Sees US and Other Nations on Red Abyss

Sees US and Other Nations on Red Abyss

Kuhn, Oliver Owen

WWP16081

1919 November 15

The author speaks of the dangers of communism after secretly attending a meeting of French and Russian communists.

Cary T. Grayson Papers, Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library, Staunton, Virginia

English

by oliver owen kuhn.
Correspondence of The Star.

PARIS.

—“Your own America is standing upon an abyss. My dear France faces terrors the like of which those of the revolution will pale into insignificance. England is seething. Only the most courageous action will forestall those who seek to disembowel our old civilization—that civilization, ideals the bases for which millions of men fought, millions of men died. Unless we are careful our victory, achieved only after four years of terrible war, will be forever wrecked. It is terrible. Is it not so?”

The voice of my companion vibrated. A slight shudder passed over him as he contemplated the evil results of the things he was picturing for the world at large. He was deadly in earnest. He was not wholly a theorist as to potentialities, for some of the things he disclosed were facts derived from perils of his work, he being none other than a member of the great French secret service that today is endeavoring to trip the ultra-radicals of France, who are hand in glove with those world visionaries claiming allegiance to no nation, only the internationale, the leaders of which today are striving to undermine the fundamentals of world order and set up in their stead communism, bolshevism—whatever you may wish to call it—in every great nation of the world, by peaceable but deceitful methods if possible, but by arson and slaughter if necessary.

We sat in a little cafe in Rue Vaugirard, in the Latin quarter of Paris.

Glad That France Lives.

“You know, we must get on,” said the buxom, bustling proprietress, who so carefully saw to it that the food was good and who was overly solicitous as to whether you were pleased.

“My boys, brave lads, are gone. Yes, many. But—my dear France lives, lives!”

And her eyes were bright. Then they were filmed with tears—tears of grief for those one-time happy youngsters, who were gone forever, or tears of emotion at the thought her dear country was safe. I knew not. As I speculated my friend, who sat at my side, inhaled deeply from his cigarette and with eyes fixed on the wall beyond, muttered beneath his breath, but audibly enough for me to hear.

“But, France may die.”

And, as quickly, his body becoming rigid, his eyes flashing fire, he raised a clenched hand, brought it down upon the table with such vehemence that it danced.

“By God, it shall not be.”

My companion sat as in a daze, infrequently, but then slowly and meditatively drawing upon his cigareete. I, too, was silent.

Say Menace Is Great.

“Yes,” he almost musingly said at last, just as if there had been no violent interruption in his previous conversation, “the menace to all is great. I know. I know. Will officialdom the world over prove craven cowards in dealing with this thing or will we see the streets of Paris, London, New York, Washington, and Rome run red with the blood of law abiding citizens, stabbed and trampled in the streets by the mobs of anarchy, mobs composed of foul traitors to modern ethics and commonest decency? Will these officials who have the power to stop this thing prove weaklings and not grasp the situation now while they can?

“I know. Come with me and I will prove what I say. You shall see for youself. You shall hear that that which is being preached to the unthinking the world over today in the hope of gaining converts for leaders who know no scruples, who are planning to undermine the pillars of civilization, decent thinking and right living, merely for the elevation of the self. Come.”

Silently, I followed.

As we gained the street my companion turned with this admonition:

“Say little. If you say anything talk of ‘the cause.’ These words means much or little, depending upon where you may be or who you may be with. Follow my lead. You cannot speak Russian. You cannot speak French. You know only English. Is it not so? Good.”

Our steps were carrying us past the Luxembourg and its gardens. As we walked on and on, turned here and then there, the streets became darker. Peculiar odors pressed in from all directions. Suddenly he stopped before a forbidding old building, and as his hand reached for the bell he cautioned:

“Be prudent, careful. Follow my lead in all things.”

Admitted by Old Woman.

There was a moment’s wait. A shuffling of wooden sabots was heard on the inside. A great bolt was slid back with accompanying squeaking and rattle. An old woman, half clad, shoved her night-capped head around the side of the opening. There was short conversation.

“Ah! Oui, Oui monsieur! I did not recognize you,” she rattled on in French.

“This way,” my companion said. Evidently he had been there many times, else it would have been impossible to have gone forward with the accuracy and sureness that governed his movements.

A few seconds later he struck a match and he began what was to me an indeterminable climb up old stone steps that were worn smooth with the decades. But soon he stopped, lighted a match, looked, quickly extinguished the flame and knocked ever so lightly. Seven taps. From behind the door there came an echoing four. Seven more, then a single echo. Two sharp taps from the outside and the key was turned from within and the slightly squaking barrier swung backward.

Another whispered parley in French.

Nondescript Lot of Men.

As the light streamed out into the hall the guardian at the door caught a glimpse of me. He held up a protesting arm. Then there was further parleying; shaking of a puzzled head. More whispering and then the man stood back as he shrugged his shoulders. I followed my companion through a short hall into a medium-sized room choking with tobacco smoke, filled with the fumes of liquor and buzzing with excited talk. There sat possibly fifteen men. And what a nondescript lot they were! Mostly they appeared dirty, unkempt, but three or four there were who were dressed as well as myself and my companion. To two of these standing near a long, narrow table the young Frenchman introduced me, murmuring lowly and referring to ‘the cause.'

I felt quizzical eyes surveying me as, ostensibly, I became interested in my surroundings. I evidently passed scrutiny, for I was heartily welcomed. I more and more realized the significance of my companion’s admonition to speak only English. One of these men to whom I was first introduced was a Russian; the other a Frenchman. The latter turned to others in the room, who now were watching with interest, and confided that a “brother” from America was in their midst. There was a shuffling of chairs. I shook hands with all while they vied diligently with one another in trying to make me understand the French jargon that was hurled at me from all sides.

Russian Makes Speech.

The Russian, evidently a leader of this motley gathering, cleared his throat, spoke a few words and back to their seats the men stumbled. There followed a speech from the leader, low pitched, but every word biting. These men seated about leaned forward, mouth relaxed, some falling open. Eyes became beady. Breath came in short, queer jerks, some plainly audible. In every man every msucle seemed taut as they literally and figuratively drank the words that feel from the Russian’s lips. Never had I witnessed such absorbing interest. It was fascinating, inspiring, closer study of these men.

One there was who trembled as if in anticipation of something long hoped for, now about to be realized. Heavy lips sagged, showing two long, ugly and dirty teeth in the absence of others. “Fangs” was the impression. His narrow forehead was scarcely discernible between bushy eyebrows and touseled hair, which fell forward as if to hide a pair of piercing, but nevertheless bloodshot eyes. He shrugged, then grunted, more of a snarl, as it were, as with intensity the Russian leaned toward them, now fairly hissing the things he was telling them. My eyes roved to the others. But this one man was typical. Evil looking the most of them were—the kind of men one can best imagine steathily lurking in the dark places of unguarded streets, ready to strike down their prey. “Vultures,” was the thing I thought “Ready to live on human carrion.”

Yet, as I was to learn, these were men who hoped to govern for the people; who hoped to sit in the wonderful old foreign office in the Quai d’Orsay, to deal with the world at large, who hoped to control the economic, financial and social life of the nation, who through the force of might would destroy the accepted rules of goverment, of life, of order, and implant in the fields of chaos the seeds of eternal damnation for all mankind.I shuddered at the vision. A plucking at my sleeve aroused me from my revery. I then listened, and as I did so my companion almost inaudibly interpreted the things that were firing the imagination of these men, who, though they had little ability to think clearly and accurately for themselves, were ready to use their strong bodies in carrying out the material and physical measures necessary to make possible the inspirations of their leaders.

“Russia will die if we do not undermine allied pressure against our glorious, saintly comrade and leader, Lenin,” said the speaker.

Calls American Money Mad.

“France is an oligrchy,” he continued. England is the tool of the rich who are squeezing to death our comrades. America is a great money-mad power that today is standing in the way of realization of our common goal. We must wreck America. We must grind down these money barons who today suck the life’s blood from the proletariat. In England, in America, in France and in Italy our forces are gathering strength. Soon we will drive them to their knees begging for mercy beneath the glorious red flag of the internationale. The day is near, men. Our vengeance soon shall bear its impress upon all.

“We will throttle the rich. Our fingers will close around the throats of those who have exploited us and these fingers will close, close, until the breath is forever crushed from their damnable bodies—these leeches who have sucked our life’s blood for centuries. The bourgeoise who snugly live on the fruits of our labor and spurn us shall pay the extreme penalty. Our communal bodies shall rule. You shall rule. You shall share in the wealth of the nation. You shall ride in the carriages and autos of the rich. You—you shall have their women. And as you pass you will turn to spit upon those you once called master. Up with the proletariat. Down with those who trample us into the dust and will for eternal centuries. Brothers, our day is near. Near, I shout. Near. We will take—take, I tell you. I am ready. So are you.”

“Would my own America act in time to stay and rout out seditious influences.” This I wondered as the little meeting broke up and we arose to leave.

Aroused by the things that I had heard I determined to endeavor to impart to my country the feeling and the spirit of these menacing influences. I turned with my companion and left.

Tells of France’s Aims.

He told me of his work; how his government hoped to clamp about the wrists of these men the irons of discipline, how they hoped that, when the hour did come, the leaders of anarchy, all of them, and their disciples would be gathered in and placed where they no longer could preach treason against law and order and very life itself. He had pretended fellowship with them only to learn their secrets. In all parts of France ultra-radicals such as these were looking to this little group for guidance. They were in close affiliation with the Russian bolsheviks, the malcontents of Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Spain and Portugal, as well as the United States.

Another twelve months would tell whether they were to win or lose.

“And,” he said, “a great, yes, very great, percentage of the boldest agitators in Europe today come from the East Side of New York. The Ghetto. God, that your government would crush this thing and them as snakes in a befouled den.”

I wondered if my government would. Or would it wait too long, as did Kerensky, fearing to expeditiously separate the sheep from the goats, failing to differentiate between the honest worker and the who is sucking at the life of