A meeting of the Social Democrats was being held in Gosten Court. They
had met to discuss the Chancellor's speech on accident insurance.
The first speaker was Deputy Stoerbecker. But his voice had no carrying
power, and what he said died away almost unheard.
Jason Philip Schimmelweis followed him. He presented a fearful
indictment of the government. The official representative of the
government advised him to be more reserved, whereupon he reinvigorated
himself with a draught of beer. Then he hurled the full beaker of that
wrathful scorn for which his heart, beating for the people, was noted,
at the head of the individual who was first and foremost responsible for
the affairs of the Empire. He did not mention Bismarck by name; he spoke
instead of a certain bogey. He snatched the halo from his head, swore
that he would some day unmask him and show the people that he was a
traitor, branded his fame as a tissue of lies, his deeds as the disgrace
of the century.
The venomous and eloquent hatred of the pudgy little man inflamed the
minds that drank in his oratory. Jason Philip was greeted with a tumult
of applause as he took his seat. His face was a bright scarlet red.
The leaders of the party, however, were noticeably quiet. In a moment or
two, Deputy Stoerbecker returned with two comrades eager to enter into a
debate with Jason Philip. He followed them into a side room. Exalted at
the thought that they had been delegated to express to him the gratitude
of the party for his speech, he smiled the smile of vanity and caressed
his beard with his fingers.
"What is the matter, gentlemen? Why are you so serious? Did I go too
far? I assume complete responsibility for everything I said. But be
calm! They are getting afraid of us. The air has a dubious odour. The
French are becoming cantankerous again."
"No, Comrade Schimmelweis, that is not it. You have got to vindicate
yourself. You are a Proteus, Comrade Schimmelweis. Your right hand does
not know what your left hand is doing. You are treating us
disgracefully. You are ploughing in the widow's garden. You preach water
and guzzle wine. You have entered into a conspiracy with the grafters of
the town. You are in collusion with the people down at the Prudentia,
and you are filling your own coffers in this gigantic swindle. From
morning to night you enrich yourself with the hard-earned pennies of the
poor. That is sharp practice, Jason Philip Schimmelweis, sharp practice,
we say. Now you have got to sever all connection with the Prudentia, or
the Party is going to kick you out."
Then it was that Jason Philip Schimmelweis rose to his true heights of
eloquence. He insisted that his hands were clean, his left one and also
his right one; that he was working in the interest of a good cause; and
that threats could not intimidate him. He made it plain that he would
bow to no dictatorship operating under the mask of equality and
fraternity. He cried out that if the people wanted a scandal they could
have it, but they would find him armed to the teeth. And he assured them
that wherever he went in this wide, wide world, he would find the doors
open to welcome him.
He then made a sudden about-face, and left his comrades standing. On the
way home he continued to murmur murmurs of embitterment to himself.
Like a seasoned sailor eager to escape the storms of a raging sea, he
steered his good ship toward other and more hospitable shores. Three
days later he went to Baron Siegmund von Auffenberg, the leader of the
Liberals, and offered him his services. He told him that he was willing
to make any sacrifice for the great Liberal Party.
V
For thirty-five minutes, by his own watch, he cooled his heels in the
ante-chamber. He made one caustic remark after another touching on the
arrested development of the feeling of equality among the rich. Genuine
rebel that he was, he did not repudiate himself even when he was
practising high treason.
When he was finally taken into the office, he was not blinded in the
slightest by the luxuriousness of the furniture, the rugs, or the oil
paintings. He displayed not the remotest shimmer of servility on
meeting the illustrious Baron. He sat down on one of the chairs with
complete equanimity, took no notice of the French-speaking parrot, and
never cast a single glance at the breakfast table covered with
appetising tid-bits. But he did present his case with all due
straightforwardness and simplicity.
"Fine," said the Baron, "fine! I hardly believe that you will find it
necessary to make a radical change in your battlefront. A conscienceless
agitator you have never been. You have a family, a home of your own;
your affairs are in good condition; and in the bottom of your heart you
love order and discipline. I have in truth been expecting you for a long
while. Nor am I exaggerating when I confess to you that you had to bolt,
sooner or later."
Jason Philip blushed with satisfaction. With the bearing of a cabman who
has just pocketed his tip, he replied: "I thank you very much, Baron."
"On one point we are wholly agreed," said the Baron, "and it seems to me
to be the most important--"
"Quite right," interrupted Jason Philip, "you allude to the fight
against Bismarck. Yes, on this point we are, I hope, of precisely the
same opinion. I will do my part. Hand and heart on it, Baron. I could
look with perfectly cold blood on this knight of obscurantism writhing
on the rack."
Herr von Auffenberg heard this temperamental statement with noticeably
tenuous reassurance. He smiled just a little, and then said: "Wait a
minute, my friend, don't be quite so savage." He reached for his
smelling salts, held them to his nose, and closed his eyes. Then he got
up, folded his hands across his back, and walked up and down the room a
few times.
What he said after this was as familiar to him as the letters of the
alphabet. While Jason Philip gaped at his lips in dumb inspiration, the
Baron himself thought of things that had not the remotest connection
with what he said.
"The very same man who tried to make the new Empire inhabitable, with
the aid of a liberal code of laws, and who brought the long-drawn-out
quarrel between the Emperor and the Pope to a happy conclusion, is now
trying, by word, thought, and deed, gradually to destroy all liberal
traditions and to proclaim the Roman High Priest as the real creator of
peace. All that the German Chancellor could do to give the final blow to
liberalism he has done. The reaction has not hesitated to abandon the
idea of the _Kulturkampf_ and to work instead in the interests of class
hatred and racial prejudice, nurturing them even with deeds of
violence. Faced with the crimes they themselves have committed, they
will see their own children despised and rejected."
"_Depeche-toi, mon bon garcon_," screeched the parrot.
"I am happy at the thought of having snatched a precious booty from the
claws of anarchy, and of having won a new citizen for the State, my dear
Herr Schimmelweis. But for the time being it will be advisable for you
to keep somewhat in the background. They will be inclined to make your
change of political conviction the subject of vociferous attacks, and
that might injure the cause."