THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
had been sentenced to a term in the galleys. In consequence of the revolution of 1848 he was set free, then fought on the barricades in the socialist rising in Paris, in June, 1848—the bloody “June Battle”—whereupon he succeeded in escaping to England. It was said of him that he had killed several persons: some in duels, some without that formality. Now he passed as a “workingman,” whose principal occupation was that of the professional conspirator. He stands before my eyes now as he entered the Brüning salon and took his seat near the fireplace: a man of a little more than thirty years, of sturdy figure, a face of dusky paleness with black mustache and goatee, the dark eyes glowing with piercing fire. He spoke in a deep, sonorous voice, slowly and measuredly with dogmatic assurance, waving off contrary opinions with a word of compassionate disdain. With the greatest coolness he explained to us his own theory of the revolution, which simply provided that the contrary minded without much ado be exterminated. The man expressed himself with great clearness, like one who had thought much and deliberately upon his subject and had drawn his conclusions by means of the severest logic. We saw before us, therefore, one of those fanatics that are not seldom produced in revolutionary times—men perhaps of considerable ability, whose understanding of the moral order of the universe has been thoroughly confused by his constant staring at one point; who has lost every conception of abstract right; to whom any crime appears permissible, nay, as a virtuous act, if it serves as a means to his end; who regards everybody standing in the way as outside of the protection of the law; who consequently is ever ready to kill anybody and to sacrifice also his own life for his nebulous objects. Such fanatics are capable of becoming as cruel as wild beasts and also of dying like heroes. It was quite natural that several of those who listened to Barthélemi in the
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