I sat in the gallery that day.  We all knew that something terrible was imminent.  It was in the air, and its presence was made visible by the armed soldiers drawn up in lines in the corridors, and by the officers grouped in the entrances to the House itself.  The Oligarchy was about to strike.  Ernest was speaking.  He was describing the sufferings of the unemployed, as if with the wild idea of in some way touching their hearts and consciences; but the Republican and Democratic members sneered and jeered at him, and there was uproar and confusion.  Ernest abruptly changed front.

“I know nothing that I may say can influence you,” he said.  “You have no souls to be influenced.  You are spineless, flaccid things.  You pompously call yourselves Republicans and Democrats.  There is no Republican Party.  There is no Democratic Party.  There are no Republicans nor Democrats in this House.  You are lick-spittlers and panderers, the creatures of the Plutocracy.  You talk verbosely in antiquated terminology of your love of liberty, and all the while you wear the scarlet livery of the Iron Heel.”

Here the shouting and the cries of “Order! order!” drowned his voice, and he stood disdainfully till the din had somewhat subsided.  He waved his hand to include all of them, turned to his own comrades, and said: 

“Listen to the bellowing of the well-fed beasts.”

Pandemonium broke out again.  The Speaker rapped for order and glanced expectantly at the officers in the doorways.  There were cries of “Sedition!” and a great, rotund New York member began shouting “Anarchist!” at Ernest.  And Ernest was not pleasant to look at.  Every fighting fibre of him was quivering, and his face was the face of a fighting animal, withal he was cool and collected.

“Remember,” he said, in a voice that made itself heard above the din, “that as you show mercy now to the proletariat, some day will that same proletariat show mercy to you.”

The cries of “Sedition!” and “Anarchist!” redoubled.

“I know that you will not vote for this bill,” Ernest went on.  “You have received the command from your masters to vote against it.  And yet you call me anarchist.  You, who have destroyed the government of the people, and who shamelessly flaunt your scarlet shame in public places, call me anarchist.  I do not believe in hell-fire and brimstone; but in moments like this I regret my unbelief.  Nay, in moments like this I almost do believe.  Surely there must be a hell, for in no less place could it be possible for you to receive punishment adequate to your crimes.  So long as you exist, there is a vital need for hell-fire in the Cosmos.”

There was movement in the doorways.  Ernest, the Speaker, all the members turned to see.

“Why do you not call your soldiers in, Mr. Speaker, and bid them do their work?” Ernest demanded.  “They should carry out your plan with expedition.”