Unto All Men Read Online Free PDF

death would reach the ears of the world. Men who had died for freedom, for democracy. The world loved those who died in hopeless causes, knowing they were hopeless. Such heroism stirred it. There was just a possibility that its dull, indifferent and cynical heart might be moved, and that it might turn its attention upon the reason why these man die. There was just a slight chance that their death might be the small stone thrown in the path of the flood of barbarism. The stone is small, and the flood at first roars over it. But the flood carries in itself the hate-debris of the oppressed and this debris begins to collect about the tiny stone in the path of the flood. And as the debris gathers, it begins to form an obstacle, slight at first, but growing hourly, until at last it is a wall, a barrier, and the flood is brought to a standstill. And at last, it is burned back upon itself, and is lost.
    He sat down. Picked up his fallen and smoldering cigarette. He had been a realist. But he knew now that civilizations are not built by realists, but by the idealists who dream and die. There was decadence in realism; that was the trouble with the modern world. Strange that no one had guessed that before! There was death in realism, not only to the idealists, but to all men. There was no goodness in it, nothing in it that could transform a Neanderthal brute into a man. Perhaps the brute was not worth transforming. But there was just a chance that he was. And Tomas dared not repudiate or deny that chance.
    Old Hardheel turned back to his watch.
    Spitalny seemed to find his thoughts ironical, for he smiled faintly to himself. I am a fool, he thought. I do not really love my country. I was deceived by my own emotion, my own sentimentality. Last night I spoke of honor and killing. How stupid! Last night I wept! For what? It is on tears such as mine that nations are swept into foolish wars. I care for nothing but Toni. Toni is beautiful, and so is the word. I can leave neither. What am I doing here? I must go, for Toni is getting impatient and the sun still shines!
    He stood up, looked about him impatiently. What matter will it be to Toni, or to the sunshine, or even to me, if the Germans take half of my country. No matter at all. I must go!
    But he did not move. For all at once he was full of weariness and distaste.
    I am not rich, he thought. But Toni is rich, and still young. I cannot live without her, but she can well live without me. In time, all things will leave me as Toni will leave me eventually. My youth, my strength, my voice, my joy in living – they will all leave me. Worse, I will not even care about their going. How terrible that will be, not to care that life is going!
    If I die now, he thought, I shall die knowing I love Toni and that she still loves me. I shall die, knowing that life is exquisitely sweet and beautiful. I shall die, knowing that life is good enough to die in the midst of it.
    He sat down again. Tomas looked at him steadily. The young men gazed into each other’s eyes, and smiled. Tomas offered a cigarette. The match they struck for that cigarette seemed a brief fire of understanding.
    The poor Pole, Sczwerski was thinking wistfully of the bath establishment he would never have. His heart ached with regret. He thought of that establishment as he had never thought of a woman. There would be alternate hot and cold streams, rotating on nude flesh. And marble benches, like those in the parks. No one would be rushed. There would be esoteric conversation, as distinguished clients lolled on rubber cushions and were rubbed with oils. There would be a mud bath, and a perfumed bathing pool for the women. Of course, it would cost a great deal of money, and he would be considerably in debt. But what did not matter? The baths were the thing. He sighed. There were so few kings these days to decorate one for outstanding performances.
    But now there would be no baths, no establishment, no light-tongued women and important