After the Underworld Amusements edition of The Unique and Its Property was attacked and the translator and publisher receiving death threats and much lighter threats from that same anarchist milieu, the book was taken out of circulation, with copies fetching high-dollars on the secondary market. The book was later released in a new, and much pinker, edition by Little Black Cart. While LBC does most of their printing and binding in-house, they went big with a proper professional print run and have been selling it down since its 2018 release.

Leading up to and past the public announcement, Underworld Amusements, a long time supporter of LBC, arranged to make one last big order of books, including nearly EVERY REMAINING COPY of The Unique and Its Property, about a thousand total. After many many months we have just now taken possession of many dozens of boxes of books and pamphlets, and will be inventorying them and adding them to the website.

Further, Underworld Amusements and the Union of Egoists project will be working on NEW EDITIONS of OUR favorite LBC/ARDENT PRESS titles, to be released as we sell out of the on-hand LBC editions.

We’ve got a LOT of books and a LOT of WORK ahead. Restocked books will be on the website over the coming days and we will send out a newsletter focusing on restocked and some new titles. Please BUY BOOKS!

Discover rare photographic glimpses of pioneering egoists such as Dora Marsden and Benjamin R. Tucker, and delve into the visionary project to produce a Braille edition of Max Stirner’s magnum opus for the indomitable Helen Keller. Unearth a plethora of fascinating artifacts pertaining to Malfew Seklew, and be riveted by the astonishing revelation of Ragnar Redbeard’s brief yet impactful foray as a Canadian Socialist Provocateur.

This sixth issue of Der Geist is sure to delight and offend, but most of all, serve as an essential philosophical reference work for centuries to come.

DER GEIST: The Journal of Egoism from 1845 – 1945 | ISSUE 6 | Winter 2023
Paperback, 212 pages, $15
ISBN 978-1-944651-29-9, ISSN 2639-5339

Der Geist, (Trevor Blake, editor; Kevin I. Slaughter, co-editor) is an English-language journal for an international audience, publishing original scholarship on the philosophy of egoism. The journal is descriptive of the first century of egoism in print (from the 1845 publication of Der Einzige und sein Eigentum by Max Stirner to the end of 1945), not prescriptive in advocacy of egoism.

CONTENTS

Introduction by the Editor  2

1. Max Stirner   7

Max Stirner’s Anarchist Gospel | A Dutch Review of Stirner’s Work | Anarchist Black Dragon | Max Stirner vs. Wahrheit-Sucher | “Celine Adele Marillier” | Pity and the Future | Max Stirner and the Grisette | Steven T. Byington’s Triple Score

2. Malfew Seklew  29

On “Bérnard’s Tour” | Minister Mocks Malfew  | Stern Critique of Christian Socialist  | Seklew Asks: Nietzsche to Blame?  | Social Aristocrat Socialist Secretary | A Freak Among Reformers  | No Guide for Anybody | Proletarians in Purgatory | No Justice for Malfew Seklew  | “We’re All More or Less Nutty” | Not Seeking Work  | Seklew Scolds Simpoleons, Supplies Sample Shilling Sericine Silk Set | No Detail Too Small!

3. Ragnar Redbeard   51

Redbeard in Canada | Desmond Selling George  | Give the New Hand a Show! | A.D. in the O.E.D.  | A Bogus Book | Australian Socialist Drinking Club | Redbeard’s Rough Stuff |“We Understand the Redbeard Philosophy” | Voima On Oikeus | Etc.

4. Dora Marsden  95

Dora Marsden for the Prosecution | The Freewomen of New York | Dora Marsden, unser aller Mutter  | Dora Marsden Ephemera | Rare Portraits

5. Benjamin DeCasseres   107

Emmeline Pankhurst | Pyrrhonism and Acatalepsy | Balzac | The Borrowed Mirror

6. Friedrich Nietzsche   117

Nietzsche and a Braille Stirner for Hellen Keller | “Will Nietzsche Come Into Vogue…” | The Works of Friedrich Nietzsche | Alexander Tille Reads Egoism

7. Enzo Martucci   135

A Sketch of Martucci | An Excerpt from The Red Sect | Martucci on Stirner

8. Free Spirits  159

Peter Lamborn Wilson Has Passed  | Hakim Bey: Real and Unreal | Vox Populi Vox Dei | Thompson at Rudolf Steiner Hall | Speakers’ Corner Anthology | Among the Anarchists | The True Comarade | Is This What You Call “Living?” | The Thirteenth Paragraph | Greeves Fisher, A Sketch | Dominance vs. Egoism | More Individualism | Individualism and Property | Why I am a Right-Wing Anarchist | Opening and Closing the Dil Pickle | Christmas a Joke! | “I” a poem  | “I GO” a poem| A Letter to the Editors of Freedom | Enrico Arrigoni Bibliography | Photo of Benjamin R. Tucker | About the Editors

Walt Whitman and Comstock
or The Whirligig of Time

by Benjamin R. Tucker

Now that Walt Whitman is sure of his pedestal in the American Hall of Fame, the moment is opportune for harking back to a matter of history almost ancient, though I, who figured in it, live to tell the ale.

In the autumn of 1881 the Boston publishing house of James R. Osgood and Company (successors of the famous firm of Ticknor and Fields) issued an edition of Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass.” In the spring of 1882 the Osgoods were advised by Oliver Stevens, district attorney of Suffolk county, Mass., at the instigation of Anthony Comstock, that certain parts of the book were looked upon by the authorities as a violation of the anti-obscenity laws, and that, if the circulation of them was continued, criminal proceedings against the publishers would be instituted. Accordingly the publishers, before issuing a second edition, invited Whitman to omit the poems considered objectionable. Of course, he declined, whereupon the timid publishers violated their contract and turned over the plates to the author, who then entrusted them to David McKay, a Philadelphia bookseller. A Boston periodical, “This World,” then published in a supplement the poem especially complained of “To a Common Prostitute.” The postmaster of Boston, L. S. Tobey, declined to accept the paper at pound rates on the ground that the supplement was not a supplement in the sense of the statute, in which action he was sustained by the postmaster-general. The paper was then offered at third-class rates and was excluded by the postmaster as unmailable because obscene. Intercession at Washington by William Douglas O’Connor and Robert G. Ingersoll induced the postmaster-general to overrule this decision and order the paper to be admitted to the mails, whereupon Washington correspondents telegraphed to their journals that “Leaves of Grass” had been declared mailable. Postmaster Tobey, much annoyed, then sent paragraphs to the Boston papers, declaring that the Washington ruling applied only to a short portion of one poem, and that the book itself was still unmailable.

At that time, I, a pugnacious young man of 28, and since the age of 18 an enthusiastic admirer of “Leaves of Grass,” was attached to the staff of the Boston “Daily Globe,” and in addition was publishing a small fortnightly of my own. It seemed to me that I had the pluck and the power to force the vexed question to an issue. So I procured from Philadelphia a sufficient supply of the book and inserted an advertisement conspicuously in the daily papers of Boston, as well as in my own journal, offering the book for sale, and concluding with the following letter:-

TO OLIVER STEVENS, district attorney of Suffolk county; George Marston, attorney-general of the commonwealth of Massachusetts; E.S. Tobey, postmaster of Boston; Anthony Comstock, secretary and general agent of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, and all other enemies of liberty whom it may concern.

You are heareby distinctly notified-all of you in general, and you, Oliver Stevens, in particular-that I have in my possession, and do now offer for sale copies of the work advertised above. If you, or any one of you, believe or affect to believe that, in so doing, I am committing an unlawful act, you are invited to test the question whether twelve men, fairly chosen by lot, can be found in Massachusetts sufficiently bigoted, or intolerant, or hypocritical, to share with you, or pretend to share with you, such belief or affectation of belief. And to avoid unnecessary trouble and make the evidence of sale indisputable, I offer, on receipt from any of you an order for a copy of the work, to deliver a copy to you in my own person, at such place in  Boston as you may designate, and take payment therefore.

Yours disrespectfully,
BENJ. R. TUCKER.

The name of Attorney-General Marston was included among the addresses because it had been publicly charged that he had prompted the attempt to suppress “Leaves of Grass.” None of the addresses made answer, and the only step to interfere with me, so far as I know, was taken by Anthony Comstock, who visited the office of the United States district attorney and begged that official to indict me. I learned from indisputable authority that the request was met by refusal. Continuing to advertise and sell the book, I made the following announcement in the press on August 19, 1882:—

I have offered to meet the enemy, but the enemy declines to be met. The ardor displayed by District Attorney Stevens in opening his campaign against Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass” seems to have cooled very suddenly when confronted by an offender who refuses to surrender when bidden to lay down his arms. I still advertise the book for sale, and sell it openly and rapidly. Canvassers are finding a ready sale for the work in Boston stores and offices, but pursue their commendable occupation unmolested by the authorities. The grand jury for Suffolk county has held its usual monthly sessions, but, as its report in no way mentions me, I conclude that its attention has bot been called to my alleged violation of the law. All of which goes to show that they have rights who know them, and, knowing, dare maintain. It is to be hoped that the Boston booksellers will soon recover sufficient courage to keep the book in stock. Till then I shall continue
to supply copies by mail, post-paid, at the rate of $2 each.

On October 14 I made a second announcement as follows:—

“Leaves of Grass” is now sold openly by nearly all the Boston booksellers. I have won my victory, and the guardians of Massachusetts morality have ignominiously retreated. This is well; but much trouble would have been saved if the cowardly Osgoods had only stood up in their shoes, instead of  surrendering without a struggle.

Nevertheless I continued the advertising, and on November 11 made public the following letter:—

FOR A SPY’S ENLIGHTENMENT

Anthony Comstock
Despicable Sir,

I am informed by Mr. E. H. Heywood that, in a letter which you recently addressed to him over the false signature of “J.A. Mattock,” in accordance with your usual dishonest practice, you asked these questions: “What is Mr. Tucker’s address and his first name? Was it Franklin or Francis? Could you give me his address?”

I do not know whether Mr. Heywood has accommodated you with the desired information; therefore, permit me, lest he has not done so, to impart to you the knowledge of which you are in search, though knowing full well that, hypocrite that you are, you ask for what you already know and have known for some years past, your sole purpose in so asking having been to mislead Mr. Heywood into the belief that he was dealing with an honest inquirer instead of with a sneak and a spy.

My name and address you will find appended to this letter. Anything bearing that address will pretty surely reach me. Any commands of a business nature (I decline all other correspondence with you) so received in response to advertisements of mine I shall take pains to fulfil with my usual faithfulness, whether purporting to issue from Anthony Comstock or one of the numerous individuals whose names he has befouled by falsely assuming. I recommend you, however, to use your own name hereafter, and thus make no blacker the disgraceful record of what would be your shame were you not
shameless.

Accept, sir, the earnest assurance of my profoundest contempt.

BENJ. R. TUCKER
Box 3366, Boston, Mass.
November 11, 1882

This ended the conflict. I published my final advertisement of the book on January 20, 1883. If I had been indicted and convicted, I could have been sent to prison for ten years, and doubtless would have received a sentence of at least one year. I took the risk and won the fight, single-handed.

I did not have the pleasure of Whitman’s personal acquaintance, nor, if my memory serves me, did I ever write a letter to him in my life. Long after the Osgood affair, I saw him once on the streets of Boston, but was too shy to venture to speak to him, not realizing that he must be familiar with my name. But after his death it became evident that he was always grateful to me, and this in spite of the fact that I had occasion, in 18838, to lash him fiercely a propos of a short poem that he sent by wire to a daily paper in honor of the just-deceased Emperor of Germany, Wilhelm I., whom he lauded as a “faithful shepherd of his people.” My article fell under the eyes of Whitman’s most eloquent champion, William Douglass O’Connor, who had not heard of the poem in question, and who, sharing my view, at once sent to Whitman a severe letter of protest. But the gentle Walt took no offense, remembering O’Connor’s service and my own. Abundant evidence of this appears on sundry pages of the work ‘With Walt Whitman in Camden,” issued in 1908 by the poet’s Boswell, my old friend, Horace Traubel, and consisting mainly of conversations between hero and disciple. Indulge me in a few quotations bearing on the matter in question—

Page 22—Monday, April 9, 1888.: “Tucker,” said W., ‘has been giving me the very devil for calling the Emperor Wilhelm a ‘faithful shepherd’ in my poem. In fact, Tucker is not alone: I have got a whole batch of letters of protest-one, two, three, a dozen; but too many of the fellows forget that I include emperors, lords, kingdoms, as well as presidents, workmen, republics.” We talked the matter over for some time. W. was good natured about it all. Yet he was disposed to regard the criticism rather seriously. As he said: “It is all from my friends. Take William O’Connor-take Tucker himself-they deserve to be listened to.” In winding up our chat he said: “I see I must be careful in such things, or maybe the boys will think I am apostate.”

Page 58—Sunday, April 22, 1888: Referred to Tucker: “He has thumped me some for my emperor piece, but is still my friend as I am still his friend. I don’t think a fall or two taken out of a fellow hurts him in the long run. Tucker did brave things for ‘Leaves of Grass’ when brave things were rare. I could not forget that.” To O’Connor” “He, too, fell afoul of me for my emperor piece. Why, that piece almost threatens to create a split in the church! William is quite as radical as Tucker, though much less interested in political study.”

Page 350—Monday, June 18, 888: Spoke of some of the fellows: “There is Tucker, now-Benjamin: I love him: he is plucky to the bone…he is a safe risk.” “I suppose William (O’Connor) tops us all for vehemence and consecutiveness of life.”

Page 460—Friday, July 13, 1888: A letter from O’Connor. Whitman said of it: “O’Connor never forgave me the William piece-nor did Tucker…I am sure, however, that William will come to see it all right by and by-will realize that my position is not what he now thinks- that he will then come round. He is true, true-everlastingly true-and so is Tucker, too, for that matter: and I guess it is good to have these demurrers put in.”

Whatever one may think of the “emperor piece,” the present is no time to dwell on a poet’s weakness, for this is the day of glory. In the Pantheon we find the tomb of Rousseau, author of the “shocking” Confessions; the tomb of Voltaire, whose “Candide” was lately excluded from the United States; the tomb of Victor Hugo, who, in “Les Misérables,” glorified the word of Cambronne; and the tomb of Emile Zola, whose “L’argent,” when I translated it, was summarily thrown out of a Boston printing office (though nearly half of it was already in type) by the liberal Unitarian proprietor. And now the author of “Leaves of Grass” enters the American Hall of Fame! The whirligig of time is doing famously. However, other wrongs remain to be righted-a task for the youth of today.

Paperback | 5.5 x 8.5”, 128 pages | Price: $16.95 | ISBN: 978-1-943687-28-2
Hardback | 5.75 x 8.75”, 128 pages | Price: $66 | ISBN: 978-1-943687-29-9

Buy the Paperback: Amazon.com or Underworld Amusements

Buy the Hardback: Underworld Amusements

Step into the history of The Radical Book Shop of Chicago, a forgotten hub of anarchist, unionist, socialist, and communist literature. From its humble beginnings in 1914, this bookstore inspired revolutionaries and welcomed poets, novelists, roughnecks, and even would-be assassins around its iron stove. Despite police and political harassment, for over a decade the Radical Book Shop remained a beloved destination for rebels and intellectuals alike.

Howard and Lillian H. Udell founded this “shoebox-sized” bookstore out of desperation using their personal library. The curious and precocious Udell daughters helped them run the tiny outlet, where they grew up with habitués such as union tough guy Big Bill Haywood and his Wobblies; literary luminaries Kenneth Rexroth, Sherwood Anderson, Ralph Chaplin, and Carl Sandburg; the wild hobohemians of the Dil Pickle Club and Bughouse Square; artist Stanisław Szukalski;  and notorious outsiders like Arthur “Ragnar Redbeard” Desmond (author of Might is Right) and Nestor “Jean Crones” Dondoglio (mastermind behind the infamous 1916 “soup-poison plot”).

The Radical Book Shop of Chicago by Kevin I. Slaughter is a thoroughly researched and prolifically illustrated history of this incredible hub of political and artistic dynamite. With an appendix of all known writings by Lillian H. Udell, including a biographical sketch of Voltairine De Cleyre, and reviews of several books published by Charles H. Kerr. Whether you’re interested in the hidden history of radical politics and literature, or simply curious about the influential figures who frequented the store, this book is a must-read.

More information available at the website TheRadicalBookShop.com

Meanwhile the respectable young man, excited through the daily association and contact with his sweetheart, seeks an outlet for his nature in return for money. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, he will be infected, and when he is materially able to marry, he will infect his wife and possible offspring. And the young flower, with every fiber aglow with the fire of life, with all her being crying out for love and passion? She has no outlet. She develops headaches, insomnia, hysteria; grows embittered, quarrelsome, and soon becomes a faded, withered, joyless being, a nuisance to herself and everyone else. No wonder Stirner preferred the grisette to the maiden grown gray with virtue.

They say – the practical, unsentimental folk – that this attitude of sympathy cannot last; that by our own showing the possession of power petrifies the heart; that it is the subjected position of women that makes them gentler by nature; and that once admitted to equal rights with man, they will inevitably become equally callous. It may be so; it may be that the world will one day become wholly populated by disciples of Nietzsche and Max Stirner, in which case my only consolation is that I shall be comfortably cremated before this age is reached. But I do not believe it: I think that the time IS at hand when society is ready for fellow ship, and that it only needs a big shake-up, the destruction of an age-old tyranny, to begin to usher in the new era. At least, woman’s freedom seems to me our last chance of remoulding the world nearer to the heart’s desire of myself and those who think with me. The battalions of the Parsifalites and the Also-sprach-Zarathustrans are already mustering for the encounter; and it is to the newly armed, pity-enlightened squadrons of my sisters that I look for the victor.

Max Stirner wrote in Der Einzige und sein Eigentum (1845):

Wie bei den Griechen möchte man den Menschen jetzt zu einem zoon politikon machen, einem Staatsbürger oder politischen Menschen. So galt er lange Zeit als »Himmelsbürger«. Der Grieche wurde aber mit seinem Staate-zugleich entwürdigt, der Himmelsbürger wird es mit dem Himmel; Wir hingegen wollen nicht mit dem Volke, der Nation und Nationalität zugleich untergehen, wollen nicht bloss politische Menschen oder Politiker sein. »Volksbeglückung« strebt man seit der Revolution an, und indem man das Volk glücklich, gross u. dergl. macht, macht man Uns unglücklich: Volksglück ist — mein Unglück.

Steven T. Byington translated and interpreted this passage in The Ego and His Own (1907):

As with the Greeks, there is now a wish to make man a zoon politicon, a citizen of the State or political man. So he ranked for a long time as a “citizen of heaven.” But the Greek fell into ignominy along with his State, the citizen of heaven likewise falls with heaven; we, on the other hand, are not willing to go down along with the people, the nation and nationality, not willing to be merely political men or politicians. Since the Revolution they have striven to “make the people happy,” and in making the people happy, great, etc., they make Us unhappy: the people’s good hap is — my mishap.

Byington was able to convey the double-meaning of Stirner in “… the Greek fell into ignominy along with his State… ” because in English, State can refer both to “nation” and “nature.” Byington also conveyed the deliberate ambiguity of the capitalized “Us” in the final sentence: it is “us” the people they strive to make happy, and “Us” the Royal singular who are not made happy, both at the same time as a deliberate contradiction. But Byington scores a triple goal with closing alliteration. See the poetry of happy / unhappy (favorable / unfavorable mood), hap (circumstance) and mishap (accident).

You can learn more of Byington’s life and work in the most recent issue of Der Geist (2017), issue five.

On October 2, 2013, the Dallas Auction Gallery listed the following:

Edmond-Francois Aman-Jean, “Celine Adele Marillier” oil on canvas, 1885. Signed and inscribed in gold upper right “Anno – MDCCCLXXXV / Aman Jean pinxit / Imago Celine Adele Marillier / Aetatis Suae / XXV”. Canvas: 45.5”H x 35.5”W; Frame: 50”H x 40”W. Provenance: Christie’s London, June 25 1998, Lot 292. Note: Accompanied by a photocertificate signed by Robert Hellebranth, dated April 23, 1998, stating this work will be included in the artist’s catalogue raisonne. The book held by the sitter is L’unique et sa propriete by Max Stirner, originally published in German in 1845 as Der einzige und sein eigentum. An extract from the book is inscribed on the stretcher verso. Edmond-Francois Aman-Jean (French, 1860-1935) was known for his landscapes and female portraits.

The Union of Egoists is keen on contacting the current owner of this piece.

Vox populi vox dei. It is more often the voice of the ventriloquist. The war lords, press lords and money lords pull the string and the figure works.

“The people is a beast of muddy brain” wrote Campenella nearly 400 years ago “that knows not its own strength. Confused and stupefied by bugbears vain, with its own hands it ties and gags itself; gives itself death and war, for pence doled out by kings, from its own store.”

Thomas Hardy wrote of “the pathetic people plodding on” while G. K. Chesterton, in a famous poem, has written of “the secret people of England who have not spoken yet.”

For my part I think it extremely unlikely that they have any wish to speak. They wish to be left alone.

Only on one occasion have I ever known the people of this country united in one cause for one purpose and speaking with one voice. That was during the war of 1914 / 18. Out of a population of 47 millions there were 6,000 registered Conscientious Objectors, who refused to bow the knee to the Temple of Mars. These men were insulted, abused, hounded into prison; many of them narrowly escaping with their lives. In the great heart of the people there was no place for them. They were outcasts in the land of their birth. The people themselves were glad to offer their lives upon the altar of militarism. They allowed themselves to be bullied, hectored, and lectured by the Bottomleys and the Blatchfords, while the Press raved about “Roping them in”, “Rounding them up” and “Combing them out.”

“Join the army and see the World” meant for thousands of them joining the army and seeing the next world. One enthusiastic recruiting orator, addressing a vast mob in Trafalgar Square, informed the crowd that thousands of their comrades were dying in the trenches, and concluded by saying “Won’t you join them?” Scores of young men enrolled on the spot. Towards the end of the conflict there was such a shortage of fighting men that there was talk of calling up the Old Age Pensioners and combing out the Infant Schools, while outside Willesden Cemetary a huge placard bore the inscription “Wake up, England!”

At the close of the amazing business there was much bellowing and trumpeting about a “revolutionary situation” developing. Millions of men had grown so accustomed to killing that, finding themselves denied the “fruits of victory,” they turned in a fury upon their respective governments, and for four or five years the world was troubled by insurrections, uprisings and abortive revolutions. In 1917 a vast change took place in Russia, where a handful of determined men led the masses from Czarism to the Dictatorship of Bolshevism. Since the death of Lenin, that country has been plodding its way steadily into Capitalism, and in 1930 we learn that it is fitted up with the latest modern improvements — a Secret Police, food queues, unemployment, and a rigorous prison system for those who wag their tongues too freely in favour of Freedom, that romantic fetish, of which, according to Mussolini, the world has grown sick.

The worship of machinery, mass production, and the general regimentation of the patient masses, point clearly to the growing development of Russia in a Capitalist direction. There are three classes in that happy land — the peasantry, who instead of praying to Saints, bow and cross themselves before a statue of Lenin, thus fortifying themselves for the toil which is their common lot on earth; the Civil Service bureaucrats of the Communist Party, who have naturally a vested interest in Communism and hold on like leaches to their jobs; and the Krassin Class, who visit Europe, dine with kings, quaff the champagne cup, and send their daughters to Oxford. The Revolution has devoured its children and sent into exile its most brilliant leader. The fallen Dictator is now begging for admission at the doors of every bourgeois country in Europe. Strange what an enthusiasm this man has developed for Liberty now that he is no longer in the saddle!

In the meantime the “pale, pathetic people” of Western Europe have plodded from one phase of government to another, without much appreciable improvement in their living or working conditions.

The rise of a new and independent party in England during post war years has not brought the rare and refreshing fruit as yet within the grasp of the masses. Most of the leaders are average men, and average men, however worthy they may be, are not the stuff from which great progressive schemes evolve.

All human advancement is the work of exceptional men, the thinkers and the doers of the world, who care nothing for rule or rote, precedent or custom, but go boldly on as their business and desires dictate. It is, perhaps, just as well that the people are never consulted in great affairs — except at Election times with tongue in cheek — for the people are never in favour of change. There is no reform, no progressive measure of any kind or description that has not been strongly opposed by what Ibsen called “the damned compact majority.” The first man to carry an umbrella was laughed at as he passed through the streets; the first woman to ride a bicycle was hooted by the mob; the first motor-car was stoned; the first railway-train was denounced as an invention of Satan.

The extension of the school age; abolition of overtime; a shorter working day; have all been strenuously opposed by the majority of working people. Politically, their intelligence is below zero, and in matters calling for considered judgement, their opinion is of no value whatever.

Yet in spite of these grave defects, they are kindly, patient, and more free from snobbery than any other class. An atmosphere of friendliness prevails among them, so that one always feels at home in moving and mixing with them. Possessing little, they are the most hospitable people on earth. There cannot be anything fundamentally wrong with them. What they need is better education, more opportunities for travel, better conditions in which to live and work, so that they may develop those finer qualities which lie deep within their natures. No Government which fails to take these bold and drastic steps to grapple with this problem of the cultural and educational development of the people is worthy of support.

The Bulletin for June 16 1900 announced:

A new god for Victoria! The Melb. Hegemony Club, a fortuitous collection of unattached Stunners and Drangers of the guerilla red-democrat persuasion, who conduct proceedings very successfully without the assistance of chairman, officers, objects, or rules…

In a July 19 1900, a column on the group that appeared in The Tocsin, had the following note:

HEGEMONY CLUB.
Last Thursday’s meeting was mainly occupied with saddling Mac with the worry of arranging for the catering, etc., for our Bastille shivoo.

On Saturday, the 14th, this duly took place at the Hibernian Hall to the delight of a large and enthusiastically rebellious company.

The room was neatly ornamented with the device “1789-1900, Liberty, Equality Fraternity,” argent upon gules. The meeting was international in character, there being present French, Germans,. Austrians, an Outlander champion of the Transvaal, and the “Consul for South America.” Among, other songs we had the Marseillaise in English, then in French; a verse from ‘ The Oarmaguole,’ in French; a tenderly sweet Slav sigh for home and country, in a language alien to the Russian (this was a sort of Slavonic ‘Esile of Erin’); a beautiful song in Italian; a song from Goethe, in German; a verse of a Taal satire on Cecil Rhodes in Taal itself; ‘The March of the Workers,’ by Morris; “The Leader of the Future,” by Desmond; a Collingwood song, by Anon; several recitations of a hair-raising type; a few stirring speeches, including a wonderful impromptu, rising to genius, to the sublime, in parts, from J. A. Andrews (author also of several rousing songs sung during the evening), and a lightning sketch of the Transvaal by our visitor’ from South Africa. Victor Daley’s Tocsin song was also recited. We were so embarrassed with our riches that we had very regretfully to turn out the gas before ‘The Death of Joubert’ and Robert Burns’ ‘Tree of Liberty’ were reached. The proceedings conducted themselves admirably, Hegemonywise; without chairman, toastmaster, waiter, or programme It was a night to be remembered — one of those rare foregatherings of irreconcilables and rebels, talked of for years and years after, and sowing new and greater rebellions in the tyros fortunate enough to have been present. We hope that the fruits of the evening, as far as Australia is concerned, will show that the taking of the Paris Bastille in 1789 was worthily and appropriately celebrated by the Melbourne Hegemony Club in 1900.

Additionally, in a section for meeting notes provided by members, is this item:

Arthur Desmond, New Zealander and Australian, author of ‘The Leader of the Future,’ and other stirring verses, was also the author of that remarkable much talked of American brochure, known as ‘Might is Right; or, the Survival of the Fittest,’ by Dr. Ragnar Redbeard.

All of this is significant for two reasons: 1. It was never a secret in Australia that Arthur Desmond wrote under the name Ragnar Redbeard, 2. socialists still sang his revolutionary verses at their meetings after the publication of Might is Right. It was only in America that Desmond was truly successful at hiding his real name and keeping it separate from his many pseudonyms, and it is only in the past few decades that there has been any real attempt of radical socialists, communists and anarchists to separate themselves from Desmond’s magnum opus Might is Right. Desmond and his writing have always been part of and celebrated by revolutionaries and radicals, with only infrequent dissents. For over 100 years his writing was promoted by the vanguard of radical left politics, and not just on the fringes, but central, significant figures, in every country he spent any time in.