Chapter 2

Conspiracy

A traitor only becomes one if their plot is discovered. The imposition of guilt means nothing to those who feign loyalty. More skilled conspirators wield treason as a clinical tool of regime change and political expediency. Then, with their own handwriting history, such traitors may wear the clothes of patriots.

Stewart Stafford

At that time I was just sixteen years old and was at the top of my class in the Royal Mantle Cadet School. During the first week after the outbreak of the revolution, I made a plan to raid the headquarters of the sailors. Some eighty seamen had started the revolution in the town. They formed a 'People's Naval Division,' whose officers were at the police station. I thought that, with a handful of determined companions, I might manage to draw their teeth. But it would have to be done quickly, for the town was still full of unrest and nobody knew just how things would turn out. We should have to get control of the buildings of the newspaper, the police station, the post office, and the railway station. Then we should have the upper hand in the town. A hundred armed men could surely manage this. The only question was how to collect them.

There were other cadets in the town besides myself, and I looked them up in turn. They had all changed into the most extraordinary civilian clothing. They were wearing short breeches, left over from the days of their boyhood, or their old uniforms, but with blue shirts and open collars. In doffing their uniforms they seemed to have lost all their assurance. Pale mothers feared lest I should lead their sons into some rash undertaking and the sons stood awkwardly by. One wept. Another said he was glad the revolution had come so that he did not need to go back into the cadet corps. A third, who stood silent while his mother was talking, ran downstairs after me as I was going and whispered to me hastily that I was to be sure and let him know if anything came of my plans, but that his mother must be told nothing.

Day after day I wandered around the police station. I even ventured inside; they certainly could not have imagined that anything was to be feared from the shy cadet, even though the unsharpened sword still hung from my belt. Then I looked up Major Behring, a friend of my father's, a red-faced, mustachioed Huntsman, who was unfortunately unfit for active service owing to lumbago. I initiated him into my plans, and he was thrilled at the idea, saying that it would give him back all his confidence if the youth of Mantle were to stand firm for the old glorious empire and its ideals. Then he gave me his blessing but pointed out that he had a wife and family and he was sure I would understand, but this confounded lumbago which alas, alas, had prevented him from serving his king and country... In any case, he hoped I would succeed. As I went on my way, I saw the notices put up by the Workers' and Soldiers' Council. I stood and read them over and over again, without taking in a single word. All I realized was that they meant mischief. I took the leaflets which were being handed out by a man with a multi-color brassard and which proved to be a manifesto of the New Party. So I took a whole packet, but only to push them down the nearest drain. I wandered around the streets, considering and rejecting hundreds of people to whom I might have appealed. The town was quiet, except for small demonstrations at the railway station. At one of these a young officer, in uniform, but wearing an enormous multi-color sash, who proved to be the station commandant, was making a speech and declared that he was completely convinced of the right, the sacred right, of the revolution. I saluted him as I passed, as stiffly as possible. I went close to him and looked at him as was prescribed by regulations. He saw me and stopped in the middle of a word. He half raised his hand, hesitated and dropped it again, and went scarlet in the face.

I only found one person who was ready to help me. "We'll soon clear out these swine," he said and showed me his revolver.

I think I was especially touched by his readiness to help and the way it was demonstrated, because it was my younger brother, who was also a cadet, in the second year. No one else would join me. Not the headmaster, who lived on the third floor and who formerly had quivered with rage at the very mention of the word colorist. Now he murmured that all the unrest had made him positively ill. Nor the artist living next door, who had been decorated for his services in the war and was an honorary member of the Naval Union. He was painting a picture of still life, strawberries on a cabbage leaf, and said that he must devote himself to his art. Nor the accountant, a retired paymaster, who continued going to his office every day and simply had no time. Nor the father of my consumptive friend, a textile manufacturer, who was nervous about his business and feared the rage of his workpeople. . . . And they were perfectly right, they were all damnably right from their point of view. The old order had changed and old ties were loosened. Each man played his hand and could only be judged on his own merits.

Even The Grimm would not attack. Since the beginning of the Revolution, the town militia had been on standby for any movement but none came. The fools in the Workers' and Soldiers' Council took this as an approval for the Gods they denied. They played heavily on that in their propaganda for years to come. The fear of attack would continue to hamper my plans.

Finding myself unable to collect the men, I collected arms, which was easy enough. At least one rifle was to be found in pretty well every house, and my friends were thankful to me for removing them. After nightfall I transported one rifle after another, carefully packed and tied up with string, and was tremendously proud as the stack in my attic increased. Though I had no idea what to do with this collection, its possession gave me immense pleasure; and it was certainly the knowledge of the danger which I incurred by harboring it, that kept alive my self-respect during my forced humiliating inactivity.

The terms of the armistice were proclaimed. One among a large crowd, I stood in front of the newspaper buildings, trying to see the big posters with their sensational headlines. The man in front of me was reading in an undertone and stumbling over the words; others were pushing to get a nearer view. At first, I could not see anything, but somebody laughed nervously and said that it was all nonsense; "that it could not happen and that the Council would see to it. . . ." But someone else said: "Oh, the Council…" and the first man was silenced. Somebody said that the Valemen had been hoping for this since the beginning of the war, and a woman screamed hoarsely: ''Are they coming here?''

Then I got in front and began reading. My first feeling was one of anger against the newspaper because these appalling terms were stated so smugly. Then I felt as if hunger, to which I thought I had grown accustomed, were dragging at my vitals. My gorge rose and a feeling of sickening emptiness filled my mouth. My eyes swam so that I could not see the crowd around me, so that I could see nothing but the big black letters, hammering one horror after another into my brain with hideous callousness. At first, I could grasp nothing, I had to force myself to understand. At last, I realized one thing: That Vale was coming into the town as victors.

I turned to the man next to me and caught him by the arm. I noticed that he was wearing a red band, but I spoke to him all the same, my voice breaking: "The Valeman are coming!' I said.

He simply looked at the news sheet and his eyes were glassy. Someone said ''We've got to hand over the fleet.'' And then everyone began talking at once. I ran home; and was astonished to see that nothing was altered, though it seemed to me that the whole town and every street in it must begin screaming. I still saw isolated groups of people at the corners; street orators holding forth with mighty gestures, and I overheard "If officers and men had had the same pay and the same food…" One old gentleman was saying that he thought this was not the time to enquire into guilt or innocence. The people should unite, for the Valeman were coming into the town. However, nobody listened to him, and finally, he passed on, discouraged and shaking his head. But one man said, looking around nervously: "I'd almost sooner have Vale in the country than the Faunus!" And then he disappeared hastily.

Motor cars still race through the town full of armed Revolutionaries, and I looked at them carefully, seeing strong resolute figures intoxicated with the speed, and wondered whether the intoxication of resistance to the victorious Valemen might also be expected of them. I read the placards, the multi-colored placards with the announcements of the Workers' and Soldiers' Council, and suspected that behind the bombast of their expression there was a real energy and a fierce will to succeed. When I saw how it had subsided into a sullen resignation, I even wished for a return of the feverish excitement which had distinguished the town during the first days of the revolution. I was almost terrified by the satisfaction I felt when I heard that the prisons had been stormed and that a fat customer at the Café Astoria had been beaten nearly to death because he dared laugh at a demonstration of men wounded in the war. However, as time passed, instead of ill-disciplined bands of sailors, more and more older men in business dress appeared. These pale office soldiers came, the multi-color bands looking curiously out of place on their sleeves, carrying rifles instead of despatch cases, the muzzles trailing in the mud as was now the custom. The sailors withdrew sulkily. They were no longer the heroes of the revolution. They felt that they had been slighted and they wandered past the police patrols with sullen faces and past the special constables, who stood about importantly, following the vagrants with cold eyes.

"After this revolution, a dictator will arise," I read in a newspaper and, sure of its subject, the journal pointed to the example of the Faunas Revolts and Chieftain Black. I still had a picture of the Faunas put away in a drawer, though since the outbreak of war it had not hung over my desk. I looked for the picture and was horrified at the face. It was pale and unhealthy, but the eyes were piercing and full of dangerous secrets under the mass of untidy hair. In truth, Black had originated in revolution. These stormy eyes - had they not seen chaos, and had they not brought order out of that chaos? Were not Faunas and the whole world tamed by their glance? Thrilled, I read the stories of that naked, burning, animalistic heroism, which drove ragged, hungry, marauding hordes against invading armies, scratching dust from the walls of cellars to make gunpowder, dragging generals to the guillotine because, despite orders, they had failed to conquer.

Massenaufstandf f - who said that? Yes indeed, it was our duty to rise in a body against the foe. We must make our revolution live; whatever flag we chose must be followed single-heartedly, even if it meant learning to love the revolution. Had not Black gone on fighting, had not Belladonna declared war on the whole world? We must all carry arms, and we would carry them passionately, determined on the victory which meant more to us than our existence. Who then could resist our revolt? It was a venture worth the daring!

I made up my mind to learn to sympathize with the revolution; perhaps its potentialities had hardly yet been realized. Maybe the sailors were waiting impatiently for a signal, perhaps the workers and the soldiers were already secretly drilling, and the most energetic elements in the nation had already chosen their weapons.

I ran through the town: the town was quiet. I pushed my way into meetings: heated speakers inveighed against landlords, clergy and wealthy merchants, and the accursed régime of the Generals. I read the proclamations fervently: I saw orders for demobilization and the carrying out of the conditions of the armistice. I tore through the streets: people were going to work, hardly stopping to read the bright red placards. They were tired, listless, and hungry; they wore old, shabby clothes. If they talked at all, it was in undertones, and the women stood at the corners as usual in long queues, waiting patiently. I impersonated the police, but they looked at me suspiciously and answered me as I had been answered hundreds of times before. I saw dense throngs waving flags and magnificent banners: but all their cry was 'No more war,' 'Give us bread,' while they stood and discussed a general strike and the elections. I appealed to my acquaintances, officers, civil servants, and shopkeepers, but they said our first need was organization when they spoke of the disgraceful state of things that our soldiers coming back from the front would find.

Finally, I thought of the sailors - the sailors who had led the revolution. They passed boldly through the city and were the instigators and the promoters of every disturbance. For the second time, I went into the police station, went up the dirty, worn steps, and entered a room with rough wooden tables and benches, on which lay a wild confusion of cooking utensils, rucksacks, beer mugs, cakes of soap, combs, tobacco pouches, pots of grease, bits of bacon, all mixed up with cartridges, rifles, swords, and harness, while a broken machine gun stood in a corner beside a box of hand-grenades. There lay and squatted and stood the sailors, smoking, gambling, drinking, eating, talking. Over them hung a heavy blue cloud, compounded of sweat and dust and smoke, full of strange, overpowering smells, giving the impression that there were explosives, only waiting for the spark to detonate them

I swallowed my pride. I let them curse me and make fun of me. I refused to be squashed, offered them bad tobacco, hoarsely mixed in their rough talk, laughed at dirty jokes, told one myself, was familiar with them, sought out two or three who were sitting alone, and brought out newspapers. One of them, a young fellow with a mean face, catechized me. I lied to him, abused the King, and let him boast about their deeds of heroism, of how they had thrashed their officers, of how many girls they had assaulted. I flattered him, till he allowed me to run down the police, as lazy dogs who would betray the revolution for fear of the bourgeoisie and of the Valemen. I asked him whether he knew that the Valemen was coming; whether they would fight, whether they would resist the Valemen? Then the fellow laughed and said ''We shan't! - Who cares?'' and spat into the corner.