The Golden Bough

by George Gibbs

THE CENTRAL COMMITTEE

It was with a heavy heart that Tanya followed her two companions to the Starnberg Bahnhof. For her escape from the Villa Monteori, so miraculously accomplished, had for the moment filled her with the hope that the end of her troubles was at hand. And the brief glimpse of happiness she had had in the discovery of the love and loyalty of Philippe Rowlan' had in their ecstatic hour of union driven from her consciousness all thought of that other allegiance and responsibility to which she had pledged her young life. It came to her with a distinct sense of shock that Philippe more than herself now seemed to feel that responsibility, and accept it as his first duty even above the claims that he had given her upon himself. Grave as were the dangers through which he had passed to save her and deadly as the dangers through which they must still pass as long as they remained in Germany, he had been able to put her aside, to force all thought of their happiness from his mind, in the accomplishment of his graver mission in the cause of Free Government.

It was she who had brought him this responsibility and she loved him for the loyalty with which he fought for a cause not generically his own, but deep in her heart was a sense of failure, of disappointment in this, the greatest hour that could come in a woman's life.

Only four days ago this valiant, careless American had come to her, a new type of being, such as she had never seen before, bringing with him the spirit of joy, unselfishness and honesty, committing himself merely because she had asked it of him, to a cause which as he could well see exposed him to nameless dangers; typical of his great nation across the seas which had now entered the world conflict, pouring into the inferno of German hatred its millions and its men, not for gain or glory, but merely that the world might be free for its brothers in democracy. In her heart she had not dared to admit even to herself that she loved this tall dark-haired stranger, who smiled and then fought and seemed to smile the more when fighting. But she knew now that she had loved him from the first, when he had come half-starved, and asked for bread, his eyes, which could be merry even in suffering, discerning with frank admiration the woman beneath her robes of Nemi. Nemi to him but a name, its priestess but a woman to whom he had committed himself without question and was now committed for all time. She had loved him then, but more than then or yesterday she loved him now for the unselfishness of a devotion which could dare so much without hope of other reward than she could give him. But the short definite commands at the moment of parting impressed her anew with the sense of intelligence and will which lay beneath his careless manner and the firm strong touch of his fingers bade her still have courage and faith whatever was to happen.

And so, at last, calmly, she took up her burden, ready to accept her share in the dangers of the night as he would wish her to do. She had sent the message to Georg Senf, and with the aid of the telegraph officer at Starnberg, had managed to secure a compartment with her two companions for the short distance to Munich. They were silent men, watchful and obedient, solemnly aware of their responsibilities and at the Haupt Bahnhof which they reached near eleven o'clock hurried her to the cab that Herr Weiss had fortunately provided, for the rain was now falling in torrents. In the cab with the Chief Telegraph Operator beside her, the others following in another vehicle, they were driven to a house in the Schwaiger Strasse where the secret meetings of the Central Committee were held. As Herr Weiss talked to her on the way, she gained for the first time a definite conception of the position the Socialists of Munich had taken, the growing preponderance of the Revolutionary party and the efforts of the so-called Official Socialists, represented by Herr Scheideman, to pour oil upon the troubled waters of rebellion. The government, it seemed, had exhibited a growing anxiety as to the Bavarian propaganda, had interfered by police force in breaking up small meetings and was of course inimical to the work of the Central Committee which as every one in Bavaria knew was growing in influence and power. At the last meeting a month ago, money had been appropriated for the work of the Order of Nemi, to which all of the organizations had contributed, for the work in Russia. It was to the great international society that the Socialists of all creeds looked in their fight against the power of Berlin. Herr Senf was greatly respected for his wisdom and his intelligence, but he was growing old. Herr Rowland was English or American, but to Internationalism what did nationality matter? Herr Weiss had had the honor of meeting him but once, but it was clearly to be seen that here was a leader who could be counted on.

Tanya glowed with pride, not a little astonished too at these words of commendation. She inquired as to the meeting to which they were bound and Herr Weiss looked grave, but told her that in the midst of friends she need have no fear, but that it would be necessary to make their entrance unobtrusive. Rain was pouring in torrents when they reached their destination, a house of ordinary appearance in a small street, beyond the Cornelius Bridge and close by the borders of the river. The windows were all dark for the blinds were drawn but Herr Weiss got down and, umbrella in hand, conducted the Fräulein with assurance to the door, where he knocked three times and after a careful scrutiny was admitted with their companions. It was with a feeling of some apprehension that Tanya went up the stairs behind him, for brave though she was she could not forget that she was in the heart of the enemy's country and that it was she who had taken the lost bag containing the money that these very men had helped contribute. Suppose that Philippe should not succeed....

Upon the landing of the third floor they were halted at a door and scrutinized again, admitted at last to a suite of three large rooms with wide doors, filled with people, all smoking and listening to a man at the farther end of this improvised hall, who was addressing them. The ceiling was low and smoke-stained, and the atmosphere was heavy with the reek of tobacco, damp clothes and perspiring humanity and the smoky lamps which hung in brackets upon the wall seemed to be struggling in a futile effort to lighten the gloom. Upon the tables here and there were glasses and steins, some half full, some empty of the bitter stuff that they drank as a substitute for the beer they loved. There were several women present, and as the new comers entered, those nearest the door turned and scrutinized Tanya in a moment of curiosity and then again listened to the speaker, a youngish man with dark hair who seemed to have captured their attention. Herr Weiss found Tanya a chair and she sat while the men who had come from Starnberg took places around her.

Though the room was oppressively hot, Tanya shivered, as though with cold, and clasped her hands to keep them from trembling. A feeling of disappointment and depression had come over her. This was the Central Committee of which she had heard so much--that old man at the table in the furthest room near the speaker, Georg Senf, with whom she had corresponded, once a councilor of Nemi and known from one end of Germany to the other. The sordid surroundings, the poverty of the appearance of those nearest her, their pinched, eager faces,--who were these poor half-starved looking wretches who dared oppose the might and majesty of the Prussian Eagles? Their task seemed so hopeless, so futile, and her own mission so uncertain, so fraught with complexity and danger. Her glance sought the door again and again, as she thought of flight, and she scrutinized each newcomer, hoping against hope that it might be Philippe. But at last she grew more tranquil and found herself catching some of the fire, some of the terrible earnestness of those about her, who sat leaning forward on their benches, with their burning eyes turned to the face of the young speaker, their minds responding to his intelligence and devotion in a silence that was eloquent of the sincerity of his appeal. And finally a phrase that he uttered, poignant of a truth that lay near her own heart, caught her attention and forgetting herself she listened at last as abstracted and as eager as those about her.

"The foes of the people are growing ever bolder, ever more shameless," he cried. "War wastrels, war instigators, war profiteers, those to whom the misery of the people brings power and gain. Such wish no peace. Workmen! Our brothers the Russian proletariat were but a few weeks ago in the same plight, but we know what happened in Russia. Russian labor has crushed Czarism and has gained a democratic republic. And we? Are we still patiently to endure the old poverty, extortion, hunger and murder of the people--the cause of our pain and agony?

"No! a thousand times no! Quit the workshops and factories. Let labor stop.