The Marx He Knew | Page 6

to pay my expenses, and I was very happy to go--happy because I should see him again.
[Illustration: FREDERICK ENGELS.]
"So I was present at the rooms of the Arbeiterbildungsverein, in Great Windmill Street, when Karl read the declaration of principles and programme he had prepared. That was the Communist Manifesto, you know."
"What! were you really present when that immortal declaration of the independence of our class was read, Hans?"
"Aye, lad, I was present during all the ten days the congress lasted. Never, never shall I forget how our Karl read that declaration. Like a man inspired he was. I, who have heard Bernstein and Niemann and many another great actor declaim the lines of famous classics, never heard such wonderful declamation as his. We all sat spellbound and still as death while he read. Tears of joy trickled down my cheeks, and not mine alone. When he finished reading there was the wildest cheering. I lost control of myself and kissed him on both cheeks, again and again. He liked not that, for he was always ashamed to have a fuss made over him.
"But Karl--he always insisted that I should call him 'Karl,' as in boyhood days--had shown us that day his inner self; bared the secret of his heart, you might say. The workers of all countries must unite--only just that, unite! And that night, after the long session of the congress, when he took me away with Engels and a few other friends--I remember that Karl Pfander was one--he could speak of little else: the workers must be united somehow, and whoever proposed further divisions instead of unity must be treated as a traitor.
"Some there were who had not his patience. Few men have, my lad, for his was the patience of a god. They wanted 'action,' 'action,' 'action,' and some of them pretended that Karl was just a plain coward, afraid of action. There was one little delegate, a Frenchman, who tried to get me to vote against the 'coward Marx'--me that had known Karl since we were little shavers together, and that knew him to be fearless and lion-hearted. I just picked the creature up and shook him like a terrier shakes a rat and he squealed bitterly. I don't think he called Karl a coward again during the congress.
"Of course, Karl had courage enough for anything. But he was too wise to imagine that any good could come from a few thousand untrained workingmen, armed with all sorts of implements, dangerous most to themselves, challenging the trained hosts of capitalist troops. That was the old idea of 'Revolution,' you know, and it took more courage to advocate the long road of patience than it would take to join in a silly riot. And Karl showed them that, too, by his calm look and scornful treatment of their cry for 'action.' The way he silenced the noisy followers of Wilhelm Weitling--who was not a bad fellow, mind--was simply wonderful to see. Oh, he was a born leader of men, was Karl.
"When the congress was all over, I meant to stay a few days in London to see the great city. Barbara had a sister living over in Dean street and so it would cost me nothing to stay. But Karl came to me and begged me to go back by way of Brussels. He and Engels were returning there at once, and would like to have me go with them. I didn't want to go at first, but when Karl said that there were some messages he wanted me to take back to Cologne, why, of course, I went.
"Ach, what a glorious time we had on that journey to Brussels! Sometimes Karl and Engels would talk seriously about the great cause, and I just listened and kept my mouth shut while my ears were wide open. At other times they would throw off their seriousness as a man throws off a coat, and then they would tell stories and sing songs, and of course I joined in. People say--people that never knew the real Karl--that he was gloomy and sad, that he couldn't smile. I suppose that is because they never saw the simple Karl that I knew and loved, but only Marx, the great leader and teacher, with a thousand heavy problems burdening his mind. But the Marx that I knew--my friend Karl--was human, boy, very human. He could sing a song, tell a good story, and enjoy a joke, even at his own expense."
A smile lit up the face of the Young Comrade. "I'm so glad of that, Hans," he said. "I've always been told that he was a sad man, without a sense of humor; that he was never known to unbend from his stiff gravity. But you say that he was not so;