and can still say that he is
not one of us, why, he must be beside himself. I say that Mr. Orden
is the brains and the soul of our movement. He brought life and
encouragement into the north of England with the first article he ever
wrote. Since then there has not been a man whom the Labour Party that I
know anything of has looked up to and worshipped as they have done him.”
“It’s true,” David Sands broke in, “every word of it. There’s no one has
written for Labour like him. If he isn’t Labour, then we none of us
are. I don’t care whether he is the son of an earl, or a plasterer’s
apprentice, as I was. He’s the right stuff, he has the gift of putting
the words together, and his heart’s where it should be.”
“There is no one,” Fenn said, his voice trembling a little, “who has a
greater admiration for Paul Fiske’s writings than I have, but I still
contend that he is not Labour.”
“Sit down, lad,” Cross enjoined. “We’ll have a vote on that. I’m for
saying that Mr. Julian Orden here, who has written them articles under
the name of ‘Paul Fiske’, is a full member of our Council and eligible
to act as our messenger to the Prime Minister. I ask the Bishop to put
it to the meeting.”
Eighteen were unanimous in agreeing with the motion. Fenn sat down,
speechless. His cheeks were pallid. His hands, which rested upon the
table, were twitching. He seemed like a man lost in thought and only
remembered to fill up his card when the Bishop asked him for it. There
was a brief silence whilst the latter, assisted by Cross and Sands,
counted the votes. Then the Bishop rose to his feet.
“Mr. Julian Orden,” he announced, “better known to you all under the
name of ‘Paul Fiske’, has been chosen by a large majority as your
representative to take the people’s message to the Prime Minister.”
“I protest!” Fenn exclaimed passionately. “This is Mr. Orden’s first
visit amongst us. He is a stranger. I repeat that he is not one of us.
Where is his power? He has none. Can he do what any one of us can--stop
the pulse of the nation? Can he still its furnace fires? Can he empty
the shipyards and factories, hold the trains upon their lines, bring the
miners up from under the earth? Can he--”
“He can do all these things,” Phineas Cross interrupted, “because he
speaks for us, our duly elected representative. Sit thee down, Fenn. If
you wanted the job, well, you haven’t got it, and that’s all there is
about it, and though you’re as glib with your tongue as any here, and
though you’ve as many at your back, perchance, as I have, I tell you I’d
never have voted for you if there hadn’t been another man here. So put
that in your pipe and smoke it, lad.”
“All further discussion,” the Bishop ruled, “is out of order. Julian
Orden, do you accept this mission?”
Julian rose to his feet. He leaned heavily upon his stick. His
expression was strangely disturbed.
“Bishop,” he said, “and you, my friends, this has all come very
suddenly. I do not agree with Mr. Fenn. I consider that I am one with
you. I think that for the last ten years I have seen the place which
Labour should hold in the political conduct of the world. I have seen
the danger of letting the voice of the people remain unheard too long.
Russia to-day is a practical and terrible example of that danger.
England is, in her way, a free country, and our Government a good one,
but in the world’s history there arrive sometimes crises with which
no stereotyped form of government can cope, when the one thing that is
desired is the plain, honest mandate of those who count for most in
the world, those who, in their simplicity and in their absence from all
political ties and precedents and liaisons, see the truth. That is why
I have appealed with my pen to Labour, to end this war. That is why
I shall go willingly as your representative to the Prime Minister
to-night.”
The Bishop held out his hand. There was a little reverent hush, for his
words were in the nature of a benediction.
“And may God be with you, our messenger,” he said solemnly.