XIII
A SENTIMENTAL REBELLION
I came not to send peace, but a sword.... I am come to send fire on
the earth.
I
Her living room was a material projection of Yetta Silverman's soul. The
apartment on the north side of Tompkins Square, was small, sunny, and
comfortable. From its windows in spring and summer she could see the
boys and girls playing around the big, bare park, and when her eyes grew
tired of the street she rested them on her beloved books and pictures.
On one wall hung the portraits of Herzen, Bakounine and Kropotkin--the
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost of the anarchistic movement, as she piously
called them. Other images of the propaganda were scattered over the
walls: Netschajew--the St. Paul of the Nihilists--Ravachol, Octave
Mirbeau, Jean Grave, Reclus, Spies, Parsons, Engels, and Lingg--the last
four victims of the Haymarket affair, and the Fenians, Allen, Larkin,
and O'Brien, the Manchester martyrs. Among the philosophers, poets, and
artists were Schopenhauer, Tolstoy, Max Stirner--a rare drawing--Ibsen,
Thoreau, Emerson--the great American individualists--Beethoven, Zola,
Richard Strauss, Carlyle, Nietzsche, Gorky, Walt Whitman, Dostoiewsky,
Mazzini, Rodin, Constantin Meunier, Shelley, Turgenieff, Bernard Shaw,
and finally the kindly face and intellectual head of the lawyer who so
zealously defended the Chicago anarchists.
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