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Vol. I. MAY, 1906 No. 3
MOTHER EARTH
[Illustration]
P. O. Box 217 EMMA GOLDMAN, Publisher 10c. a Copy
CONTENTS
PAGE
Tidings of May 1
Envy WALT WHITMAN 2
Observations and Comments 3
"This Man Gorky" MARGARET GRANT 8
Comrade MAXIM GORKY 17
Alexander Berkman E. G. 22
Poem VOLTAIRINE DE CLEYRE 25
The White Terror 25
Paternalistic Government THEODORE SCHROEDER 27
Liberty in Common Life BOLTON HALL 34
Statistics H. KELLY 35
Gerhart Hauptmann with the Weavers of Silesia MAX BAGINSKI 38
Disappointed Economists 47
Vital Art ANNY MALI HICKS 48
Kristofer Hansteen VOLTAIRINE DE CLEYRE 52
Fifty Years of Bad Luck SADAKICHI HARTMANN 56
10c. A COPY $1 A YEAR
MOTHER EARTH
Monthly Magazine Devoted to Social Science and Literature
Published Every 15th of the Month
EMMA GOLDMAN, Publisher, P. O. Box 217, Madison Square Station,
New York, N. Y.
Vol. I MAY, 1906 No. 3
TIDINGS OF MAY.
The month of May is a grinning satire on the mode of living of human
beings of the present day.
The May sun, with its magic warmth, gives life to so much beauty, so
much value.
The dead, grayish brown of the forest and woods is transformed into a
rich, intoxicating, delicate, fragrant green.
Golden sun-rays lure flowers and grass from the soil, and kiss branch
and tree into blossom and bloom.
Tillers of the soil are beginning their activity with plough, shovel,
rake, breaking the firm grip of grim winter upon the Earth, so that the
mild spring warmth may penetrate her breast and coax into growth and
maturity the seeds lying in her womb.
A great festival seems at hand for which Mother Earth has adorned
herself with garments of the richest and most beautiful hues.
What does civilized humanity do with all this splendor? It speculates
with it. Usurers, who gamble with the necessities of life, will take
possession of Nature's gifts, of wheat and corn, fruit and flowers, and
will carry on a shameless trade with them, while millions of toilers,
both in country and city, will be permitted to partake of the earth's
riches only in medicinal doses and at exorbitant prices.
May's generous promise to mankind, that they were to receive in
abundance, is being broken and undone by the existing arrangements of
society.
The Spring sends its glad tidings to man through the jubilant songs
that stream from the throats of her feathered messengers. "Behold," they
sing, "I have such wealth to give away, but you know not how to take.
You count and bargain and weigh and measure, rather than feast at my
heavily laden tables. You crawl about on the ground, bent by worry and
dread, rather than drink in the free balmy air!"
The irony of May is neither cold nor hard. It contains a mild yet
convincing appeal to mankind to finally break the power of the Winter
not only in Nature, but in our social life,--to free itself from the
hard and fixed traditions of a dead past.
[Illustration]
ENVY.
By WALT WHITMAN.
_When I peruse the conquered fame of heroes, and the victories of
mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,
Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great
house;
But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them,
How through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long and long
Through youth, and through middle and old age, how unfaltering, how
affectionate and faithful they were,
Then I am pensive--I hastily walk away, filled with the bitterest
envy._
OBSERVATIONS AND COMMENTS.
A young man had an Ideal which he cherished as the most beautiful and
greatest treasure he had on earth. He promised himself never to part
with it, come what might.
His surroundings, however, repeated from morn till night that one can
not feed on Ideals, and that one must become practical if he wishes to
get on in life.
When he attempted the practical, he realized that his Ideal could never
become reconciled to it. This, at first, caused him deep suffering, but
he soon conceived a pleasant thought: "Why should I expose my precious
jewel to the vulgarity, coarseness and filth of a practical life? I will
put it into a jewel case and hide it in a secluded spot."
From time to time, especially when business was bad, he stole over to
the case containing his Ideal, to delight in its splendor. Indeed, the
world was shabby compared with that!
Meanwhile he married and his business began to improve. The members of
his party had already begun to discuss the possibility of putting him up
as a candidate for Alderman.
He visited his Ideal at longer intervals now. He had made a very
unpleasant discovery,--his Ideal had lessened in size and weight in
proportion to the practical opulence of his mind. It grew old and full
of wrinkles, which aroused his suspicions. After all, the practical
people were right in making light of Ideals. Did he not observe with his
own eyes how his Ideal had faded?
It had been overlooked for a long time. Once more he stole over to the
safety vault containing his Ideal. It was at a time when he had suffered
a severe business loss. With great yearning in his breast, he lifted the
cover of the case. He was worn from practical life and his heart and
head felt heavy. He found the case empty. His Ideal had vanished,
evaporated!--It dawned upon him that he had proven false to the Ideal,
and not the Ideal to him.
[Illustration]
Pity and sympathy have been celebrating a great feast within the last
few weeks. When they look into the mirror of public opinion they find
their own reflex touchingly beautiful, big, very human. Want was about
to commit self-destruction in abolishing poverty, tears and the despair
of suffering humanity forever.
The "heart" of New York, the "heart" of the country, the "heart" of the
entire world throbs for San Francisco. The press says so, at least.
No doubt a large amount in checks and banknotes was sent to the city of
the Golden Gate. Money, in these days, is the criterion of emotions and
sentiments; so that the pity of one who gives $10,000 must appear
incomparably greater than the pity of one who contributes a small sum
which was perhaps intended to buy shoes for the children, or to pay the
grocery bill. A large sum is always loud and boastful in the way it
appears in the newspapers. The delicate tact and fine taste of the
various editors see to it that the names of the donors of large sums be
printed in heavy type.
After all, can not one every day and in every large city observe the
same phenomenon that has followed the disaster in San Francisco? Surely
there were homeless, starved, despaired, wretched beings in San
Francisco before the earthquake and the fire, yet the public's pity and
sympathy haughtily passed them by; and official sympathy and compassion
had nothing but the police station and the workhouse to give them.
And now,--what is really being done now? Humanitarianism is exhibiting
itself in a low and vulgar manner, and superficiality and bad taste are
stalking about in peacock fashion.
The newspapers are full of praise for the bravery of the militia in
their defense of property. A man was instantly shot as he walked out of
a saloon with his arms full of champagne bottles, and another was shot
for carrying off a sack of coffee, etc. How strange that the "brave
boys" of the militia,--who, by the way, had to be severely disciplined
because of their beastly drunkenness,--showed so much noble indignation
against a few clumsy thieves! During the strikes and labor conflicts it
is usually their mission to protect the property of skillful
thieves,--legal thieves, of course.
Finally what is going to be the end of the great display of superficial
sentimentality for the stricken city? An all-around good deal: Moneyed
people, contractors, real estate speculators will make large sums of
money. Indeed it is not at all unlikely that within a few months good
Christian capitalists will secretly thank their Lord that he sent the
earthquake.
[Illustration]
As an employer, the United States Government is certainly tolerant and
liberal, especially so far as the highly remunerative offices are
concerned.
The President, for instance, loves to deliver himself of moral sermons.
Recently he spoke of the people who criticise government and society and
breed discontent. He considers them dangerous and entertains little
regard for them. He ought not be blamed for that, since, as the first
clerk of the State, it is his duty to represent its interests and
dignity.
The most ordinary business agent, though he may be convinced of the
corruption of his firm, will take good care to keep this fact from the
public. Business morals demand it.
Besides, no one will expect or desire that the President should become a
Revolutionist. This would certainly be no gain of ours, nor would the
State suffer harm. Surely there are enough professional politicians who
do not lack talent for the calling of doorkeepers on a large scale.
As to the moral sermons against the undesirable and obnoxious element,
all that can be said, from a practical standpoint, is, that their
originality and wisdom are in no proportion to the salary the sermonizer
receives. Competition among preachers of penitence and servility is
almost as great as among patent medicine quacks. Four or five thousand a
year can easily buy the services of a corpulent, reverend gentleman of
some prominence.
[Illustration]
The dangers of the first of May, when France was to be ruined by the
"mob" of socialists and anarchists, was very fantastically described by
the Paris correspondents of the American newspapers. These gentlemen
seem to have known everything. They discovered that the cause of the
threatened revolution was to be found in the irresponsible good nature
and kindness of the French government.
Just show "Satan" Anarchy a finger, and straightway he will seize the
entire arm. Especially M. Clemenceau was severely censured as being
altogether too good a fellow to make a reliable minister. There he is
with France near the abyss of a social revolution! That is the manner in
which history is being manufactured for boarding-school young ladies.
The social revolution may come, but surely not because of the kindness
or good nature of the government. France needed a newspaper boom for her
elections: "The republic is in danger; for goodness' sake give us your
vote on election day!"
In order that the citizens might feel the proper horror, trade-union
leaders, anarchists and even a few royalistic scare-crows were arrested;
at the same time the sympathy and devotion of the government for its
people manifested itself in the reign of the military terror in the
strike regions.
The real seriousness of the situation, the correspondents failed to
grasp. How could they? since they got their wisdom in the ante-chamber
of the ministry.
The revolutionary labor organizations care little for the good will or
the Jesuit kindness of the authorities. They continue with their work,
propagate the idea of direct action, and strengthen the anti-military
movement, the result of which is already being felt among the soldiers
and officers.
The officer who jumped upon the platform at the Bourse du Travail,
expressing his solidarity with the workers and declaring that he would
not fire on them, was immediately arrested; but this will only influence
others to follow the good example.
[Illustration]
In the old fables the lion is described as supreme judge and not the
mule or the wether.
In Cleveland things are different. Several weeks ago Olga Nethersole
gave a performance of Sappho there. Whereupon the police felt moved to
perform an operation on the play, for moral reasons, of course. The
staircase scene was ordered to be left out altogether.
Ye poor, depraved artists, how low ye might sink, were the police and
Comstock not here to watch over the moral qualities of your productions!
If one observes one of these prosaic fellows on the corner, terribly
bored, and with his entire intellect concentrated on his club, and how
out of pure ennui he is constantly recapitulating the number of his
brass buttons, one can hardly realize that such an individual has been
entrusted with the power to decide the fate of an artistic production.
[Illustration]
1792 the French people marched through the streets singing:
O, what is it the people cry?
They ask for all equality.
The poor no more shall be
In slavish misery;
The idle rich shall flee.
O, what is it the people need?
They ask for bread and iron and lead.
The iron to win our pay,
The lead our foes to slay,
The bread our friends to feed.
The soldiers at Mount Carmel, Pennsylvania, who were ordered by their
superiors to fire into a crowd of strikers and wounded and killed
innocent men and women, do not sing the Carmagnole; they sing:
"My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of Liberty!"
If the ruling powers continue to maintain peace and order with iron and
blood it may happen that the meaningless national hymn may be drowned by
the Carmagnole, pealing forth like thunder from the throats of the
masses.
[Illustration]
To the credit of human nature be it said, it is not altogether hopeless.
Since tyranny has existed, human nature has ever rebelled against it.
Real slavery exists only when the oppressed consider their fate as
something normal, something self-evident.
There is greater security for tyranny in slavish thoughts, indifference
and pettiness than in cannons and swords.
[Illustration]
"THIS MAN GORKY."
By MARGARET GRANT.
THE women of America are aroused as never before. They always are
aroused to the defense of their firesides. Even those women who live in
flats are awake to the need for defending their radiators or their gas
stoves; it is inherent in the nature of woman, it seems.
Most of the women's societies and clubs have spoken in no uncertain
terms concerning the outrage that has been put upon the civilization of
this great country by the conduct of this man Gorky. And, in fact, it is
a thing not to be borne.
As for me, I belong to the Woman's Association for the Regulation of the
Morals of Others, a society which is second to none in its activity and
usefulness, but which has seen fit to defer its own discussion of this
man Gorky's conduct until most of the other women's societies have
spoken.
We have just had our meeting, and I think that if this man Gorky should
read an account of our proceedings, he would certainly get out of this
outraged country with all the celerity of which he is capable. But, of
course, he is only a foreigner after all and probably will not
comprehend the exquisite purity of our morals.
I want to say that in our meetings we do not slavishly follow those
parliamentary rules which men have made for their guidance, but allow
ourselves some latitude in discussion. And we do not invite some man to
come and do all the talking, as is the case in some women's clubs.
Mrs. Blanderocks was in the chair. We began with an informal discussion
of the best way of preventing the common people from dressing so as not
to be distinguished from the upper classes, but there was no heart in
the talk, for we all felt that it was only preliminary. It was my friend
Sarah Warner who changed the subject.
"The Woman's State Republican Association held its annual meeting at
Delmonico's yesterday," she said, quietly drawing a newspaper clipping
from her pocket-book.
"And had some men there to amuse them and to tell them what to do," said
Mrs. Blanderocks with cutting irony.
We all laughed heartily. We meet at Mrs. Blanderocks' house, and she
always provides a beautiful luncheon.
"But Mrs. Flint said some things that I would like to read to you," said
Sarah. "It won't take long. I cut this out of the 'Times' this morning."
"What is it about?" some one asked.
"Gorky," Sarah answered, closing her eyes in a way to express volumes.
You could hear all the members catch their breath. This was what they
had come for. I broke the oppressive silence.
"I foresee," I said, "that in the discussion of this subject there will
be said things likely to bring a blush to the cheek of innocence, and I
move that all unmarried women under the age of twenty-five be excluded
from the meeting for as long as this man is under discussion."
A fierce cry of rage rose from all parts of the crowded room. I did not
understand. I could see no one who would be affected by the rule. Mrs.
Blanderocks raised her hand to command silence and said coldly:
"The motion is out of order. By a special provision of our constitution
it is the inalienable right of all unmarried women to be under
twenty-five. We will be as careful in our language as the subject will
permit. Mrs. Warner will please read the words of Mrs. Flint."
I was shocked to think I had made such a mistake. Sarah rose and read in
a clear, sharp voice from the clipping:
"Should not we as women take some action against this man? People of
such character should not be allowed in this country. Of course when he
arrived it was not known how he was living, but he came here and
expected to be received; and I think he should be deported. Gorky is the
embodiment of Socialism."
Everybody applauded violently. I was puzzled and asked a question as
soon as I could make myself heard.
"Suppose Gorky is a Socialist," I said; "what has that to do with his
morals?"
"Everything," replied Mrs. Blanderocks, haughtily.
"Socialists don't believe in marriage," said Sarah Warner, taking
another clipping from her pocket-book and reading: "'Mrs. Cornelia
Robinson said: When the question of uniform divorce law is taken up, we
shall find that the Socialists are against it as a body. It is not that
they are opposed to divorce, but they do not believe in marriage.'"
"And does she know?" I asked.
"Would she say it publicly if it were not true?" demanded Mrs.
Blanderocks, glaring disapprovingly at me.
I rose to my feet. I will say for myself that my desire for knowledge is
greater even than my shyness, and usually overcomes it.
"I want to make a motion," I said, "that this man Gorky be deported--"
(loud applause)--"but before doing so I would like some one to explain
in as plain words as the nature of the subject will permit, just what he
has been guilty of." Dead silence broken by a voice saying: "He's a
foreigner."
"I'll tell you what he has done," cried Sarah Warner; "he came into this
country pretending that the woman who was with him was his wife; he
allowed her to be registered at the hotel as his wife; he permitted her
to sleep under the same roof with pure men and women--"
"I would like to ask Mrs. Warner," said a lady in a remote corner of the
room, "if she will vouch for the purity of the men?"
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Blanderocks, gravely, "it will be better if the
word men be stricken from the record. Do you object, Mrs. Warner?"
"It was a slip of the tongue," Sarah answered, "and I am grateful to the
member who called attention to it; though I will say that I think there
are some pure men."
"We are discussing Gorky now," said Mrs. Blanderocks with an indulgent
smile.
"True," answered Sarah, beaming back at the chairwoman; "and I was
saying that he had subjected the pure women of the hotel to the
unspeakable indignity of having to sleep under the same roof with the
woman he called his wife."
"I would like to ask," I interposed timidly, "if it is right for a
woman to sleep under the same roof with an impure man, or is it only an
impure woman who is injurious?"
"A woman has to sleep under some roof," came in the voice of the woman
in the corner.
"I think Mrs. Grant would show better taste if she did not press such a
question," said another voice. "Will Mrs. Warner be good enough to
describe the exact status--I think status is right--of the woman he
tried to pass as his wife?"
"She was his----" Sarah had a fit of coughing, "she was not his wife. I
do not care to be more explicit."
"Perhaps," I said, groping for light, "it would be better if I made my
motion read that she should be deported from the country, since it is
her immorality that counts."
"And let those Republican Association women stand for more morality than
we do?" cried Mrs. Blanderocks. "No, you cannot make your motion too
strong."
"Oh, then," I said, with a sigh of relief, "I will move that Gorky and
all other men, immoral in the same way, shall be deported from the
country."
"Then who is to take care of us women?" demanded the voice in the
corner.
"Do be reasonable, Margaret," said Sarah Warner, "we can't drive all the
men out of the country, and don't want to, but we can fix a standard of
morals to astonish the world, and there could be no better way than by
making an example of this man Gorky. Don't you see that he is a
foreigner and can't very well know that our men are just as bad as he
is? Besides, isn't he a Socialist? We would have been willing to condone
his relations with that woman if only he'd hid them respectably as our
men do, but to come here with his free ideas---- Well, I'm willing to
let the Russians have all the freedom they want, and I would have given
my mite toward stirring up trouble over there, but we have all the
freedom we want over here, and a little more, too, if I know anything
about it."
"Very well," I replied, "I will withdraw the motion and make one to have
a committee appointed to investigate the matter and find out the whole
truth about it."
"What is there to find out?" demanded Sarah, aghast.
"Well, you know he insists that she is his wife. Maybe she is by
Russian law or custom."
"Perfectly absurd! His own wife and he separated because they couldn't
be happy together. Was ever anything more ridiculous?"
"As if happiness had anything to do with marriage!" said the voice from
the corner.
Everybody laughed and applauded as if something very funny had been
said.
"Well, anyhow," I insisted, for I can be obstinate when a thing isn't
clear to me, "if they both thought they were justified in calling
themselves man and wife, and if the people in Russia thought so, too,
why should we make any fuss about it?"
"Pardon me, Mrs. Grant," said Mrs. Blanderocks, suavely, "if I say that
your words are very silly. In the first place, the Russians are
barbarians, as we all know; and, in the next place, the law is the law,
and the law says that a man may not have two wives. A man who does is a
bigamist. A man who has a wife and yet lives with another woman is an
adulterer. Pardon me for using such a word, but it was forced from me.
Now, this man Gorky, who may be a very great genius for all I know--I
never read any of his stuff--but he isn't above the law: not above the
moral law anyhow, and the moral law is the same all over the world. He
says he and his wife parted because they were unhappy together, which is
a very flimsy excuse for immorality. Then he says that his wife is
living now with a man she loves and is happy with."
"Which makes a bad matter worse," interposed Sarah Warner. "No one has
any business to be happy in immorality."
"What is morality for," demanded the voice from the corner, "if it isn't
to make people unhappy?"
Everybody screamed with laughter over that, and Mrs. Blanderocks went so
far as to raise her eyebrows at Sarah Warner, who bit her lip to keep
from smiling.
"But," said I, for I had been reading the papers, too, "he says the
reason they were not divorced was because the Church would not permit
it."
"If the laws of his country were opposed to this divorce," said Mrs.
Blanderocks, triumphantly, "all the more reason why he should be
ashamed of living with this actress in such an open, defiant way."
"The Church has nothing to do with divorces in this country," I said,
"yet many of our best people are divorced."
"The law permits it," said Mrs. Blanderocks curtly.
"Who makes the law?" I asked, determined to get at the bottom of the
thing if I could.
"The people through the Legislature," was the prompt answer.
"Well," I said, very timidly, not knowing but I was quite in the wrong,
"it seems that the people of Russia not being able to make laws
nevertheless recognize the separation of a man and his wife as proper,
and permit them to take other husbands and wives without loss of
standing."
"A law's a law," said Sarah, sternly; "and a law should be sacred. The
very idea of anybody pretending to be above the law like this man Gorky!
I would like to know what would become of the holy institution of
matrimony if it could be trifled with in such a fashion?"
"You want Russia to be free from the rule of the Tsar, don't you?" I
asked.
"Certainly, he is a tyrant and an irresponsible weakling, unfit to
govern a great people. Of course, we want Russia to be free. The people
of Russia are entitled to be free, to govern themselves."
"Do you think they ought to be allowed to make their own laws?" I asked.
"Of course."
"Then, why do you say that Gorky is not properly divorced from his first
wife and married to his second? The people of Russia approve."
"Margaret Grant!" cried Sarah, outraged and voicing the horror of the
other members, "I sometimes wonder if you have any respect at all for
the law. How can you speak as you do? If men and women could dispense
with the law in that way what would become of society?"
"But this state used to permit men and women to live together without
any ceremony and so become man and wife," I said.
"Well, we don't permit it now," retorted Sarah, grimly.
"If they want to live together now," cried the voice from the corner,
"they must pretend they don't, even if everybody knows they do."
Some of the members laughed at that, but Mrs. Blanderocks thought that
was going too far and said so in her coldest manner.
"I see nothing funny in that. We cannot change the natures of men, but
we can insist upon their hiding their baser conduct and the degraded
portions of their lives from our view."
"But," said I, "Gorky evidently considers this woman his wife, and had
no idea that anybody would think otherwise."
"The point is," said Sarah Warner, in exasperation, "and I think I voice
the sentiments of this organization, that he was not legally divorced
from his first wife and that, therefore, he cannot be legally married to
this woman. A law is a law, no matter who makes it. The law is sacred
and must not be tampered with."
"How about the Supreme Court on divorces in Dakota?" demanded the voice
from the corner.
A dead silence fell on the meeting. Some of the members looked at each
other and showed signs of hysterics. Mrs. Blanderocks flashed a
withering glance at the corner, but rose to the occasion.
"Ladies," she said in a solemn tone, "I deeply regret that this subject
has been touched upon in a spirit of levity. It was my intention, at the
proper time, to introduce a resolution of sympathy for those ladies who
have been so summarily and I may say brutally unmarried by the unfeeling
wretches who sit upon the bench of the Supreme Court. It is awful to
think that our highly respected sisters, whose wealth alone should have
protected them, have been told by the highest court in the land that
they have been living in shame all this time, and that their children
are not legitimate. Ladies, I call your attention to the fact that many
of our own members are thus branded by those judges. It is infamous. It
is more than infamous--it is a reason why women should sit on the
judicial bench."
"Yes," I said, "it seems impossible for men to comprehend the mental or
emotional processes of women."
"True, too true," murmured our President, giving me a look of gratitude.
"I remember how the men of this country cried out against us a few
years ago because they could not understand why we send flowers and
tender letters to a poor, handsome negro who had first outraged and then
murdered a woman."
"Yes," I said, "and no doubt they will pretend not to understand our
indignation against this man Gorky, who thinks the customs of his own
country justify him his terrible conduct. But we must be careful how we
word our condemnation of this man lest he should somehow learn of what
our Supreme Court has so wickedly done and retort on us that these, our
wealthiest and most respected citizens, not being legally divorced and
hence not being legally married again, are no better than he and his
so-called wife."
The ladies looked at each other in consternation. Evidently the thought
had not suggested itself to them. Mrs. X. Y. Z. Asterbilt (née Clewbel)
rose and in a voice choked with emotion said:
"Speaking for myself as well as for some of the other ladies, members of
this organization, who are temporarily déclassée, so to speak, by this
decree of the Supreme Court, I beg that you will do nothing to call
undue attention to us, until we have arranged matters so that our wealth
will enable us to have that legislation which is necessary to make us
respectable women again."
"Is it true," I asked, "that you have sent an invitation to Madame
Andreieva to meet you to discuss the steps to be taken to reinstate
yourselves?"
"It is true, but the extraordinary creature returned word that as a lady
of good standing in her own country she did not feel that she could
afford to associate with women whom the courts of this country held to
be living in shame."
"Did you ever!" cried Mrs. Blanderocks. "But it shows us that we must be
careful. Mrs. Grant, you have had experience in such matters, suppose
you retire and draw up a set of resolutions that will not expose us to
the ribald and unseemly comments of the light-minded."
Of course I accepted the task, fully realizing its gravity, and
following is the resolution I brought back with me:
"_Whereas_, Maxim Gorky, recognized in the world of letters as a man of
genius, and in the world at large as a man of great soul, high purpose
and pure nature, having come to this country accompanied by a lady whom
he considers and treats as his wife; and
"_Whereas_, The wealthy, and therefore the better classes, tumbled all
over themselves in order to exploit him as a lion; and
"_Whereas_, He had not the wisdom and craft and sense of puritanical
respectability to pretend that he did not know the lady he believed his
wife, and to whom he believes himself united by a law higher than that
of man; and
"_Whereas_, He was guileless enough to believe he had come to a free
country where purity of motive and of conduct would take precedence of
hollow and rotten forms; and
"_Whereas_, He did not know that the American people practise polygamy
secretly, while condemning it in words, and that the United States
Senate has been nearly two years in pretending to try to find a
polygamist in their midst; and
"_Whereas_, He was so injudicious as to come here with a defective
divorce just at a time when our Supreme Court was making the divorce of
some of us, the gilded favorites of fortune, defective; and
"_Whereas_, He had the audacity to proclaim himself a Socialist, which
is the same thing as saying that he is opposed to special privilege, and
is in favor of the abolition of property in land and in the tools of
labor--in other and plainer words, is against Us; and
"_Whereas_, He is only a foreigner, anyhow, and no longer available as a
toy and plaything for us; therefore be it
"_Resolved_, That this man, Gorky, be used as a means of proclaiming our
extraordinary virtue to the world at large, as a robber cries stop thief
in order to direct attention from himself; that accordingly he be
treated with the utmost outrageous discourtesy and hounded from hotel to
hotel on the ground that such places by no chance harbor men and women
unless they have passed through the matrimonial mill; that we withdraw
our patronage from the revolution in Russia--not being seriously
interested in it anyhow--and that we will show our contempt for
revolutionary patriots by entertaining the rottenest grand duke in
Russia if only he will come over to us, bringing his whole harem if he
wish; that he is a reproach to us while he remains in this country, and
that it is the sense of this great organization that he and the lady who
is his wife in the highest sense shall be deported."
The resolution was not passed.
I have been expelled from the association.
[Illustration]
COMRADE.
By MAXIM GORKY.
Translated from the French translation by S. PERSKY, published in
"L'Aurore," Paris.
ALL in that city was strange, incomprehensible. Churches in great number
pointed their many-tinted steeples toward the sky, in gleaming colors;
but the walls and the chimneys of the factories rose still higher, and
the temples were crushed between the massive façades of commercial
houses, like marvelous flowers sprung up among the ruins, out of the
dust. And when the bells called the faithful to prayer, their brazen
sounds, sliding along the iron roofs, vanished, leaving no traces in the
narrow gaps which separated the houses.
They were always large, and sometimes beautiful, these dwellings.
Deformed people, ciphers, ran about like gray mice in the tortuous
streets from morning till evening; and their eyes, full of covetousness,
looked for bread or for some distraction; other men placed at the
crossways watched with a vigilant and ferocious air, that the weak
should, without murmuring, submit themselves to the strong. The strong
were the rich: everyone believed that money alone gives power and
liberty. All wanted power because all were slaves. The luxury of the
rich begot the envy and hate of the poor; no one knew any finer music
than the ring of gold; that is why each was the enemy of his neighbor,
and cruelty reigned mistress.
Sometimes the sun shone over the city, but life therein was always wan,
and the people like shadows. At night they lit a mass of joyous lights;
and then famishing women went out into the streets to sell their
caresses to the highest bidder. Everywhere floated an odor of victuals,
and the sullen and voracious look of the people grew. Over the city
hovered a groan of misery, stifled, without strength to make itself
heard.
Every one led an irksome, unquiet life; a general hostility was the
rule. A few citizens only considered themselves just, but these were the
most cruel, and their ferocity provoked that of the herd. All wanted to
live; and no one knew or could follow freely the pathway of his desires;
like an insatiable monster, the Present enveloped in its powerful and
vigorous arms the man who marched toward the future, and in that slimy
embrace sapped away his strength. Full of anguish and perplexity, the
man paused, powerless before the hideous aspect of this life: with its
thousands of eyes, infinitely sad in their expression, it looked into
his heart, asking him for it knew not what,--and then the radiant images
of the future died in his soul; a groan out of the powerlessness of the
man mingled in the discordant chorus of lamentations and tears from poor
human creatures tormented by life.
Tedium and inquietude reigned everywhere, and sometimes terror. And the
dull and somber city, the stone buildings atrociously lined one against
the other, shutting in the temples, were for men a prison, rebuffing the
rays of the sun. And the music of life was smothered by the cry of
suffering and rage, by the whisper of dissimulated hate, by the
threatening bark of cruelty, by the voluptuous cry of violence.
In the sullen agitation caused by trial and suffering, in the feverish
struggle of misery, in the vile slime of egoism, in the subsoils of the
houses wherein vegetated Poverty, the creator of Riches, solitary
dreamers full of faith in Man, strangers to all, prophets of seditions,
moved about like sparks issued from some far-off hearthstone of justice.
Secretly they brought into these wretched holes tiny fertile seeds of a
doctrine simple and grand;--and sometimes rudely, with lightnings in
their eyes, and sometimes mild and tender, they sowed this clear and
burning truth in the sombre hearts of these slaves, transformed into
mute, blind instruments by the strength of the rapacious, by the will of
the cruel. And these sullen beings, these oppressed ones, listened
without much belief to the music of the new words,--the music for which
their hearts had long been waiting. Little by little they lifted up
their heads, and tore the meshes of the web of lies wherewith their
oppressors had enwound them. In their existence, made up of silent and
contained rage, in their hearts envenomed by numberless wrongs, in their
consciences encumbered by the dupings of the wisdom of the strong, in
this dark and laborious life, all penetrated with the bitterness of
humiliation, had resounded a simple word:
Comrade.
It was not a new word; they had heard it and pronounced it themselves;
but until then it had seemed to them void of sense, like all other words
dulled by usage, and which one may forget without losing anything. But
now this word, strong and clear, had another sound; a soul was singing
in it,--the facets of it shone brilliant as a diamond. The wretched
accepted this word, and at first uttered it gently, cradling it in their
hearts like a mother rocking her new-born child and admiring it. And the
more they searched the luminous soul of the word, the more fascinating
it seemed to them.
"Comrade," said they.
And they felt that this word had come to unite the whole world, to lift
all men up to the summits of liberty and bind them with new ties, the
strong ties of mutual respect, respect for the liberties of others in
the name of one's own liberty.
When this word had engraved itself upon the hearts of the slaves, they
ceased to be slaves; and one day they announced their transformation to
the city in this great human formula:
I WILL NOT.
Then life was suspended, for it is they who are the motor force of life,
they and no other. The water supply stopped, the fire went out, the city
was plunged in darkness. The masters began to tremble like children.
Fear invaded the hearts of the oppressors. Suffocating in the fumes of
their own dejection, disconcerted and terrified by the strength of the
revolt, they dissimulated the rage which they felt against it.
The phantom of Famine rose up before them, and their children wailed
plaintively in the darkness. The houses and the temples, enveloped in
shadow, melted into an inanimate chaos of iron and stone; a menacing
silence filled the streets with a clamminess as of death; life ceased,
for the force which created it had become conscious of itself; and
enslaved humanity had found the magic and invincible word to express its
will; it had enfranchised itself from the yoke; with its own eyes it had
seen its might,--the might of the creator.
These days were days of anguish to the rulers, to those who considered
themselves the masters of life; each night was as long as thousands of
nights, so thick was the gloom, so timidly shone the few fires scattered
through the city. And then the monster city, created by the centuries,
gorged with human blood, showed itself in all its shameful weakness; it
was but a pitiable mass of stone and wood. The blind windows of the
houses looked upon the street with a cold and sullen air, and out on the
highway marched with valiant step the real masters of life. They, too,
were hungry, more than the others perhaps; but they were used to it, and
the suffering of their bodies was not so sharp as the suffering of the
old masters of life; it did not extinguish the fire in their souls. They
glowed with the consciousness of their own strength, the presentiment of
victory sparkled in their eyes. They went about in the streets of the
city which had been their narrow and sombre prison, wherein they had
been overwhelmed with contempt, wherein their souls had been loaded with
abuse, and they saw the great importance of their work, and thus was
unveiled to them the sacred right they had to become the masters of
life, its creators and its lawgivers.
And the lifegiving word of union presented itself to them with a new
face, with a blinding clearness:
"Comrade."
There among lying words it rang out boldly, as the joyous harbinger of
the time to come, of a new life open to all in the future;--far or near?
They felt that it depended upon them whether they advanced towards
liberty or themselves deferred its coming.
The prostitute who, but the evening before, was but a hungry beast,
sadly waiting on the muddy pavement to be accosted by some one who would
buy her caresses, the prostitute, too, heard this word, but was
undecided whether to repeat it. A man the like of whom she had never
seen till then approached her, laid his hand upon her shoulder and said
to her in an affectionate tone, "Comrade." And she gave a little
embarrassed smile, ready to cry with the joy her wounded heart
experienced for the first time. Tears of pure gaiety shone in her eyes,
which, the night before, had looked at the world with a stupid and
insolent expression of a starving animal. In all the streets of the city
the outcasts celebrated the triumph of their reunion with the great
family of workers of the entire world; and the dead eyes of the houses
looked on with an air more and more cold and menacing.
The beggar to whom but the night before an obol was thrown, price of the
compassion of the well-fed, the beggar also heard this word; and it was
the first alms which aroused a feeling of gratitude in his poor heart,
gnawed by misery.
A coachman, a great big fellow whose patrons struck him that their blows
might be transmitted to his thin-flanked, weary horse, this man imbruted
by the noise of wheels upon the pavement, said, smiling, to a passer-by:
"Well, Comrade!" He was frightened at his own words. He took the reins
in his hands, ready to start, and looked at the passer-by, the joyous
smile not yet effaced from his big face. The other cast a friendly
glance at him and answered, shaking his head: "Thanks, comrade; I will
go on foot; I am not going far."
"Ah, the fine fellow!" exclaimed the coachman enthusiastically; he
stirred in his seat, winking his eyes gaily, and started off somewhere
with a great clatter.
The people went in groups crowded together on the pavements, and the
great word destined to unite the world burst out more and more often
among them, like a spark: "Comrade." A policeman, bearded, fierce, and
filled with the consciousness of his own importance, approached the
crowd surrounding an old orator at the corner of a street, and, after
having listened to the discourse, he said slowly: "Assemblages are
interdicted ... disperse...." And after a moment's silence, lowering his
eyes, he added, in a lower tone, "Comrades."
The pride of young combatants was depicted in the faces of those who
carried the word in their hearts, who had given it flesh and blood and
the appeal to union; one felt that the strength they so generously
poured into this living word was indestructible, inexhaustible.
Here and there blind troops of armed men, dressed in gray, gathered and
formed ranks in silence; it was the fury of the oppressors preparing to
repulse the wave of justice.
And in the narrow streets of the immense city, between the cold and
silent walls raised by the hands of ignored creators, the noble belief
in Man and in Fraternity grew and ripened.
"Comrade."--Sometimes in one corner, sometimes in another, the fire
burst out. Soon this fire would become the conflagration destined to
enkindle the earth with the ardent sentiment of kinship, uniting all its
peoples; destined to consume and reduce to ashes the rage, hate and
cruelty by which we are mutilated; the conflagration which will embrace
all hearts, melt them into one,--the heart of the world, the heart of
beings noble and just;--into one united family of workers.
In the streets of the dead city, created by slaves, in the streets of
the city where cruelty reigned, faith in humanity and in victory over
self and over the evil of the world grew and ripened. And in the vague
chaos of a dull and troubled existence, a simple word, profound as the
heart, shone like a star, like a light guiding toward the future:
COMRADE.
[Illustration]
ALEXANDER BERKMAN.
By E. G.
ON the 18th of this month the workhouse at Hoboken, Pa., will open its
iron gates for Alexander Berkman. One buried alive for fourteen years
will emerge from his tomb. That was not the intention of those who
indicted Berkman. In the kindness of their Christian hearts they saw to
it that he be sentenced to twenty-one years in the penitentiary and one
year in the workhouse, hoping that that would equal a death penalty,
only with a slow, refined execution. To achieve the feat of sending a
man to a gradual death, the authorities of Pittsburg at the command of
Mammon trampled upon their much-beloved laws and the legality of court
proceedings. These laws in Pennsylvania called for seven years
imprisonment for the attempt to kill, but that did not satisfy the
law-abiding citizen H. C. Frick. He saw to it that one indictment was
multiplied into six. He knew full well that he would meet with no
opposition from petrified injustice and the servile stupidity of the
judge and jury before whom Alexander Berkman was tried.
In looking over the events of 1892 and the causes that led up to the act
of Alexander Berkman, one beholds Mammon seated upon a throne built of
human bodies, without a trace of sympathy on its Gorgon brow for the
creatures it controls. These victims, bent and worn, with the reflex of
the glow of the steel and iron furnaces in their haggard faces, carry
their sacrificial offerings to the ever-insatiable monster, capitalism.
In its greed, however, it reaches out for more; it neither sees the
gleam of hate in the sunken eyes of its slaves, nor can it hear the
murmurs of discontent and rebellion coming forth from their heaving
breasts. Yet, discontent continues until one day it raises its mighty
voice and demands to be heard:
Human conditions! higher pay! fewer hours in the inferno at Homestead,
the stronghold of the "philanthropist" Carnegie!
He was far away, however, enjoying a much needed rest from hard labor,
in Scotland, his native country. Besides he knew he had left a worthy
representative in H. C. Frick, who could take care that the voice of
discontent was strangled in a fitting manner,--and Mr. Carnegie had
judged rightly.
Frick, who was quite experienced in the art of disposing of rebellious
spirits (he had had a number of them shot in the coke regions in 1890),
immediately issued an order for Pinkerton men, the vilest creatures in
the human family, who are engaged in the trade of murder for $2 per day.
The strikers declared that they would not permit these men to land, but
money and power walk shrewd and cunning paths. The Pinkerton
blood-hounds were packed into a boat and were to be smuggled into
Homestead by way of water in the stillness of night. The amalgamated
steel workers learned of this contemptible trick and prepared to meet
the foe. They gathered by the shores of the Monongahela River armed with
sticks and stones, but ere they had time for an attack a violent fire
was opened from the boat that neared the shore, and within an hour
eleven strikers lay dead from the bullets of Frick's hirelings.
Every beast is satisfied when it has devoured its prey,--not so the
human beast. After the killing of the strikers H. C. Frick had the
families of the dead evicted from their homes, which had been sold to
the workingmen on the instalment plan and at the exorbitant prices usual
in such cases.
Out of these homes the wives and children of the men struggling for a
living wage were thrown into the street and left without shelter. There
was one exception only. A woman who had given birth to a baby two days
previous and who, regardless of her delicate condition, defended her
home and succeeded in driving the sheriff from the house with a poker.
Everyone stood aghast at such brutality, at such inhumanity to man, in
this great free republic of ours. It seemed as if the cup of human
endurance had been filled to the brim, as if out of the ranks of the
outraged masses some one would rise to call those to account who had
caused it all.
And some one rose in mighty indignation against the horrors of wealth
and power. It was Alexander Berkman!