JACTA EST ALEA.
"Natalie," said her father, entering the breakfast-room, "I have news
for you to-day. This evening Mr. Brand is to be initiated."
The beautiful, calm face betrayed no surprise.
"That is always the way," she answered, almost absently. "One after the
other they go in; and I only am left out, alone."
"What," he said, patting her shoulder as he passed, "are you still
dreaming of reviving the _Giardiniere_? Well, it was a pretty idea to
call each sister in the lodge by the name of a flower. But nowadays, and
in England especially, if women intermeddled in such things, do you know
what they would be called? _Petroleuses!_"
"Names do not hurt," said the girl, proudly.
"No, no. Rest content, Natalie. You are initiated far enough. You know
all that needs to be known; and you can work with us, and associate with
us like the rest. But about Brand; are you not pleased?"
"I am indeed pleased, papa."
"And I am more than pleased," said Lind, thoughtfully. "He will be the
most important accession we have had for many a day. Ah, you women have
sharp eyes; but there are some things you cannot see--there are some men
whose character you cannot read."
Natalie glanced up quickly; and her father noticed that surprised look.
"Well," said he, with a smile, "what now is your opinion of Mr. Brand?"
Instantly the soft eyes were cast down again, and a faint tinge of color
appeared in her face.
"Oh, my opinion, papa?" said she, as if to gain time to choose her
words. "Well, I should call him manly, straightforward--and--and very
kind--and--and very English--"
"I understand you perfectly, Natalie," her father said, with a laugh.
"You and Lord Evelyn are quite in accord. Yes, and you are both
thoroughly mistaken. You mean, by his being so English, that he is
cold, critical, unsympathetic: is it not so? You resent his being
cautious about joining us. You think he will be but a lukewarm
associate--suspecting everything--fearful about going too far--a
half-and-half ally. My dear Natalie, that is because neither Lord
Evelyn nor you know anything at all about that man."
The faint color in the girl's cheeks had deepened; and she remained
silent, with her face downcast.
"The pliable ones," her father continued, "the people who are moved by
fine talking, who are full of amiable sentiments, and who take to work
like ours as an additional sentiment--you may initiate a thousand of
them, and not gain an atom of strength. It is a hard head that I want,
and a strong will; a man determined to have no illusions at the outset;
a man who, once pledged, will not despair or give up in the face of
failure, difficulty, or disappointment, or anything else. Brand is such
a man. If I were to be disabled to-morrow, I would rather leave my work
in his hands than in the hands of any man I have seen in this country."
Was it to hide the deepening color in her face that the girl went round
to her father, and stood rather behind him, and put her hand on his
shoulder, and stooped down to his ear.
"Papa," said she, "I--I hope you don't think I have been saying anything
against Mr. Brand. Oh no. How could I do that--when he has been so kind
to us--and--and just now especially, when he is about to become one of
us? You must forget what I said about his being English, papa; after
all, it is not for us to say that being English is anything else than
being kind, and generous, and hospitable. And I am exceedingly pleased
that you have got another associate, and that we have got another good
friend, in England."
"Alors, as Calabressa would say, you can show that you are pleased,
Natalie," her father said, lightly, "by going and writing a pretty
little note, asking your new friend, Mr. Brand, to dine with us
to-night, after the initiation is over, and I will ask Evelyn, if I see
him."
But this proposal in no wise seemed to lessen the girl's embarrassment.
She still clung about the back of her father's chair.
"I would rather not do that, papa," said she, after a second.
"Why? why?" said he.
"Would it not look less formal for you to ask him, papa? You see, it is
once or twice that we have asked him to dine with us without giving him
proper notice--"
"Oh, that is nothing--nothing at all. A bachelor with an evening
disengaged is glad enough to fill it up anyhow. Well, if you would
rather not write, Natalie, I will ask him myself."
"Thank you, papa," said she, apparently much relieved, and therewith she
went back to her seat, and her father turned to his newspaper.
The day passed, and the evening came. As six o'clock was striking,
George Brand presented himself at the little door in Lisle street, Soho,
and was admitted. Lind had already assured him that, as far as England
was concerned, no idle mummeries were associated with the ceremony of
initiation; to which Brand had calmly replied, that if mummeries were
considered necessary, he was as ready as any one to do his part of the
business. Only he added that he thought the unknown powers had acted
wisely--so far as England was concerned--in discarding such things.
When he entered the room, his first glance round was reassuring. There
were six persons present besides Lind, and they did not at all suggest
the typical Leicester Square foreigner. On the contrary, he guessed that
four out of the six were either English or Irish; and two of them he
recognized, though they were unknown to him personally. The one was a
Home Rule M.P., ferocious enough in the House of Commons, but celebrated
as the most brilliant, and amiable, and fascinating of diners-out; the
other was an Oxford don, of large fortune and wildly Radical views, who
wrote a good deal in the papers. There was a murmur of conversation
going on, which ceased as Lind briefly introduced the new-comer.
The ceremony, if ceremony it could be called, was simple enough. The
candidate for admission was required to sign a printed document,
solemnly pledging himself to devote his life, and the labor of his hands
and brain, to the work of the association; to implicitly obey any
command reaching him from the Council, or communicated through an
officer of the first degree; and to preserve inviolable secrecy. Brand
read this paper through twice, and signed it. It was then signed by the
seven witnesses. He was further required to inscribe his signature in a
large volume, which contained a list of members of a particular section.
That done, the six strangers present shook him by the hand, and left.
He looked round surprised. Had he been dreaming during these brief five
minutes? Yet he could hear the noise of their going down-stairs.
"Well," said Mr. Lind, with a smile, "it is not a very terrible
ceremony, is it? Did you expect prostrations at the altar; and blindfold
gropings, and the blessing of the dagger? When you come to know a little
more of our organization, of its extent and its power, you will
understand how we can afford to dispense with all those theatrical ways
of frightening people into obedience and secrecy."
"I expected to find Evelyn here," said George Brand. He was in truth,
just a little bit bewildered as yet. He had been assured that there
would be no foolish mummeries or fantastic rites of initiation; but all
the same he had been much occupied with this step he was about to take;
he had been thinking of it much; he had been looking forward to
something unknown; and he had been nerving himself to encounter whatever
might come before him. But that five minutes of silence; the quick
reading and signing of a paper; the sudden dispersion of the small
assemblage: he could scarcely believe it was all real.
"No," Lind said, "Lord Evelyn is not yet an officer. He is only a
Companion in the third degree, like yourself."
"A what?"
"A Companion in the third degree. Surely you read the document that you
signed?"
It was still lying on the table before him. He took it up; yes, he
certainly was so designated there. Yet he could not remember seeing the
phrase, though he had, before signing, read every word twice over.
"And now, Mr. Brand," his companion said, seating himself at the other
side of the table, "when you have got over your surprise that there
should be no ceremony, it will become my duty to give you some
idea--some rough idea--of the mechanism and aims of our association, and
to show you in what measure we are allied with other societies. The
details you will become acquainted with by-and-by; that will be a labor
of time. And you know, of course, or you have guessed, that there are no
mysteries to be revealed to you, no profound religious truths to be
communicated, no dogmas to be accepted. I am afraid we are very
degenerate descendants of the Mystics, and the Illuminati, and all the
rest of them; we have become prosaic; our wants are sadly material. And
yet we have our dreams and aspirations, too; and the virtues that we
exact--obedience, temperance, faith, self-sacrifice--are not ignoble.
Meanwhile, to begin. I think you may prepare yourself to be astonished."
But astonishment was no word for the emotion experienced by the newly
admitted member when Ferdinand Lind proceeded to give him, with careful
facts and sober computations, some rough outline of the extent and power
of this intricate and far-reaching organization. Hitherto the word
"International" had with him been associated with the ridiculous fiasco
at Geneva; but here was something, not calling itself international,
which aimed at nothing less than knitting together the multitudes of the
nations, not only in Europe, but in the English and French and German
speaking territories beyond the seas, in a solemn league--a league for
self-protection and mutual understanding, for the preservation of
international peace, the spread of knowledge, the outbraving of tyranny,
the defiance of religious intolerance, the relief of the oppressed, the
help of the poor, and the sick, and the weak. This was no cutthroat
conspiracy or wild scheme of confiscation and plunder; but a design for
the establishment of wide and beneficent law--a law which should
protect, not the ambition of kings, not the pride of armies, not the
revenues of priests, but the rights and the liberties of those who were
"darkening in labor and pain." And this message, that could go forth
alike to the Camorristi and the Nihilists; to the Free Masons and the
Good Templars; to the Trades-unionists and the Knights of Labor--to all
those masses of men moved by the spirit of co-operation--"See, brothers,
what we have to show you. Some of you are aiming at chaos and perdition;
others putting wages as their god and sovereign; others content with a
vague philanthropy almost barren of results. This is all the help we
want of you--to pledge yourselves to associate with us, to accept our
modest programme of actual needs, to give help to those who are in want
or trouble, to promise that you will stand by us in the time to come.
And when the time does come; when we are combined; when knowledge is
abroad, and mutual trust, who will say 'yes' if the voice of the people
in every nation murmurs 'No?' What priest will reimpose the Inquisition
on us; what king drive us to shed blood that his robes may have the
richer dye; what policeman in high places endeavor to stamp out our
God-given right of free speech? It is so little for you to grant; it is
so much for you, and for us, to gain!"
These were not the words he uttered--for Lind spoke English slowly and
carefully--but they were the spirit of his words. And as he went on
describing to this new member what had already been done, what was being
done, and the great possibilities of the future, Brand began to wonder
whether all this gigantic scheme, with its simple, bold, and practical
outlines, were the work of this one man. He ventured by-and-by to hint
at some such question.
"Mine?" Lind said, frankly, "Ah no! not the inspiration of it. I am only
the mechanic putting brick and brick together; the design is not mine,
nor that of any one man. It is an aggregate project--a speculation
occupying many a long hour of imprisonment--a scheme to be handed from
one to the other, with alterations and suggestions."
"But even your share of it--how can one man control so much?" Brand
said; for he easily perceived what a mass of detail had to pass through
this man's hands.
"I will tell you," said the other. "Because every stone added to the
building is placed there for good. There is no looking back. There are
no pacifications of revolt. No questions; but absolute obedience. You
see, we exact so little: why should any one rebel? However, you will
learn more and more as you go on; and soon your work will be appointed
you. Meanwhile, I thank you, brother."
Lind rose and shook his hand.
"Now," said he, "that is enough of business. It occurred to me this
morning that, if you had nothing else to do this evening, you might come
and dine with us, and give Natalie the chance of meeting you in your new
character."
"I shall be most pleased," said Brand; and his face flushed.
"I telegraphed to Evelyn. If he is in town, perhaps he will join us.
Shall we walk home?"
"If you like."
So they went out together into the glare and clamor of the streets.
George Brand's heart was very full with various emotions; but, not to
lose altogether his English character, he preserved a somewhat critical
tone as he talked.
"Well, Mr. Lind," he said, "so far as I can see and hear, your scheme
has been framed not only with great ability, but also with a studied
moderation and wisdom. The only point I would urge is this--that, in
England, as little as possible should be said about kings and priests. A
great deal of what you said would scarcely be understood here. You see,
in England it is not the Crown nowadays which instigate or insists on
war; it is Parliament and the people. Dynastic ambitions do not trouble
us. There is no reason whatever why we here should hate kings when they
are harmless."
"You are right; the case is different," Lind admitted. "But that makes
adhesion to our programme all the easier."
"I was only speaking of the police of mentioning things which might
alarm timid people. Then as for the priests; it may be the interest of
the priests in Ireland to keep the peasantry ignorant; but it is
certainly not so in England. The Church of England fosters education--"
"Are not your clergymen the bitterest enemies of the School Board
schools?"
"Well, they may dislike seeing education dissociated from religion--that
is natural, considering what they believe; but they are not necessary
enemies of education. Perhaps I am a very young member to think of
making such a suggestion. But the truth is, that when an ordinary
Englishman hears anything said against kings and priests, he merely
thinks of kings and priests as he knows them--and as being mostly
harmless creatures nowadays--and concludes that you are a Communist
wanting to overturn society altogether."
"Precisely so. I told Natalie this morning that if she were to be
allowed to join our association her English friends would imagine her to
be _petroleuse_."
"Miss Lind is not in the association?" Brand said, quickly.
"As yet no women have been admitted. It is a difficulty; for in some
societies with which we are partly in alliance women are members. Ah,
such noble creatures many of them are, too! However, the question may
come forward by-and-by. In the mean time, Natalie, without being made
aware of what we are actually doing--that, of course, is
forbidden--knows something of what our work must be, and is warm in her
sympathy. She is a good help, too: she is the quickest translator we
have got."
"Do you think," Brand said, somewhat timidly, but with a frown on his
face, "that it is fair to put such tedious labor on the shoulders of a
young girl? Surely there are enough of men to do the work?"
"You shall propose that to her yourself," Lind said laughing.
Well, they arrived at the house in Curzon Street, and, when they went
up-stairs to the drawing-room, they found Lord Evelyn there. Natalie
Lind came forward--with less than usual of her graciously self-possessed
manner--and shook hands with him briefly, and said, with averted look,
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Brand."
Now, as her eyes were cast down, it was impossible that she could have
noticed the quick expression of disappointment that crossed his face.
Was it that she herself was instantly conscious of the coldness of her
greeting, and anxious to atone for that? Was it that she plucked up
heart of grace? At all events, she suddenly offered him both her hands
with a frank courage; she looked him in the face with the soft, tender,
serious eyes; and then, before she turned away, the low voice said,
"Brother, I welcome you!"