Part 9 (2/2)
”Why should we rejoice to-day in the death of our fellow man? Nations are but the dung-heaps out of which the fair flower of a world-democracy is slowly growing. Truth is not national, it is infinite. France may fight Germany because two t.i.tled fools insult each other, but there can be no war between the laboratories of Pasteur and of Koch. Their work is the common heritage of humanity.
Who asks if Humboldt was German or English, whether Spinoza was Jew or Gentile, Darwin English or French? A German wrote 'Faust,' a Frenchman set it to immortal music, and an American girl sang it into the hearts of millions. Who cares to know nationalities? The great belong to the democracy of the world. And I swear that your children will still laugh with the soul of Cervantes in spite of the Fourth of July, Santiago, and Manila!
”Why should you fight one another? When called to war by your rulers, let the liberty-loving spirits of the modern world say to their masters:
”'Go and do your own killing--you who have separated us from our brothers and made the earth a slaughter-pen.'
”If you are court-martialed and shot for this act of heroism remember:
”'They never fail who die In a great cause: the block may soak their gore: Their heads may sodden in the sun: their limbs Be strung to city gates and castle walls-- But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years Elapse and others share as dark a doom, They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts Which overpower all others, and conduct The world at last to freedom!'”
A shout of wild applause rent the air as the last note of Byron's immortal song fell from her beautiful lips. And then, in a low, intense voice, she closed her speech with a thrilling appeal for human brotherhood. To Norman, who hung on her lips, the slight girlish figure seemed transformed before their eyes into a radiant messenger of the spirit. And when the sweet womanly tones at last broke and choked into deep-drawn sobs, his soul and body seemed no longer his own. As her last words sank into his heart: ”From to-day let each of us swear allegiance to but one flag, the deep-red emblem of human blood, G.o.d's sign of universal brotherhood!” Norman leaped to his feet, sprang on the platform, and while the crowd swayed in a frenzy of applause, hauled down the Stars and Stripes and quickly raised the big red standard of Socialism which was thrown across the speaker's table.
And then the great crowd seemed to go mad. Wave after wave of cheering rose and fell, rose and fell, in apparently unending power. Catherine threw her arms around Barbara in a paroxysm of emotion, while the big figure of Wolf towered above them both, shouting and gesturing like a madman. Barbara at last lifted her hand and, as the storm subsided, began the Ma.r.s.eillaise hymn.
The first stirring notes had just swept the audience when the stalwart figure of Colonel Worth suddenly appeared on the platform, his face a blaze of anger, his magnificent figure erect, every nerve and muscle drawn to the highest tension.
He stepped to the edge of the stand, lifted his head, and his voice rang over the crowd like the sudden boom of a cannon:
”Silence!”
He didn't repeat the word.
The singing stopped, and every eye was riveted on the group that stood on the platform.
The Colonel confronted Wolf, and shot his words at him as though from a machine-gun.
”Who lowered that flag?”
A moment of silence followed. The Colonel spoke with increasing rapidity.
”Who lowered that flag? The man who did it must answer to me!”
Some one behind him moved, and the Colonel turned, confronting Norman.
”I did it, Governor,” was the quiet answer.
”You?” the father gasped.
”Yes,” said the even, firm voice.
”Haul that red rag down and raise the flag back to its place!” The Colonel's voice was low and thick with rage.
Elena put her hand on his arm and said gently:
”Guardie!”
”Will you do it?” he firmly asked, ignoring Elena, and holding Norman with his gaze.
The young man hesitated an instant, met his father's look with a deadly straight stare, and slowly replied:
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