The Witness by Grace Livingston Hill Lutz (mobi reader android TXT) 📕

How Could God Let It All Be? His Wondering Soul Cried

Out,  "Lord,  If Thou Hadst Been Here!"

 

It Was The Old Question That Used To Come Up In The Class-Room,  Yet Now,

Strangely Enough,  He Began To Feel There Was An Answer To It Somewhere;

An Answer Wherewith He Would Be Satisfied When He Found It.

 

It Seemed An Eternity Of Thought Through Which He Passed As He Crossed

And Recrossed The Street And Was Back In The Tiny Room Where Life Waited

On Death. It Was Another Eternity While The Doctor Worked Again Over Th

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The Government Based Its Action Upon The Following Allegations,  Which

Appear To Have Been Substantially Correct: In October Arrangements Were

Made To Convoke A Secret Conference Of Delegates Of The Social Democratic

Organization To Plan For A Revolutionary Uprising. The Police Learned Of

The Plan,  And When At Last,  On November 17th,  The Conference Was Held At

Viborg,  Eight Miles From Petrograd--As The National Capital Was Now

Called--A Detachment Of Police Found Eleven Persons Assembled,  Including

Five Members Of The Imperial Duma,  Messrs. Petrovsky,  Badavev,  Mouranov,

Samoelov,  And Chagov. The Police Arrested Six Persons,  But Did Not Arrest

The Duma Members,  On Account Of Their Parliamentary Position. An Examining

Magistrate,  However,  Indicted The Whole Eleven Who Attended The Conference,

Under Article No. 102 Of The Penal Code,  And Issued Warrants For Their

Arrest. Among Those Arrested Was Kamanev,  One Of Lenine's Closest Friends,

Who Behaved So Badly At His Trial,  Manifesting So Much Cowardice,  That He

Was Censured By His Party.

 

At This Conference,  According To The Government,  Arrangements Were Made To

Circulate Among The Masses A Manifesto Which Declared That "From The

Viewpoint Of The Working Class And Of The Laboring Masses Of All The

Nations Of Russia,  The Defeat Of The Monarchy Of The Czar And Of Its Armies

Would Be Of Extremely Little Consequence." The Manifesto Urged The

Imperative Necessity Of _Carrying On On All Sides The Propaganda Of The

Social Revolution Among The Army And At The Theater Of The War,  And That

Weapons Should Be Directed Not Against Their Brothers,  The Hired Slaves Of

Other Countries,  But Against The Reactionary Bourgeois Governments_. The

Manifesto Went On,  According To The Government,  To Favor The Organization

Of A Similar Propaganda In All Languages,  Among All The Armies,  With The

Aim Of Creating Republics In Russia,  Poland,  Germany,  Austria,  And All

Other European Countries,  These To Be Federated Into A Republican United

Stares Of Europe.

 

The Declaration That The Defeat Of The Russian Armies Would Be "Of

Extremely Little Consequence" To The Workers Became The Key-Note Of The

Anti-War Agitation Of The Bolsheviki. Lenine And Zinoviev,  Still In Exile,

Adopted The View That The Defeat Of Russia Was _Actually Desirable_ From

The Point Of View Of The Russian Working Class. "We Are Russians,  And For

That Very Reason We Want Czarism To Be Defeated," Was The Cry.[3] In His

Paper,  The _Social Democrat_,  Published In Switzerland,  Lenine Advocated

Russian Defeat,  To Be Brought About Through Treachery And Revolt In The

Army,  As The Best Means Of Furthering Revolutionary Progress. The Majority

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Of The Bolshevik Faction Made Common Cause With The Extreme Left-Wing

Socialists Of The Socialist-Revolutionary Party,  Who Shared Their Views And

Became Known As "Porazhentsi"--That Is,  Advocates Of Defeat. Naturally,  The

Charge Was Made That They Were Pro-German,  And It Was Even Charged That

They Were In The Pay Of Germany. Possibly Some Of Them Were,  But It By No

Means Follows That Because They Desired Russia's Defeat They Were Therefore

Consciously Pro-German. They Were Not Pro-German,  But Anti-Czarists. They

Believed Quite Honestly,  Most Of Them,  That Russia's Defeat Was The Surest

And Quickest Way Of Bringing About The Revolution In Russia Which Would

Overthrow Czarism. In Many Respects Their Position Was Quite Like That Of

Those Irish Rebels Who Desired To See England Defeated,  Even Though It

Meant Germany's Triumph,  Not Because Of Any Love For Germany,  But Because

They Hated England And Believed That Her Defeat Would Be Ireland's

Opportunity. However Short-Sighted And Stupid Such A Policy May Be Judged

To Be,  It Is Quite Comprehensible And Should Not Be Misrepresented. It Is A

Remarkable Fact That The Bolsheviki,  While Claiming To Be The Most Radical

And Extreme Internationalists,  Were In Practice The Most Narrow

Nationalists. They Were Exactly As Narrow In Their Nationalism As The

Sinn-Feiners Of Ireland. They Wery Of Looking At The Matter; A Possibility That The

Wicked Old Reprobate Had Yet Something More To Learn Of Life Before He

Went Beyond Its Choices And Opportunities; A Conviction That If He Were

Called To Go He Had Rather Be The Little Child In His Purity Than The

Old Man In His Deviltry.

 

The Sudden Cutting Down Of This Lovely Child Had Startled And Shocked

Him. The Bereavement Of The Girl Cut Him To The Heart As If She Had

Belonged To Him. It Brought The Other World So Close. It Made What Had

Hitherto Seemed The Big Worth-While Things Of Life Look So Small And

Petty,  So Ephemeral! Had He Always Been Giving Himself Utterly To Things

That Did Not Count,  Or Was This A Perspective All Out Of Proportion,  A

Distorted Brain Again,  Through Nervous Strain And Over-Exertion?

 

He Came Presently To A Well-Known Undertaker's,  And,  Stepping In,  Felt

More Than Ever The Borderland-Sense. In This Silent House Of Sadness Men

Stepped Quietly,  Gravely,  Decorously,  And Served You With Courteous

Sympathy. What Was The Name Of The Man Who Rowed His Boat On The River

Styx? Yes! Charon! These Wise-Eyed Grave Men Who Continually Plied Their

Oars Between Two Worlds! How Did They Look On Life? Were They Hardened

To Their Task? Was Their Gentle Gravity All Acting? Did Earthly Things

Appeal To Them? How Could They Bear It All,  This Continual Settled

Sadness About The Place! The Awful Hush! The Tear-Stained Faces! The

Heavy Breath Of Flowers! Not All The Lofty Marble Arches,  And Beauty Of

Surroundings,  Not All The Soft Music Of Hidden Choirs And Distant Organ

Up In One Of The Halls Above Where A Service Was Even Then In Progress,

Could Take Away The Fact Of Death; The Settled,  Final Fact Of Death! One

Moment Here Upon The Curbstone,  Golden Hair Afloat,  Eyes Alight With

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Joyous Greeting,  Voice Of Laughter; The Next Gone,  Irrevocably Gone,

"And The Place Thereof Shall Know It No More," Where Had He Heard Those

Words? Strange,  Sad House Of Death! Strange,  Uncertain Life To Live.

Resurrection! Where Had He Caught That Word In Carven Letters Twined

Among Lilies Above The Marble Staircase? Resurrection! Yes,  There Would

Need To Be If There Was To Be Any Hope Ever In This World!

 

It Was A Strange Duty He Had To Perform,  Strange Indeed For A College

Boy To Whom Death Had Never Come Very Close Since He Had Been Old Enough

To Understand. It Came To Him To Wonder What The Fellows Would Say If

They Could See Him Here. He Felt Half A Grudge Toward Wittemore For

Having Let Him In For All This. Poor Wittemore! By This Time To-Morrow

Night Wittemore Might Be Doing This Same Service For His Own Mother!

 

Death! Death! Death! Everywhere! It Seemed As If Everybody Was Dying!

 

He Made Selections With A Memory Of The Girl's Beautiful,  Refined Face.

He Chose Simple Things And Everything All White. He Asked About Details

And Gave Directions So That Everything Would Move In An Orderly Manner,

With Nothing To Annoy. He Even Thought To Order Flowers,  Valley-Lilies,

And Some Bright Rosebuds,  Not Too Many To Make Her Feel Under

Obligation. He Took Out His Check-Book And Paid For The Whole Thing,

Arranging That The Girl Should Not Know How Much It All Really Cost,  And

That A Small Sum Might Be Paid By Her As She Was Able,  To Be Forwarded

By The Firm To Him; This To Make Her Feel Entirely Comfortable About It

All.

 

As He Went Out Into The Street Again A Great Sense Of Weariness Came

Over Him. He Had Lived--How Many Years Had He Lived!--In Experience

Since He Left The University At Half Past Five O'clock? How Little His

Past Life Looked To Him As He Surveyed It From The Height He Had Just

Climbed. Life! Life Was Not All Basket-Ball,  And Football,  And Dances,

And Fellowships,  And Frats. And Honors! Life Was Full Of Sorrow,  And

Bounded On Every Hand By Death! The Walk From Where He Was Up To The

University Looked Like An Impossibility. There Was A Store Up In The

Next Block Where He Was Known. He Could Get A Check Cashed And Ride.

 

He Found Himself Studying The Faces Of The People In The Car In A New

Light. Were They All Acquainted With Sorrow? Yes,  There Were More Or

Less Lines Of Hardship,  Or Anxiety,  Or Disappointment On All The Older

Faces. And The Younger Ones! Did All Their Bright Smiles And Eagerness

Have To Be Frozen On Their Lips By Grief Some Day? When You Came To

Think Of It Life Was A Terrible Thing! Take That Girl Now,  Miss

Brentwood--Miss R.B. Brentwood The Address Had Been. The Name Her

Brother Had Called Her Fitted Better,  "Bonnie." What Would Life Mean To

Her Now?

 

It Occurred To Him To Wonder If There Would Be Any Such Sorrow And

Emptiness Of Life For Any One If He Were Gone. The Fellows Would Feel

Badly,  Of Course. There Would Be Speeches And Resolutions,  A Lot Of

Black Drapery,  And All That Sort Of Thing In College,  But What Did That

Amount To? His Father? Oh Yes,  Of Course He Would Feel It Some,  But He

Had Been Separated From His Father For Years,  Except For Brief Visits In

Vacations. His Father Had Married A Young Wife And There Were Three

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