HARUN AL RASHID
THE throng was at its greatest, the glare of gas was at its fullest,
the clamour and the confusion were at their height. Round every dirty
stall the scrambling and fighting and quarrelling went on as if life
itself were the matter of every bargain. Old, crumpled women, with
blinking eyes, thrust themselves forward into the ring made out of the
darkness by the rolling smoky flame which swung over the butcher’s
barrow, and they groped obscenely with wart-eaten fingers among the
shapeless remnants of oozing, dark-red meat. Their lips seemed to
twist in and out over their black broken teeth, as they whined and
grumbled over every pfennig of the price. Half-naked boys, foul, like
young apes, writhed and bit at each other in the bloody gutter below
for scraps of offal and rotten fruit and all the wretched refuse of a
street market. Men, old and young, came lurching out through the low
doorways of dirty taverns, and stood in the mud outside, bewildered,
breathing beer into the reeking night; after which they swaggered off,
trampling brutally among the women and children, on their way to the
dens where they passed the hours of sleep. When the din of sounds
permitted any utterance to be heard distinctly, the words were either
some oath, or the use-deadened complaint of one of the huckstering
women, or else the hideous wail of a neglected infant. Over all rang
out continually the coarse confident tones of the stall-keepers, as
they shouted out their trade patter; rattling the greasy coins as they
received them, and now and again stopping to bite the edge of a thaler
before thrusting it into the dirty leather pouch which held their gains.
It was Saturday night in the great slum market of Mannhausen. And into
the midst of this squalid scene came two young men, one of whom was the
King of Franconia.
His coming to the capital was the result of a decision come to after
his last conversation with the Count von Sigismark. Thoroughly wearied
by his Ministers’ stubborn attitude, and the hopeless contradictions
between them and Johann, he had eagerly welcomed a suggestion from the
latter that he should make a secret visit to Mannhausen, and there
inquire for himself into the condition of the people, and learn from
their own lips what were the burdens under which they suffered.
Fortunately for the success of the scheme, Maximilian had never
permitted himself to be photographed since his accession, and had only
been in the capital twice during the same period. Even on those two
occasions most of his time had been spent in Mannhausen’s famous art
gallery, so that the chances of his being recognised were hardly worth
taking into account.
The evening of their arrival had been devoted to procuring suitable
disguises. The next day Maximilian’s guide had led him through the
various public institutions of the city. He had gone into the Royal
Courts, where he had seen injustice dispensed under all the forms
of law. He had visited the great central infirmary and beheld the
miserable patients, dreading the recovery which would dismiss them to
the greater misery of their homes. He had passed through the empty
churches, and beheld the richly-decorated shrines from which no help
came to the baptised heathen of the streets outside. Finally Johann had
taken him into the Lower House of the Legislature, having secured a
pass from a member of the Extreme Left who was secretly in touch with
the revolutionists.
They found the Chamber in a state of unusual excitement over the
anticipated visit of the Imperial Kaiser. It had been intimated that
only a limited number of the deputies could be admitted to the public
ceremony of reception, and this snub had been the signal for a storm
of indignation which was at its height when Maximilian entered the
gallery. He listened for an hour to the excited deputies, wrangling for
the right to pay homage to a despot, and at last remarked with some
bitterness to Johann--
“If these are the kind of men whom the people themselves choose to
govern them, God help the people!”
“Yes,” said Johann, unmoved; “these are the representatives of the
bourgeoisie, and this is how they legislate for the workers.”
They went out, and as the hour of eleven approached Johann drew his
companion along towards the market, promising to show him the whole
misery of the city at one glance.
When he found himself in the centre of the vile place, and its full
details were revealed to him, Maximilian shrank appalled. He had never
even conceived the existence of such wretchedness, of such loathsome
degradation.
“What is this? Where are we?” he demanded of his guide, clutching him
by the arm. “Who are these frightful creatures?”
“Your subjects,” was the grave retort; “those who your Ministers tell
you have no grievances and no ungratified desires.”
“But it is horrible. They look more like fantastic goblins than human
beings. And the children! Look at the children!”
“Yes,” said Johann, unmoved, for he was familiar with the sight. “Of
such is the kingdom of--hell.”
While they were still standing there one of the young wretches caught
sight of them from the gutter, and quickly fighting his way out of the
throng ran up to them, whining for something to buy bread.
The boy had handsome dark eyes, with a pathetic look in them, and
before Johann could warn him the King impulsively put his hand into
his pocket and drew forth the largest silver coin he could find. The
boy, who had perhaps never handled so much money at once in his life,
actually tore it from Maximilian’s fingers, and set up a wild yell,
half of triumph, half of derision at the King’s folly in parting with
the coin. Drawn by the sound, the whole ragged crew came rushing up and
beset the King; while the first boy darted off for his life, to conceal
his spoil from the thievish violence of his companions.
For some time the King and Johann strove in vain to beat off the swarm,
who surrounded them on all sides, uttering threats and curses and
entreaties all together, while some of the more reckless made attempts
to pick their pockets. A group of drunken men noticed what was going
on, and encouraged the lads, one or two of the younger men even coming
up and assuming a threatening demeanour on the edge of the crowd, as if
to intimidate the two victims from resistance.
At last one of the stall-keepers had his attention drawn to the row,
and undertook to quell it, fearing possibly that his trade might suffer
if scenes of open violence were allowed in the market. Taking up a
long leather strap, he strode into the middle of the struggling mass
of boys, and lashed them right and left with cruel force. The wretches
instantly recognised a master, and fled in all directions, leaving
Maximilian little less shocked at the brutality of his rescuer than
grateful for the deliverance.
“Was it necessary to cut so hard?” he ventured to say, after thanking
the man.
“The young vermin! Yes, and not half so hard as they deserve. They are
thieves, the whole lot of them, and they will get worse as they grow
older. It would be a good thing if the government would make short work
of them!” And he turned towards his stall.
Maximilian followed him, reluctant to part with one who had, in his
brutal way, done him a kindness.
“Are there no schools to which these boys could be sent?” he asked.
“Schools! Plenty of schools; but how do you expect to get them there,
unless you send an officer for them every day? And even then they would
hide themselves out of his reach. Besides, what could you do with them
if you got them in a school? They would only make the other boys as bad
as themselves. A prison is the sort of school they want.”
The King turned away discouraged. Johann whispered in his ear--
“You see, there are Von Sigismarks in all ranks. That is the kind of
man whom your Ministers would bring before you to tell you about the
poorer classes.”
“Will it be safe to question one of these women?” asked the King.
“Yes; but let me do it. I understand these people better than you.”
Johann singled out a woman who might have been any age between forty
and sixty. She had just bought a small quantity of firewood, and was
filling her apron with the sticks.
“Halloa, mother!” said the Socialist. “That’s not a very big load to
cook your Sunday dinner with.”
The old crone glanced up at him crookedly out of her dull, narrow eyes.
“Who told you I had any Sunday dinner to cook?” she returned sullenly,
yet not altogether refusing to enter into conversation.
“Come, it’s not so bad as that, is it?” said Johann. “Where does your
man work?”
“He’s dead,” she returned indifferently. “I’ve only got a son to
support me; and it’s little enough he earns, what with a bad chest and
rheumatism in both legs.”
Perhaps she scented a possible gift, for she made no attempt to move
off, though the apron was now full.
“What is he, then?” asked Johann, letting his hand slip quietly into
his pocket.
“Working carpenter he was; but now he can’t get regular work, and has
to take any odd job. He don’t often get more than five or six marks in
the week, and half of that goes for the room.”
“That’s bad. When did your husband die?”
“Thirteen years ago next Christmas. He was a bricklayer, he was,
earning good wages; but one of his mates dropped a brick on his head
and killed him. I got ten pounds from the club; but that soon went.”
“And you’ve had no one but your son to support you ever since?”
“Ay; except when the girls gave me something. The eldest was a good
one; but she died in hospital.”
“And the others?”
“They went on the streets, both of them. One’s in the asylum now, and
the other’s gone to Berlin; and I’ve never heard from her since. It was
hunger drove them to it,” she added, with a faint effort to meet any
possible feeling of disapproval in the mind of her questioner. It was
evident that she was long past any such feeling herself.
Johann looked at the King, who turned away, sick at heart.
“Well, here’s a trifle towards your next dinner,” said Johann, dropping
a couple of coins into the woman’s skinny claw. A larger sum might have
attracted too much notice.
The miserable creature clutched the money fast, but showed no other
sign of satisfaction, and turned her back on them without going through
the form of thanks.
“My God! And is there no remedy for such misery as that?” exclaimed
Maximilian, as soon as she was out of hearing.
“That is a question you can put to the Chancellor,” was the response.
“We think there is one. In our scheme a woman like that would become
entitled to a pension from the State when her husband was killed. But,
you see, in order to give it to her, we should have to plunder the
wealthy classes. And what chance do you suppose such a measure would
have of passing through the assembly whose debates we have listened to
to-day?”
“Ah! And what would you do with these fearful children?”
“Take them into homes provided by the State. Not huge pauper
establishments, but cottages scattered through the country, with a
matron in charge of each half-dozen youngsters. There they would be
taught to read and write, and brought up to useful trades. If it were
possible to make good citizens of them, we should do it; if any of them
proved incorrigible, we should transfer them to institutions where they
would be under restraint, and have no opportunity of perpetuating the
race. In that way the hereditary pauper and criminal class would die
out.”
The King nodded his head gravely. They had left the immediate
neighbourhood of the stalls, and were approaching one of the taverns,
which was at that moment vomiting forth a troop of sodden drinkers.
“Shall we question one of these fellows?” Johann inquired doubtfully.
“Yes. Let us go through with it, now we are here,” answered the King.
The revolutionary picked out a man who seemed in a slightly less
degraded condition than the rest, and beckoned him aside.
“What do you want?” asked the man, suspiciously.
“My name is Mark,” said Johann; “I am a member of the Socialist League,
and I thought you might like to come to one of our meetings.”
The other became faintly interested.
“I hold with you,” he said, speaking in the coarse dialect of his
class. “I hold with you; but I don’t care about coming to meetings.
They aren’t much in my line.”
“But why not? How can we succeed unless the working classes will rally
round us?”
“Oh, that’s all right. We’ll rally right enough as soon as you make it
worth our while. Show us something to go for, that’s all.”
“But we want to be organised first. Why should not you give your time
to the work, instead of drinking about in places like that?”
He pointed to the tavern. The man looked slightly ashamed.
“Look here, it’s no good preaching,” he muttered. “It’s all very well
for you fellows, but curse me if I see any good in making a fuss. I
live a hard life, and it isn’t much good if I can’t go on the spree
sometimes. All a poor man has got is the beer. I dare say if I was the
King and lived in a palace, with nothing to do but enjoy myself, I
should find it easy enough to keep sober.”
“What do you work at?” asked Johann.
“I’m a potter,” was the answer; “I get my eighteen marks a-week, and I
get as much enjoyment out of it as I can. It isn’t as if I had any fear
of growing old. The potters never live beyond fifty.”
Maximilian shuddered.
At this moment another man coming along towards the tavern caught sight
of the speaker, and gave him a nod.
“Here, Müller,” cried the potter, “come here! Here’s a Socialist!”
Müller replied with an oath.
“No Socialists for me; give me beer,” he said, and swung through the
tavern door.
“He’s about right,” said the potter, with a laugh. And with a nod to
Johann he went back after his comrade.
“I see your difficulty is not only with the wealthy classes,” commented
the King, moodily, as they moved on.
“True. But it is the rule of the wealthy which has produced such men
as these. What can we say to a state of society which condemns a whole
class to die off at the age of fifty, most of them earlier still?”
“It is horrible. Could not their work be done by machinery?”
“Probably it could. But the first introduction of machinery would mean
that hundreds, or thousands, of men would be thrown into the streets to
starve. So that the change would only mean for them that they were to
die at once, instead of in ten or twenty years.”
“How would you deal with them, then?”
“Compensate them, provide for them until they could obtain a livelihood
in other trades. But your Ministers would never hear of that. If a
railway is being made for the benefit of the community, and it is
necessary to take a rich man’s land, the State sees that he shall be
compensated up to the hilt. But when a new machine is introduced,
equally for the benefit of the community, and it takes away the
livelihood of the poor man, the State never dreams of compensating
him. That would be robbery, plunder, blasphemy, all that is wicked and
intolerable.”
Maximilian listened with a heavy heart to the Socialist’s words. How
much there was to redress, and how ill he was fitted to redress it!
They gradually came to the end of the market, and turned into a street
leading back to their lodging. As they came round the corner they
encountered a young woman, scarcely more than a girl she seemed, who
stepped up to them smiling. The traces of great beauty were still
visible in her painted face, and something in the carriage of her head
brought up the image of Dorothea for an instant before Maximilian’s
eye, and he stopped short.
Johann shook his head and walked on, as the girl began to address them
after the manner of her class. She turned to Maximilian, who stood
hesitating, and laid her hand familiarly upon his arm.
He started, and shook her off with a gesture of loathing. The next
moment his manner changed, and he addressed her in compassionate tones.
“I will give you some money,” he said; “and I should like to ask you a
few questions.” And he beckoned to Johann, who had come to a halt a few
paces in front and turned round to wait for his companion.
The girl stared in wonder, as she held out her hand. When she perceived
that it was being filled with gold, she burst into a profusion of
thanks.
“Never mind thanking me,” said the King. “I wish you to understand that
I am your friend, and if it is in my power to help you, I shall be glad
to do so.”
The girl shook her head.
“No one can do that,” she answered, speaking naturally for the first
time.
“Why not? How did you come to take to this life?”
“It’s a long story. There was a young man who had promised to marry me,
and I trusted him, like too many others.”
Johann smiled cynically. Fortunately she could not see his face, and
the King listened to her with a kind look, which disarmed her in spite
of herself.
“And he refused to marry you afterwards?”
“Yes.” The girl seemed reluctant to say more; but, after another glance
at her questioner, she added, “You see, I had a baby, and then he was
ashamed of me.”
“He deserved to be--” Maximilian checked himself. “And the baby?” he
asked gently. “Is it still alive?”
“No.”
She said the word harshly, but as the calm friendly eyes of the King
continued to read her own she melted again.
“He died after just three months, and I sold everything I had to bury
him. Then I came here.”
“I am so sorry.”
“It was better as it was. I would not have had him grow up to be like
one of these young thieves.”
Maximilian thought of his experiences of that night, and sighed.
“Come, let me help you,” he said, after a minute’s pause. “You do not
like the life you are leading. Should you not like to leave it, and go
back to your home?”
“No. Better leave me alone. You cannot help me.”
“Do not say that. Perhaps my power is greater than you think. Are your
parents living?”
“Yes. O my God, why do you make me speak of them?” she burst out. “You
can do nothing for me. You do not know, you cannot understand. My
father, I can see him now, with the great family Bible on his knee,
reading out the curse, and then solemnly striking my name out of the
names of his children. And my mother, looking on, and weeping, but
bidding me go forth and never return, lest my example should corrupt
her other daughters. And so I am an outcast, an outcast forever, and
no repentance will ever restore me to my place at the old fireside.
And you, not if you were the King himself, you could never change the
hearts of those two, and make them love me as they did when I was a
little child.”
She broke off, sobbing, and before the King could stay her, she had
turned, and was fleeing away in the darkness of the night.