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 BEAUTY AND THE BLADE
By
S. C. Grayson

Copyright © 2022 S. C. Grayson

Edited by Lisa Green.

Cover Design by MiblArt.
Interior Artwork by Lulybot.
All stock photos licensed appropriately.

Published in the United States by City Owl Press.

www.cityowlpress.com

For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at [email protected]

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.
 CONTENTS
Want More City Owl Press Books?

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22

Sneak Peek of Spears and Shadows

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Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Publisher
Mystic Owl Books
 To Amanda,
You gave me my first fairytale retelling, and now I can give you one of my own.
 WANT MORE CITY OWL PRESS
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 1

As Contessa prepared for her wedding, there were no tittering bridesmaids to remark on the fashion
of her gown or to gossip about what eligible bachelors they might dance with at the celebration.
There was only her maid, Ada, solemnly buttoning up her gown. Despite the decadent lace dripping
off the wide sleeves of her dress, Contessa couldn't escape the feeling that she was a knight donning
armor for battle as Ada tightened her corset.
Ada drew Contessa from her imaginings as she began pinning the veil to the crown of her head,
the ivory of the lace only a few shades lighter than her silvery blonde hair. It was the same veil her
mother had worn on her wedding day, and Contessa couldn't help but feel comforted by the thought of
her. After all, if it weren't for her, Contessa wouldn't be getting married today at all. Ada lowered the
blusher over her face like a knight's visor before combat. She was ready.
Contessa emerged from her room to find her father waiting on the landing. As soon as she stepped
out the door, his gaze darted over her form, taking in every detail as if he were cataloguing evidence
for a police report.
"Yes, you'll do nicely. Every bit the beautiful bride that rabid dog bargained for." Her father's tone
was clipped and business-like, as usual, even in his approval of her. After all, this wedding was the
first step in a plan that was as much his as hers.
Her father turned on his heel and marched towards the front door. Once Contessa picked up her
hem and maneuvered her skirts down the stairs as well, they made their way to the carriage that
waited for them on the cobblestoned street.
The ride to the church was blessedly short. Only the harsh clop of hooves on the cobbles and the
clatter of wheels broke the silence in the carriage. Contessa pushed back the curtain in the window to
peer out into the gray city streets of London. People paused to watch the carriage pass, knowing it
belonged to the chief of the Royal Police from the crest on the side. The closest bystanders smiled
and waved at Contessa as they wove their way from the upper city towards the spires of the palace
and the church at the top of the hill. As Contessa looked longer, though, she noticed people peering
from darkened doorways and curtained windows, their faces shadowed with fear.
It seemed that the respect commanded by Chief Cook was laced with a healthy dose of
apprehension. The number of Cursed—or Talented as they had once been called—he had sent to the
gallows in the Inquiries kept the city safe, even as it frightened many. And the fear burdening the
people of London was only made heavier by the growing rumors of the King's illness.
Only when the carriage jerked to a halt in front of the church did Contessa's father speak.
"This is the last moment we have to talk openly. From here on, you must appear to be the perfect
and demure wife. You cannot expose your true motivation in marrying Mr. Woodrow to anybody, or
you risk your safety."
Contessa nodded, already having heard this information a dozen times but unwilling to interrupt
her father to tell him so.
"We’re lucky to have this opportunity to get you so close to Mr. Woodrow. We can't afford to
squander it. It's incredibly fortunate that he took a liking to the way you looked and was rash enough
to want to marry you despite you being my daughter." Her father's hard gray eyes softened fractionally
as he continued. "It's no wonder, though, with you looking so much like your mother. She always was
so beautiful. I'm glad you take after her. Remember, we're doing this for her, Connie."
At his words, steel snaked its way into Contessa's spine. The use of her mother's nickname for her
brought back memories of smile lines and gentle lullabies—brighter times, before her father had
become consumed with his work in the Inquiries. No matter what lay ahead, she could be strong if she
remembered her mother's laughter, her light.
"We're doing this for her," Contessa echoed.
Her father smiled tightly. "She would be so proud of you."
Together, they stepped out of the coach and made their way into the church. Organ music swelled
within as they pushed open the double doors to the Sanctuary. At the end of the aisle, she could just
make out the horrifically scarred face of her groom, but it wasn’t his disfigurement that imbued icy
hatred into Contessa’s veins.
Waiting for her at the end of the aisle was the man who had murdered her mother.

For a wedding with so much riding on it, the ceremony was unremarkable. Contessa kept her eyes
fixed on the golden buttons of her groom's waistcoat as the priest's words washed over her like the
droning of mosquitos. She almost snorted when she found the gilded buttons were emblazoned with a
rearing lion. Her groom mocked the authorities desperate to arrest him by paying homage to the name
people called him in fearful whispers on the street.
It was said that, when he was young, he’d challenged the former leader of the Lion gang to a fight.
The man had pinned Nathanial down and tried to claw his eye out, but Nathanial had bitten his finger
clean off. It was the fight that left him with the name everybody in London called him in hushed tones:
the Beast.
The priest reached the end of his lengthy homily and moved on to the vows. Contessa was pleased
her voice didn't waver when she said, "I do," although it did come out stony. Her father stiffened
infinitesimally.
To Contessa's surprise, her groom's vow came out equally cold. She had expected enthusiasm
from the man who had suggested the marriage to begin with. After all, he’d approached her father to
ask for her hand after only laying eyes on her once—without even speaking to her. Surely, he was
pleased to wed such a lovely bride if he had been willing to have the Chief of the Royal Police for a
father-in-law just to have her. Maybe Contessa's bitterness had put him off.
Contessa didn't have any more time to ponder Mr. Woodrow's motivations as the ceremony moved
to the exchanging of rings. She succeeded in not flinching as he took her left hand in his to slide a
simple gold band onto her finger. Mr. Woodrow withdrew his touch quickly, but not before she
spotted a myriad of scars crisscrossing his knuckles. She’d spent so much time concerned with his
disfigured face, she hadn't considered the possibility that he was similarly marked elsewhere.
With the rings exchanged, the only part of the ceremony left was the moment Contessa had been
dreading the most. The guests applauded, but the sound rang hollow in the vastness of the sanctuary,
echoing sparsely among the rafters.
Mr. Woodrow lifted the veil from Contessa's face, and she found she could no longer get away
with fixing her gaze on his buttons. She steeled herself and lifted her eyes to see the face of her
husband up close for the first time.
Contessa understood why people called him the Beast. His legendary scar overtook most of his
face, a gnarled rope of tissue running from the left side of his chin to the right side of his forehead and
into the edges of his shaggy auburn hair. It pulled up the right side of his lips to create a permanent
snarl and bisected his right eye so it squinted until its hardened hazel was barely visible.
Contessa was so taken off guard by the expression in his good eye that she’d forgotten why she
was looking at his face so closely until he leaned in. As much as Contessa had known the kiss was
coming, the feeling that washed over her at the sensation of his mouth on hers caught her by surprise.
She was used to her anger for her mother’s murderer freezing the blood in her veins. Now she felt
unbearably hot, fire taking the place of jagged ice at the base of her spine. Perhaps her rage demanded
action instead of steely resolve as she stood so close to the object of her hatred.
The roughness of his scar scraped her lips, and the warmth of his breath brushed her face. Then it
was over as quickly as it began, the kiss leaving only a simmering warmth in its wake. Contessa felt
rooted to the spot until the Beast took her hand to lead her down the aisle to the celebrations and the
night beyond.

The wedding meal wasn't as dreary as it could have been, given the general solemnity of the rest of
the day. White roses bedecked the ballroom, and flickering candlelight lent a surreal look to the room.
Lilacs peaked through the windows, blooming on the bushes in the adjacent park. Contessa had to
admit it was a lovely venue, if not as grand as the palace ballroom would have been. Her father made
no secret of his resentment for not being able to host the celebration in one of the London palace's
smaller ballrooms, as he would have before he lost his position as the King's personal bodyguard.
However, Contessa preferred the less ostentatious location.
Contessa endeavored to enjoy a piece of cake, but she was constantly aware of the man at her
side, the same way she would be aware of a sharp pebble that had worked its way into her boot.
The Beast sat up perfectly straight, hands fisted on the table. Contessa found herself staring at the
untouched piece of cake in front of him. His lack of celebratory mood perplexed her. Perhaps the
realities of having the chief of the Royal Police as a father-in-law were setting in. There were a lot of
officers in the room after all.
The Beast's uneaten dessert was cleared, and his chair scraped harshly against the wooden floor
as he stood. A scarred hand appeared in her line of vision and Contessa realized she was going to
have to take it to participate in their first dance. She took her time folding her napkin before placing
her hand in his much larger one. Rough calluses rubbed against her palm as he led her onto the dance
floor.
The orchestra began to play a waltz, and the Beast placed his other hand on her waist. The
warmth of his skin seeping through her dress was at odds with the shiver that ran up her spine.
Contessa managed not to recoil from his touch and placed her own hand on his shoulder. Once again,
she found herself inspecting the buttons of the Beast's waistcoat, noticing how they strained across his
powerful chest when he lifted his arms.
As they began to move to the music, something became clear: both Contessa and the Beast were
horrendous dancers. Contessa had never spent the time mastering dance beyond the basics, avoiding
balls to convince her father she wasn't as girlish and silly as her peers. If Contessa had hoped the
Beast was skilled enough at leading to disguise her incompetence, she was in for a disappointment.
Within the first few bars, he had stepped on her toes twice, which was quite a feat considering the
width of her skirts. Although Contessa hadn't given it much thought before, it occurred to her that
being the secret ruler of the most feared gang in London didn't leave one with time for dancing.
The only good thing to be said for the waltz was that it was blessedly short. Contessa found
herself whisked into the arms of her father for a stiff, but thankfully, more elegant dance. It wasn't long
before she found herself tossed around between distant relatives and high-ranking members of the
Royal Police. They all wished her well until she found herself in a set of arms she felt more
comfortable in than the rest.
"Joey," Contessa sighed, relaxing for the first time in hours, "Thank goodness."
He succeeded in turning her around the floor without stepping on her toes. He was used to her
poor dance skills and had adjusted after many gavottes that left him limping. "I'm glad I finally stole
you away. It was much harder than it should have been for your father's protege to get a turn. I must
say, I had hoped attending the wedding of a friend who might as well be my sister would be emotional
in the joyous way, instead of anxiety inducing."
Contessa tried to scowl at his indiscretion but found she was too glad to see a friendly face to
commit to the expression.
"It's very kind of you to wish me well," Contessa responded politely as they passed a distant
relative from the country who was staring at them.
"Wish you good luck is more like it," Joseph responded, seemingly oblivious to the danger
Contessa would be in if their plot was discovered. "Hopefully, you can find the evidence we need
and be a sympathetic young widow within a month."
Contessa squirmed at the casual mention of a man's death, even if he was a murderer. "You make
this sound as easy as a walk in the park."
"It will be easy for you," Joseph encouraged. "Nobody expects girls as pretty as you to be capable
of treachery. You look too angelic to be plotting. That's what I thought before you beat me at chess ten
times in a row."
Contessa furrowed her brow. "Historically, aren't the beautiful women the dangerous ones? Using
their feminine wiles to bring down powerful men?"
 "You read too much," Joseph scolded with no real disapproval. After all, he was the one that lent
her novels to supplement the vast tomes of history and politics kept in her father’s library.
Contessa opened her mouth to retort that she hadn't had as much time to read as she would have
liked recently, but Joseph jumped in before she could speak. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear,
"Please come home soon. I don't want defeating an enemy to come at the cost of losing a friend."
Contessa swallowed. Having to stay away from Joseph meant losing the only confidante she had.
As her father's protégé, though, Contessa doubted the Beast would take too kindly to him.
"Just think, seeing me less means losing at chess less often." Contessa tried for levity, but it fell
flat.
The music ended, forcing them to step apart. Contessa tried to draw strength from the encouraging
smile Joseph gave her, but it was ruined by the telltale creases between his brows as he sketched a
polite bow. Be careful, he mouthed before turning to weave his way back through the guests. His dark
head retreated, leaving Contessa to feel alone in the crowded ballroom.
She was jolted out of her reverie by a tug on the full sleeve of her gown. She startled to find her
new husband at her elbow. His gaze followed where hers had been, and her heart froze at the thought
that he may have overheard their conversation. It resumed beating when she saw his expression was
not angry but merely pensive. His disfigurement made it hard to be sure, though.
"The festivities are winding down. You should distribute your flowers to your friends before we
leave."
This was the first time she’d heard his voice besides when he’d said, "I do," and she’d been too
busy inspecting his buttons at that moment to pay attention. It wasn't what she anticipated. She’d
thought somebody of his appearance and reputation would have a coarse, grating voice, evocative of
the monster she knew him to be. Instead, he had a smooth tenor, sounding much younger than she had
expected. She didn’t know how old he was. Before this moment, she hadn't even thought to ask.
Finding the Beast still staring at her, she looked down at the bouquet in his outstretched hand.
"Oh, well," she hedged. "I don't have any bridesmaids to give flowers to. I have some cousins
here, but I don't know any of them well."
The Beast's face twisted into an expression she couldn't identify on his unorthodox features, but it
smoothed itself out again just as fast.
"Good. I never did like the tradition anyways."
He took her elbow to guide her through the crowds of well-wishers to the exit. Contessa’s
attention narrowed to the point where his fingers touched her arm, an electrifying feeling making her
freeze before she remembered she was supposed to be walking. As she allowed herself to be led
through the grand room, the cake she had eaten turned to lead in her stomach. She’d been so distracted
by surviving the festivities that she’d managed to keep her mind off what came after the celebration.
Now, though, the heat of her husband's hand seeping through the sleeve of her dress was an
inescapable reminder that she would no longer be able to keep him at arm's length. By the time she
stepped up into the Beast's carriage, Contessa was beginning to think her wedding cake might make a
reappearance based on the churning in her gut.
The coach she arranged her skirts in was a good degree smaller than her father's carriage,
although the benches and curtains were luxurious in their upholstery. Contessa found her voluminous
dress dominated the confined space. She wasn't even sure the Beast would fit. He stepped up into the
coach after her and managed to wedge himself onto the bench across from her. In the enclosed space,
his frame looked wider and more hulking, and Contessa found herself shrinking back against her seat.
In the darkness of the evening, the shadows cast by the ridges of his scar were even more pronounced
on his face.
Contessa clenched her jaw and looked the Beast full in the face. If this plan was going to work, he
was going to have to believe her a willing participant in their marriage. The only nerves she could
show were those expected of any young woman on her wedding night.
To Contessa's surprise, the Beast looked away first, cramming his considerable bulk into the far
corner of the coach so his coattails didn't so much as brush the ruffles of her dress. As the carriage
lurched into motion, he pulled back the curtain on the window to peer out into the night. Contessa
settled for staring at her hands where they rested in her lap, rearranging them into a more relaxed
position when she found them gripping her skirts with white knuckles. Only the clatter of wheels
broke the silence. It seemed as though she was not going to have a conversation with the man before
she shared his bed. His physical presence seemed to make the space grow warmer, causing sweat to
prickle the skin at the nape of Contessa's neck.
She tried to convince herself it was a blessing he didn't expect her to speak, for it would be
difficult to hide her disdain. It should be a consolation that she didn't have to converse with the
criminal who had murdered her mother. Still, she found it impossible to stay silent.
"It was a lovely party."
The Beast's head snapped around, and he fixed her with an incomprehensible look. "Do you
generally enjoy parties?"
"No," she admitted, caught off guard by his question.
There was a long pause while he considered her answer. Contessa resisted the urge to return to
the study of her fingernails.
"Neither do I," he said flatly, before turning back to watch the passing street.
Contessa followed his gaze to find the manicured green of the park had given way to the elegant
rows of houses in the wealthier districts of London. She knew the Beast's home was in the upper city,
although not as close to the palace as her father's. The Royal Police were very familiar with his
residence, given that her father had men watching it night and day. Despite his efforts, the Royal
Police had been unable to find evidence confirming Nathanial Woodrow's identity as the leader of the
notorious street gang, the Lions. Still, the entire city whispered he was the Beast, cutthroat gang
leader and ruthless murderer. The only reason nobody could prosecute him was that nobody who saw
him left the scene alive. Instead, he left a trail of corpses with three slashes cut across their face—the
calling card of the Lions.
The carriage trundled to a stop. Contessa was surprised to find herself looking at a house
featuring a cheery blue front door and a row of neatly trimmed hydrangea bushes out front. She chided
herself for her disbelief. The Beast wouldn’t keep the heads of his enemies on pikes or have a dozen
thugs armed with crowbars waiting outside his front door. That was why he hadn’t been caught. His
facade was so immaculate that nobody could pin down any proof of his crimes. Contessa was
walking into the lion's den to find the evidence everybody else had failed to get.
She just hadn't expected the lion's den to have a front door the color of a clear sky.
Contessa followed the Beast out of the carriage and trailed him up to the front door. Before he
could even reach for the knob, the door sprang open to reveal a woman in a neat gray dress and white
cap. She looked to be a few years younger than Contessa and was currently bouncing on her toes,
trying to look over the Beast's shoulder.
"Welcome home, sir," the woman offered. She stepped aside to let him in, although her gaze
remained fixed on Contessa behind him.
The Beast ignored her behavior, stepping inside and immediately shrugging off his coat. Contessa
followed after him.
"Take her to the rose room and see to it she is prepared for bed," was the Beast's only greeting
before he stomped off into the house, tossing his coat over the back of a chaise lounge as he passed.
The maid didn't seem concerned by her employer's behavior, her attention already on Contessa.
She appeared to be quivering in excitement, her curls bouncing where they spilled from her cap and
onto her round face.
"Oh, aren't you lovely! No wonder Mr. Woodrow was in such a rush to marry you," she
exclaimed, looking Contessa up and down. "Oh, and you still have your flowers! Let me take those so
we can get you a vase of water. They'll be a nice touch to add to your room. Liven the place up a little
bit."
Contessa numbly handed her bouquet off to the girl, surprised by her bubbly demeanor.
Meanwhile, the maid was practically skipping up the stairs, keeping up an impressive stream of
chatter as she went, commenting on everything from the fashion of Contessa's dress to the weather.
She acted oblivious to the fact she was working for a monster who was currently prowling through
the downstairs, waiting to devour Contessa.
As Contessa followed the maid, she took the opportunity to examine her new personal prison.
While the outside of the home had been welcoming, the inside of the house was sparse. All the
furniture was good quality, but none of it drew the eye. A few generic landscapes decorated the vast
walls, but there were no signs of the homeowner's tastes or preferences. It lent the place a sense that
it was simply inhabited and not really lived in.
As they reached the top of the stairs, the women turned to the left down a darkened hallway until
the maid pushed open a door.
"This will be you room, Mrs. Woodrow."
Contessa startled at the use of her new name but schooled her features quickly.
"Thank you, Miss…"
"Pinsberry," the maid supplied, "but I'd prefer it if you would call me Julia."
Contessa stepped into the room and wrinkled her nose. The entirety of the room was wallpapered
in a print of small red roses. The blotches of crimson on a cream background made Contessa think of
drops of blood. She shivered.
Julia didn't notice Contessa's displeasure, herding her towards an intricately carved dressing
table. Contessa kept herself from looking towards the bed against the other wall, richly hung with
thematic crimson drapes.
"We call this room the rose room. Mr. Woodrow suggested this one for you himself."
Contessa exhaled sharply through her nose as Julia began to unpin her hair. Of course, a man who
married a woman he had never spoken to would put her in a room that resembled an overgrown
garden. It was odd he hadn't brought her to his own room. Although considering the Beast didn't know
her at all, maybe he desired to keep his space to himself and keep her elsewhere for his amusement.
Contessa took a few moments to even her breathing at the thought.
Julia's ability to chatter endlessly extended through Contessa's nighttime preparations. As she
brushed her hair and changed into her nightclothes, Contessa listened, hoping she might start
uncovering hints about the Beast and where she might find evidence of his crimes. Contessa was left
disappointed, although she found the maid's energy to be infectious. She’d never spent significant time
around women her age, and she welcomed the distraction of Julia's company in her current
predicament. While the wedding had been nothing more than an act, it was refreshing to hear Julia
gush over every detail of her flowers and her dress.
 Once Contessa was perched on the edge of the bed, Julia left with a quick curtsy and a friendly,
"Goodnight, Mrs. Woodrow."
As the door clicked shut behind Julia, a heavy silence descended in the room. Contessa strained
to hear movement in the hallway, but there was no noise except Julia's receding footsteps. Her earlier
tension had returned tenfold now that she was alone, and her fingers gripped the fine fabric of her
nightdress until her knuckles blanched. She tried to distract herself from the thundering of her heart by
counting the gaudy red flowers on the wallpaper. She couldn’t keep herself from listening for heavy
footsteps in the hall, though, as she waited to be devoured by the Beast.
 2

Contessa woke to sunlight streaming through windows covered by scarlet drapes, turning everything
in the room an unearthly shade of red. Shivers shook her body as she found herself curled in a tight
ball on her side, hugging her knees. She was still lying on top of the coverlet, never having climbed
under it the night before.
As her consciousness returned to her, she pushed herself up and looked around in confusion. It
took Contessa a moment to register her surroundings, realizing she was not in the bedroom she’d slept
in since she was a small girl.
Awareness chased the last vestiges of sleep from her mind, and Contessa jolted to her feet. She
couldn’t remember the Beast coming to her bedroom last night. She looked down at herself, trying to
discern what had happened. She found her nightdress undisturbed and her hair still neatly plaited over
one shoulder, just as Julia had left it. Whipping her head around to double check, she found that she
was indeed alone in the bedroom.
Contessa furrowed her brows in confusion before icy terror shot through her veins. Her true
intentions must have been found out. That’s why the Beast hadn’t come to her the night before; he was
furious with her deception. Soon, Contessa would find her throat slit at his hands, just as her mother’s
had been.
She took a step forward, preparing to search the room for something to defend herself with.
Something sharp would be best, but a heavy candlestick might do the trick. Contessa wouldn’t go
down without adding another scar to the Beast’s horrific face.
The door to the bedroom sprang open before she could take more than two steps. Contessa’s
hands flew up in preparation to defend herself, but she let them fall to her sides when it was not the
Beast but Julia who traipsed through the door. Her wide smile just peeked over the fluffy magenta
bundle in her arms.
“Good morning, Mrs. Woodrow,” Julia greeted, giving no sign that anything was amiss. “You’re
up early! I thought you would want a bit of a lie-in after yesterday’s excitement, but apparently not. I
thought I heard you get up, and I realized I hadn’t shown you how to ring the bell to summon me. I
apologize if you’ve been waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Contessa responded, keeping her distance for fear this was all some elaborate plot to
catch her off guard.
Julia simply approached her and shook out the bundle in her arms. It revealed itself to be a gown,
which the maid laid across the covers of the bed. Contessa grimaced as the magenta clashed violently
with the red coverlet.
“Mr. Woodrow ordered a set of dresses for you as a wedding present, but this is the only one
that’s arrived so far,” Julia explained as she set to work getting Contessa out of her nightdress. “He
has no sense of fashion, so he told the dressmaker to outfit you in whatever the most popular styles
are. The color is so lovely. It’ll be gorgeous with that pale hair of yours.”
By the time Contessa was laced into the fuchsia monstrosity, she was forced to disagree with her
maid. While the general shape of the dress was flattering, that was the only positive feature Contessa
could find. The ribbons and bows and ruffles made Contessa think of last night’s wedding cake. She
prayed the rest of the dresses would show a touch more restraint.
Contessa schooled the distaste from her face as Julia wove a matching ribbon through her hair.
The maid seemed to be enjoying styling Contessa so much, she didn’t have the heart to ruin her fun.
“Oh my, you’re so lovely,” Julia tittered. “I’ve never gotten to dress a lady as beautiful and stylish
as you. Not that I’ve dressed many ladies at all before. I mostly just learned how to style hair by
practicing on all my friends.”
“You’re quite good at it,” Contessa praised her honestly, twisting her head to get a better look at
the maid’s handiwork. While the color of the ribbon wasn’t Contessa’s favorite, she had to admit the
way her hair was piled on top of her head made her neck appear impossibly long. A few choice
ringlets framed Contessa’s heart-shaped face, accentuating her gray eyes, the only physical feature
she’d inherited from her father.
“Oh, thank you.” Julia bounced on her toes. “I’ve always wanted to be a lady’s maid. I was so
worried I wouldn’t be any good at it.”
“How did you come to be working as my lady’s maid then?”
“Oh well, I was working for a friend of Mr. Woodrow’s.” Julia twisted her apron between her
fingers. “When it became clear that Mr. Woodrow would need a maid for you, his friend mentioned
my interest. Put in a good word for me, as it were.”
“So, you were a maid for a friend of Mr. Woodrow’s?”
“Something like that,” Julia responded, looking down at her feet.
Contessa’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized her maid in the mirror. The woman’s nervousness
betrayed that there was more to the story than a simple reference. Perhaps there was a link to her
employer’s illicit activities. Still, it seemed cruel to interrogate the maid when her involvement was
likely minimal and possibly involuntary. Contessa would use Julia as a last resort for collecting
evidence.
“That was very kind of your former employer,” Contessa settled on as a response.
Julia nodded and changed the subject. “Well now that you’re all dressed, I’m sure that you’re
absolutely famished. Let me show you down to the dining room for some breakfast, Mrs. Woodrow.”
Contessa let the subject drop and followed the girl downstairs into the living areas of the house.
As Julia directed Contessa into the dining room, she glanced around for the Beast, but he was
nowhere to be found. Instead, a sandy-haired man about her own age entered the room and pulled out
a chair.
“Good morning, Mrs. Woodrow,” he said, indicating she should take a seat.
Contessa slid into the proffered chair. “Thank you, and who might you be?”
“Mr. Topps at your service, but you may call me Gregor,” the man offered, picking up the teapot.
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 CHAPTER VI
THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL
STATE

If we understand the outcome of the feudal state, in the sense

given above, as further organic development either forward or
backward conditioned by the power of inner forces, but not as a
physical termination, brought about or conditioned by outside forces,
then we may say that the outcome of the feudal state is determined
essentially by the independent development of social institutions
called into being by the economic means.
Such influences may come also from without, from foreign states
which, thanks to a more advanced economic development, possess a
more tensely centralized power, a better military organization, and a
greater forward thrust. We have touched on some of these phases.
The independent development of the Mediterranean feudal states
was abruptly stopped by their collision with those maritime states,
which were on a much higher plane of economic growth and wealth,
and more centralized, such as Carthage, and more especially Rome.
The destruction of the Persian Empire by Alexander the Great may
be instanced in this connection, since Macedonia had at that time
appropriated the economic advances of the Hellenic maritime states.
The best example within modern times is the foreign influence in the
case of Japan, whose development was shortened in an almost
incredible manner by the military and peaceful impulses of Western
European civilization. In the space of barely one generation it
covered the road from a fully matured feudal state to the completely
developed modern constitutional state.
It seems to me that we have only to deal with an abbreviation of
the process of development. As far as we can see—though
henceforth historical evidence becomes meager, and there are
scarcely any examples from ethnography—the rule may be stated
that forces from within, even without strong foreign influences, lead
the matured feudal state, with strict logical consistency, on the same
path to the identical conclusion.
The creators of the economic means controlling this advance are
the cities and their system of money economy, which gradually
supersedes the system of natural economy, and thereby dislocates
the axis about which the whole life of the state swings; in place of
landed property, mobile capital gradually becomes preponderant.

(a) THE EMANCIPATION OF THE PEASANTRY

All this follows as a natural consequence of the basic premise of
the feudal state. The more the great private landlords become a
landed nobility, the more in the same measure must the feudal
system of natural economy break to pieces. The more great landed
property rights become vested in and nurtured by the princes of
territorial states, the more is the feudal system based on payments
in kind bound to disintegrate; one may say that the two keep step in
this development.
So long as the ownership of great estates is comparatively
limited, the primitive principle of the bee-keeper, allowing his
peasants barely enough for subsistence, can be carried out. When,
however, these expand into territorial dimensions, and include, as is
regularly the case, accretions of land which are the results of
successful warfare, or by the relinquishment and subinfeudation
through heritage or political marriages of smaller land owners,
scattered widely about the country and far from the master’s original
domains, then the policy of the bee-keeper can no longer be carried
out. Unless, therefore, the territorial magnate means to keep in his
pay an immense mass of overseers, which would be both expensive
and politically unwise, he would have to impose on his peasants
some fixed tribute, partly rental and partly tax. The economic need
of an administrative reform unites, therefore, with the political
necessity, to elevate the “plebs,” in the way which has already been
discussed.
The more the territorial magnate ceases to be a private landlord,
the more exclusively he tends to become a subject of public law,
viz., prince of a territory, the more the solidarity mentioned above,
between prince and people grows. We saw that some few magnates
even as far back as the period of transition from great landed
estates to principalities, found it to their greatest interest to carry on
a “mild” government. This accomplished the result, not only of
educating their plebs to a more virile consciousness toward the
state, but also had the effect of making it easy for the few remaining
common freemen to give up their political rights in return for
protection; while it was still more important, in that it deprived their
neighbors and rivals of their precious human material. When the
territorial prince has finally reached complete de facto independence,
his self interest must prompt him steadfastly to persevere in the
path thus begun. Should he, however, again invest his bailiffs or
officers with lands and peasants, he will still have the most pressing
political interest to see to it that his subjects are not delivered over
to them without restraint. In order to retain his control, the prince
will limit the right of the “knights” to incomes from lands to definite
payments in kind and limited forced labor, reserving to himself that
required in the public interests, such as forced labor on highways or
on bridges. We shall soon come to see that the circumstance that in
all developed feudal states the peasants have at least two masters
claiming service, is decisive for their later rise.
For all these reasons, the services to be required of peasants in
a developed feudal state must in some fashion be limited.
Henceforth, all surplus belongs to him free from the control of the
landlord. With this change, the character of landed property has
been utterly revolutionized. Heretofore the landlord, as of right, was
entitled to the entire revenue saving only what was absolutely
necessary to permit his peasants to subsist and continue their
brood; while hereafter, the total product of his work, as of right,
belongs to the peasant, saving only a fixed charge for his landlord as
ground rent. The possession of vast landed estates has developed
into (manorial) rights. This completes the second important step
taken by humanity toward its goal. The first step was taken when
man made the transition from the stage of bear to that of the bee-
keeper, and thereby discovered slavery; this step abolishes slavery.
Laboring humanity, heretofore only an object of the law, now for the
first time becomes an entity capable of enjoying rights. The labor
motor, without rights, belonging to its master, and without effective
guarantees of life and limb, has now become the taxpaying subject
of some prince. Henceforth the economic means, now for the first
time assured of its success, develops its forces quite differently. The
peasant works with incomparably more industry and care, obtains
more than he needs, and thereby calls into being the “city” in the
economic sense of the term, viz., the industrial city. The surplus
produced by the peasantry calls into being a demand for objects not
produced in the peasant economy; while at the same time, the more
intensive agriculture brings about a reduction of those industrial by-
products heretofore worked out by the peasant house industry.
Since agriculture and cattle-raising absorb in ever increasing
degrees the energies of the rural family, it becomes possible and
necessary to divide labor between original production and
manufacture; the village tends to become primarily the place of the
former, the industrial city comes into being as the seat of the latter.

(b) THE GENESIS OF THE INDUSTRIAL STATE

 Let there be no misunderstanding: we do not maintain that the
city comes thus into being, but only the industrial city. There has
been in existence the real historical city, to be found in every
developed feudal state. Such cities came into being either because
134
of a purely political means, as a stronghold, or by the coöperation
of the political with economic means, as a market place, or because
T
of some religious need, as the environs of some temple. Wherever
such a city in the historical sense exists in the neighborhood, the
newly arising industrial city tends to grow up about it; otherwise it
develops spontaneously from the existing and matured division of
labor. As a rule, it will in its turn grow into a stronghold and have its
own places of worship.

T
“Every place of worship gathers about it
dwellings of the priests, schools, and rest-houses for
pilgrims.”—Ratzel, l. c. II., p. 575.
Naturally, every place toward which great
pilgrimages proceed becomes an extended trade
center. We may see the remembrances thereof in
the fact that the great wholesale markets, held at
stated times in Northern Europe, are called Messen
from the religious ceremony.

These are but accidental historical admixtures. In its strict

economic sense “city” means the place of the economic means, or
the exchange and interchange for equivalent values between rural
production and manufacture. This corresponds to the common use
of language, by which a stronghold however great, an agglomeration
of temples, cloisters and places of pilgrimage however extensive,
were they conceivable without any place for exchange, would be
designated after their external characteristics as “like a city” or
“resembling a city.”
 Although there may have been few changes in the exterior of
the historical city, there has taken place an internal revolution on a
magnificent scale. The industrial city is directly opposed to the state.
As the state is the developed political means, so the industrial city is
the developed economic means. The great contest filling universal
history, nay its very meaning, henceforth takes place between city
and state.
The city as an economic, political body undermines the feudal
system with political and economic arms. With the first the city
forces, with the second it lures, their power away from the feudal
master class.
This process takes place in the field of politics by the
interference of the city, now a center of its own powers, in the
political mechanism of the developed feudal state, between the
central power and the local territorial magnates and their subjects.
The cities are the strongholds and the dwelling places of warlike
men, as well as depots of material for carrying on war (arms, etc.);
and later they become central supply reservoirs for money used in
the contests between the central government and the growing
territorial princes, or between these in their internecine wars. Thus
they are important strategic points or valuable allies; and may by
far-sighted policy acquire important rights.
As a rule, the cities take the part of the crown in fights against
the feudal nobles, from social reasons, because the landed nobles
refuse to recognize the social equality, demanded as of right by their
more wealthy citizens; from political reasons, because the central
government, thanks to the solidarity between prince and people, is
more apt to be influenced by common interests than is the territorial
magnate, who serves only his private interests; and finally from
economic reasons, because city life can prosper only in peace and
safety. The practises of chivalry, such as club law, and private
warfare, and the knights’ practise of looting caravans are
irreconcilable with the economic means; and therefore, the cities are
faithful allies of the guardians of peace and justice, first to the
emperor, later on, to the sovereign territorial prince; and when the
armed citizenship breaks and pillages some robber baron’s fortress,
the tiny drop reflects the identical process happening in the ocean of
history.
In order successfully to carry this political rôle the city must
attract as many citizens as possible, an endeavor also forced on it by
purely economic considerations, since both divisions of labor and
wealth increase with increased citizenship. Therefore cities favor
immigration with all their powers; and once more show in this the
polar contrast of their essential difference from the feudal landlords.
The new citizens thus attracted into the cities are withdrawn from
the feudal estates, which are thereby weakened in power of taxation
and military defense in proportion as the cities are strengthened.
The city becomes a mighty competitor at the auction, wherein the
serf is knocked down to the highest bidder, to the one, that is to say,
who offers the most rights. The city offers the peasant complete
liberty, and in some cases house and courtyard. The principle, “city
air frees the peasant” is successfully fought out; and the central
government, pleased to strengthen the cities and to weaken the
turbulent nobles, usually confirms by charter the newly acquired
rights.
The third great move in the progress of universal history is to be
seen in the discovery of the honor of free labor; or better in its
rediscovery, it having been lost sight of since those far-off times in
which the free huntsman and the subjugated primitive tiller enjoyed
the results of their labor. As yet the peasant bears the mark of the
pariah and his rights are little respected. But in the wall-girt, well-
defended city, the citizen holds his head high. He is a freeman in
every sense of the word, free even at law, since we find in the
grants of rights to many early enfranchised cities (Ville-franche) the
provision that a serf residing therein “a year and a day” undisturbed
by his master’s claim is to be deemed free.
Within the city walls there are still various ranks and grades of
political status. At first the old settlers, the men of rank equal with
the nobles of the surrounding country, the ancient freemen of the
burgh, refuse to the newcomers, usually poor artisans or hucksters,
the right of sharing in the government. But, as we saw in the case of
the maritime cities, such gradations of rank can not be maintained
within a business community. The majority, intelligent, skeptical,
closely organized and compact, forces the concession of equal
rights. The only difference is that the contest is longer in a
developed feudal state, because now the fight concerns not only the
parties at interest. The great territorial magnates of the
neighborhood and the princes hinder the full development of the
forces by their interference. In the maritime states of the ancient
world, there was no tertius gaudens who could derive any profit
from the contests within the city, since outside the cities there
existed no system of powerful feudal lords.
These then, are the political arms of the cities in their contest
with the feudal state: alliances with the crown, direct attack, and the
enticing away of the serfs of the feudal lords into the enfranchising
air of the city. Its economic weapons are no less effective, the
change from payments in kind to the system of money as a means
of exchange is inseparably connected with civic methods, is the
means whereby the method of payment in kind is utterly destroyed,
and with it the feudal state.

(c) THE INFLUENCES OF MONEY ECONOMY

The sociological process set into motion by the system of money
economy is so well known and its mechanics are so generally
recognized, that a few suggestions will suffice.
Here, as in the case of the maritime states, the consequence of
the invading money system is that the central government becomes
almost omnipotent, while the local powers are reduced to complete
impotence.
 Dominion is not an end in itself, but merely the means of the
rulers to their essential object, the enjoyment without labor of
articles of consumption as many and as valuable as possible. During
the prevalence of the system of natural economy there is no other
way of obtaining them save by dominion; the wardens of the
marches and the territorial princes obtain their wealth by their
political power. The more peasants who are owned, the greater is
the military power and the larger the scope of the territory
subjected, and thus the greater are the revenues. As soon, however,
as the products of agriculture are exchangeable for enticing wares, it
becomes more rational for every one primarily a private man, i. e.,
for every feudal lord not a territorial prince—and this now includes
the knights—to decrease as far as possible the number of peasants,
and to leave only such small numbers as can with the utmost labor
turn out the greatest product from the land, and to leave these as
little as possible. The net product of the real estate, thus
tremendously increased, is now taken to the markets and sold for
goods, and is no longer used to keep a fencible body of guards.
Having dissolved this following, the knight becomes simply the
U
manager of a knight’s fee. With this event, as with one blow, the
central power, that of king or territorial prince, is without a rival for
the dominion, and has become politically omnipotent. The unruly
vassals, who formerly made the weak kings tremble, after a short
attempt at joint rule during the time of the government of the feudal
estates, have changed into the supple courtiers, begging favors at
the hands of some absolute monarch, like Louis XIV. And he
furthermore has become their last resort, since the military power,
now solely exercised by him as the paymaster of the forces, alone
can protect them from the ever-immanent revolt of their tenants,
ground to the bone. While in the time of natural economy the crown
was in nearly every instance allied with peasants and cities against
nobility, we now have the union of the absolute kings, born from the
feudal state, with their nobility, against the representatives of the
economic means.
 U
See reference as to the meaning of
Rittergutsbesitz, ante, page 84.—Translator.

Since the days of Adam Smith it has been customary to state

this fundamental revolution in some such form, as though the foolish
nobles had sold their birthright for a mess of pottage, when they
traded their dominion for foolish articles of luxury. No view can be
more erroneous. Individuals often err in the safe-guarding of their
interests: a class for any prolonged period never is in error.
The fact of the matter is, that the system of money payments
strengthened the central power so mightily and immediately, that
even without the interposition of the agrarian upheaval, any
resistance of the landed nobility would have been senseless. As is
shown in the history of antiquity, the army of a central government,
financially strong, is always superior to feudal levies. Money permits
the armament of peasant sons, and the drilling of them into
professional soldiers, whose solid organization is always superior to
the loose confederation of an armed mass of knights. Besides, at
this stage, the central government could also count on the aid of the
well-armed squares of the urban guilds.
Gunpowder did the rest in Western Europe. Firearms, however,
are a product that can be turned out only in the industrial
establishments of a wealthy city. Because of these technical military
reasons, even that feudal landlord who might not care for the newly
established luxuries and who might only be desirous of maintaining
or increasing his independent position, must subject his territories to
the same agrarian revolution; since, in order to be strong, he now
before all else must have money, which in the new order of things,
has become the nervus rerum, either to buy arms or to engage
mercenaries. A second capitalistic wholesale undertaking, therefore,
has come into being through the system of payments in money;
besides the wholesale management of landed estates, war is carried
on as a great business enterprise—the condottieri appear on the
stage. The market is full of material for armies of mercenaries, the
discharged guards of the feudal lords and the young peasants whose
lands have been taken up by the lords.
There are instances where some petty noble may mount to the
throne of some territorial principality, as happened many a time in
Italy, and as was accomplished by Albrecht Wallenstein, even as late
as the period of the Thirty Years’ War. But that is a matter of
individual fate, not affecting the final result. The local powers
disappear from the contest of political forces as independent centers
of authority and retain the remnant of their former influence only so
long as they serve the princes as a source of supplies; that is, the
state composed of its feudal estates.
The infinite increase in the power of the crown is then enhanced
by a second creation of the system of payment in money, by
officialdom. We have told in detail of the vicious circle which forced
the feudal state into a cul-de-sac between agglomeration and
dissolution, as long as its bailiffs had to be paid with “lands and
peasants” and thereby were nursed into potential rivals of their
creator. With the advent of payments in money, the vicious circle is
broken. Henceforth the central government carries on its functions
through paid employees, permanently dependent on their
135
paymaster. Henceforth there is possible a permanently
established, tensely centralized government, and empires come into
being, such as had not existed since the developed maritime states
of antiquity, which also were founded on the payments in money.
This revolution of the political mechanism was everywhere put
into motion by the development of the money economy—with but
one exception, as far as I can see, viz., Egypt.
Here, according to the statement of experts, no definite
information is to be had, and it seems that the system of money
exchanges appears as a matured institution only in Greek times.
136
Until that time, the tribute of the peasants was paid in kind; and
yet we find, shortly after the expulsion of the Shepherd Kings,
during the New Empire (circa sixteenth century B. C.), that the
absolutism of the kings was fully developed: “The military power is
upheld by foreign mercenaries, the administration is carried on by a
centralized body of officials dependent on the royal favor, while the
137
feudal aristocracy has disappeared.”
It may seem that this exception proves the rule. Egypt is a
country of exceptional geographic conformation. Jammed into a
narrow compass, between mountains and the desert, a natural
highway, the River Nile, traverses its entire length, and permits the
transportation of bulky freight with much greater facility than the
finest road. And this highway made it easy for the Pharaoh to
assemble the taxes of all his districts in his own storehouses, the so-
138
called “houses” and from them to supply his garrisons and civil
employees with the products themselves in natura. For that reason
Egypt, after it has once become unified into an empire, stays
centralized, until foreign powers extinguish its life as a “state.” “This
circumstance is the source of the enormous and plenary power
exercised by the Pharaoh where payments are still made in kind; the
exclusive and immediate control of the objects of daily consumption
are in his hand. The ruler distributes to his employees only such
quantities of the entire mass of goods as appears to him good and
proper; and since the articles of luxury are nearly all exclusively in
his hands, he enjoys on this account also an extraordinary plenitude
139
of power.”
With this one exception, where a mighty force executes the task,
the power of circulating money seems in all cases to have dissolved
the feudal state.
The cost of the revolution fell on peasants and cities. When
peace is made, the crown and the petty nobles mutually sacrifice the
peasantry, dividing them, so to say, into two ideal halves; the crown
grants to the nobility the major part of the peasants’ common lands,
and the greatest part of their working powers that are not yet
expropriated; the nobility concedes to the crown the right of
recruiting and of taxing both peasantry and cities. The peasant, who
had grown wealthy in freedom, sinks back into poverty and therefore
into social inferiority. The former feudal powers now unite as allies to
subjugate the cities, except where, as in Upper Italy, these become
feudal central powers themselves. (And even in that case they for
the most part all fall into the power of captains of mercenaries,
condottieri.) The power of attack of the adversaries has become
stronger, the power of the cities has diminished. For with the decay
of the peasantry, their purchase power diminishes and with it the
prosperity of the cities, based thereon. The small cities in the
country stagnate and become poorer, and being now incapable of
defense, fall a prey to the absolutist rule of the territorial princes;
the larger cities, where the demand for the luxuries of the nobles
has brought into being a strong trading element, split up into social
groups and thus fritter away their political strength. The immigration
now pouring into their walls is composed of discharged and broken
mercenaries, dispossessed peasants, pauperized mechanics from the
smaller towns; it is in other words a proletarian immigration. For the
first time there appears, in the terminology of Karl Marx, the “free
laborer,” in masses, competing with his own class in the labor
markets of the cities. And again, the “law of agglomeration” enters
to form effective class and property distinctions, and thus to tear
apart the civic population. Wild fights take place in the cities
between the classes; through which the territorial prince, in nearly
every instance, again succeeds in gaining control. The only cities
that can permanently escape the deadly embrace of the prince’s
power are the few genuine “maritime states,” or “city states.”
As in the case of the maritime states, the pivot of the state’s life
has again shifted over to another place. Instead of circling about
wealth vested in landed estates, it now turns about capitalized
wealth, because in the meantime property in real estate has itself
become “capital.” Why is it that the development does not, as in the
case of the maritime states, open out into the capitalistic
expropriation of slave labor?
 There are two controlling reasons, one internal, the other
external. The external reason is to be found in this, that slave
hunting on a profitable scale is scarcely possible at this time in any
part of the world, since nearly all countries within reach are also
organized as strong states. Wherever it is possible, as for instance,
in the American colonies of the West European powers, it develops
at once.
The external reason may be found in the circumstance that the
peasant of the interior countries, in contrast to the conditions
prevailing in the maritime states, is subject, not to one master, but
V
to at least two persons entitled to his service, his prince and his
landlord. Both resist any attempt to diminish their peasants’ capacity
for service, since this is essential to their interests. Especially strong
princes did much for their peasants, e. g., those of Brandenburg-
Prussia. For this reason, the peasants, although exploited miserably,
yet retained their personal liberty and their standing as subjects
endowed with personal rights in all states where the feudal system
had been fully developed when the system of payments in money
replaced that of payments in kind.

V
In mediæval Germany the peasants pay tribute
in many cases not only to the landlord and to the
territorial prince, but also to the provost and to the
bailiff.

The evidence that this explanation is correct may be found in the

relations of those states which were gripped by the system of
exchange in money, before the feudal system had become worked
out.
This applies especially to those districts of Germany formerly
occupied by Slavs, but particularly to Poland. In these districts, the
feudal system had not yet been worked out as thoroughly as in the
regions where the demand for grain products in the great western
industrial centers had changed the nobles, the subjects of public law,
W
into the owners of a Rittergut, the subjects of private economic
interests. In these districts, the peasants were subject to the duty of
rendering service only to one master, who was both their liege lord
and landlord; and because of that, there came into being the
republics of nobles mentioned above, which, as far as the pressure
of their more progressed neighbors would permit, tended to
140
approach the capitalistic system of exploiting of slave labor.

W
See foot-note on page 84.

The following is so well known that it can be stated briefly. The

system of exchange by means of money matures into capitalism,
and brings into being new classes in juxtaposition to the
landowners; the capitalist demands equal rights with the formerly
privileged orders, and finally obtains them by revolutionizing the
lower plebs. In this attack on the sacredly established order of
things, the capitalists unite with the lower classes, naturally under
the banner of “natural law.” But as soon as the victory has been
achieved, the class based on movable wealth, the so-called middle
class, turns its arms on the lower classes, makes peace with its
former opponents, and invokes in its reactionary fight on the
proletarians, its late allies, the theory of legitimacy, or makes use of
an evil mixture of arguments based partly on legitimacy and partly
on pseudo-liberalism.
In this manner the state has gradually matured from the
primitive robber state, through the stages of the developed feudal
state, through absolutism, to the modern constitutional state.
 (d) THE MODERN CONSTITUTIONAL STATE
Let us give the mechanics and kinetics of the modern state a
moment’s time.
In principle, it is the same entity as the primitive robber state or
the developed feudal state. There has been added, however, one
new element—officialdom, which at least will have this object, that
in the contest of the various classes, it will represent the common
interests of the state as a whole. In how far this purpose is
subserved we shall investigate in another place. Let us at this time
study the state in respect to those characteristics which it has
brought over from its youthful stages.
Its form still continues to be domination, its content still remains
the exploitation of the economic means. The latter continues to be
limited by public law, which on the one hand protects the traditional
“distribution” of the total products of the nation; while on the other
it attempts to maintain at their full efficiency the taxpayers and
those bound to render service. The internal policy of the state
continues to revolve in the path prescribed for it by the
parallelogram of the centrifugal force of class contests and the
centripetal impulse of the common interests in the state; and its
foreign policy continues to be determined by the interests of the
master class, now comprising besides the landed also the moneyed
interests.
In principle, there are now, as before, only two classes to be
distinguished: one a ruling class, which acquires more of the total
product of the labor of the people—the economic means—than it
has contributed, and a subject class, which obtains less of the
resultant wealth than it has contributed. Each of these classes, in
turn, depending on the degree of economic development, is divided
into more or fewer sub-classes or strata, which grade of according to
the fortune or misfortune of their economic standards.
 Among highly developed states there is found introduced
between the two principal classes a transitional class, which also
may be subdivided into various strata. Its members are bound to
render service to the upper class, while they are entitled to receive
service from the classes below them. To illustrate with an example,
we find in the ruling class in modern Germany at least three strata.
First come the great landed magnates, who at the same time are the
principal shareholders in the larger industrial undertakings and
mining companies: next stand the captains of industry and the
“bankocrats,” who also in many cases have become owners of great
estates. In consequence of this they quickly amalgamate with the
first layer. Such, for example, are the Princes Fugger, who were
formerly bankers of Augsburg, and the Counts of Donnersmarck,
owners of extensive mines in Silesia. And finally there are the petty
country nobles, whom we shall hereafter term junker or “squires.”
The subject class, at all events, consists of petty peasants,
agricultural laborers, factory and mine hands, with small artisans and
subordinate officials. The “middle classes” are the classes of the
transition: composed of the owners of large and medium-sized
farms, the small manufacturers, and the best paid mechanics,
besides those rich “bourgeois,” such as Jews, who have not become
rich enough to overcome certain traditional difficulties which oppose
their arrival at the stage of intermarriage with the upper class. All
these render unrequited service to the upper class, and receive
unrequited service from the lower classes. This determines the result
which occurs either to the stratum as a whole or to the individuals in
it; that is to say, either a complete acceptance into the upper class,
or an absolute sinking into the lower class. Of the (German)
transitional classes, the large farmers and the manufacturers of
average wealth have risen, while the majority of artisans have
descended to the lower classes. We have thus arrived at the kinetics
of classes.
The interests of every class set in motion an actual body of
associated forces, which impel it with a definite momentum toward
the attainment of a definite goal. All classes whatever have the same
goal; viz., the total result of the productive labor of all the denizens
of a given state. Every class attempts to obtain as large a share as
possible of the national production; and since all strive for identically
the same object, the class contest results. This contest of classes is
the content of all history of states, except in so far as the interest of
the state as a whole produces common actions. These we may at
this point disregard, since they have been given undue prominence
by the traditional method of historical study, and lead to one-sided
views. Historically this class contest is shown to be a party fight. A
party is originally and in its essence nothing save an organized
representation of a class. Wherever a class, by reason of social
differentiation, has split up into numerous sub-classes with varied
separate interests, the party claiming to represent it disintegrates at
the earliest opportunity into a mass of tiny parties, and these will
either be allies or mortal enemies according to the degree of
divergence of the class interests. Where on the other hand a former
class contrast has disappeared by social differentiation, the two
former parties amalgamate in a short time into a new party. As an
example of the first case we may recall the splitting off of the
artisans and Anti-Semite parties from the party of German
Liberalism, as a consequence of the fact that the first represented
descending groups, while the latter represented ascending ones. A
characteristic example of the second category may be found in the
political amalgamation which bound together into the farmers’ union
the petty landed squires of the East Elbian country with West Elbian
rich peasants on large plantations. Since the petty squire sinks and
the farmer rises, they meet half-way. All party policy can have but
one meaning, viz., to procure for the class represented as great a
share as is possible of the total national production. In other words,
the preferred classes intend to maintain their share, at the very
least, at the ancient scale, and if possible, to increase it toward such
a maximum as shall permit the exploited classes just a bare
existence, to keep them fit to do their work, just as in the bee-
keeper stages. Their object is to confiscate the entire surplus
product of the economic means, a surplus which increases
enormously as population becomes more dense and division of labor
more specialized. On the other hand, the group of exploited classes
would like to reduce their tribute to the zero-point, and to consume
the entire product themselves; and the transitional classes work as
much as possible toward the reduction of their tribute to the upper
classes, while at the same time they strive to increase their
unrequited income from the classes underneath.
This is the aim and the content of all party contests. The ruling
class conducts this fight with all those means which its acquired
dominion has handed down to it. In consequence of this, the ruling
class sees to it that legislation is framed in its interest and to serve
its purpose—class legislation. These laws are then applied in such
wise that the blunted back of the sword of justice is turned upward,
while its sharpened edge is turned downward—class justice. The
governing class in every state uses the administration of the state in
the interest of those belonging to it under a twofold aspect. In the
first place it reserves to its adherents all prominent places and all
offices of influence and of profit, in the army, in the superior
branches of government service, and in places on the bench; and
secondly, by these very agencies, it directs the entire policy of the
state, causes its class-politics to bring about commercial wars,
colonial policies, protective tariffs, legislation in some degree
improving the conditions of the laboring classes, electoral reform
policies, etc. As long as the nobles ruled the state, they exploited it
as they would have managed an estate; when the bourgeoisie
obtain the mastery, the state is exploited as though it were a factory.
And the class-religion covers all defects, as long as they can be
endured, with its “don’t touch the foundation of society.”
There still exist in the public law a number of political privileges
and economic strategic positions, which favor the master class: such
as, in Prussia, a system of voting which gives the plutocrats an
undue advantage over the less favored classes, a limitation of the
constitutional rights of free assembly, regulations for servants, etc.
For that reason, the constitutional fight, carried on over thousands
of years and dominating the life of the state, is still uncompleted.
The fight for improved conditions of life, another phase of the party
and class struggle, usually takes place in the halls of legislative
bodies, but often it is carried on by means of demonstrations in the
streets, by general strikes, or by open outbreaks.
But the plebs have finally and definitely learned that these
remnants of feudal strategic centers, do not, except in belated
instances, constitute the final stronghold of their opponents. It is not
in political, but rather in economic conditions that the cause must be
sought, which has brought it about that even in the modern
constitutional state, the “distribution of wealth” has not been
changed in principle. Just as in feudal times, the great mass of men
live in bitter poverty; even under the best conditions, they have the
meager necessities of life, earned by hard, crushing, stupefying
forced labor, no longer exacted by right of political exploitation, but
just as effectively forced from the laborers by their economic needs.
And just as before in the un-reformed days, the narrow minority, a
new master class, a conglomerate of holders of ancient privileges
and of newly rich, gathers in the tribute, now grown to immensity;
and not only does not render any service therefor, but flaunts its
wealth in the face of labor by riotous living. The class contest
henceforth is devoted more and more to these economic causes,
based on vicious systems of distribution; and it takes shape in a
hand-to-hand fight between exploiters and proletariat, carried on by
strikes, coöperative societies and trades unions. The economic
organization first forces recognition, and then equal rights; then it
leads and finally controls the political destinies of the labor party. In
the end therefore the trade union controls the party. Thus far the
development of the state has progressed in Great Britain and in the
United States.
Were it not that there has been added to the modern state an
entirely new element, its officialdom, the constitutional state, though
more finely differentiated and more powerfully integrated, would, so
far as form and content go, be little different from its prototypes.
As a matter of principle, the state officials, paid from the funds
of the state, are removed from the economic fights of conflicting
interests; and therefore it is rightly considered unbecoming for any
one in the service of the government to be taking part in any money
making undertaking, and in no well ordered bureaucracy is it
tolerated. Were it possible ever thoroughly to realize the principle,
and did not every official, even the best of them, bring with him that
concept of the state held by the class from which he originated, one
would find in officialdom, as a matter of fact, that moderating and
order making force, removed from the conflict of class interests,
whereby the state might be led toward its new goal. It would
become the fulcrum of Archimedes whence the world of the state
might be moved.
But the principle, we are sorry to say, can not be carried out
completely; and furthermore, the officials do not cease being real
men, do not become mere abstractions without class consciousness.
This may be quite apart from the fact that, in Europe at least, a
participation in a definite form of undertakings—viz., handling large
landed estates—is regarded as a favorable means of getting on in
the service of the state, and will continue to be so as long as the
landed nobility preponderates. In consequence of this, many officials
on the Continent, and one may even say the most influential
officials, are subject to pressure by enormous economic interests;
and are unconsciously, and often against their will, brought into the
class contests.
There are factors, such as extra allowances made by either
fathers or fathers-in-law, or hereditary estates, and affinity to the
persons in control of the landed and moneyed interest or allied with
them, whereby the solidarity of interest among the ruling class is if
anything increased from the fact that these officials, practically
without exception, are taken from a class with whom since their
boyhood days they have been on terms of intimacy. Were there,
however, no such unity of economic interests the demeanor of the
officials would be influenced entirely by the pure interests of the
state.
 For this reason, as a rule, the most efficient, most objective and
most impartial set of officials is found in poor states. Prussia, for
example, was formerly indebted to its poverty for that incomparable
body of officials who handled it through all its troubles. These
employees of the state were actually, in consonance with the rule
laid down above, dissociated completely from all interests in money
making, directly or indirectly.
This ideal body of officials is a rare occurrence in the more
wealthy states. The plutocratic development draws the individual
more and more into its vortex, robbing him of his objectivity and of
his impartiality. And yet the officials continue to fulfil the duty which
the modern state requires of them, to preserve the interests of the
state as opposed to the interests of any class. And this interest is
preserved by them, even though against their will, or at least
without clear consciousness of the fact, in such manner that the
economic means, which called the bureaucracy into being, is in the
end advanced on its tedious path of victory, as against the political
means. No one doubts that the officials carry on class politics,
prescribed for them by the constellation of forces operating in the
state; and to that extent, they certainly do represent the master
class from which they sprang. But they do ameliorate the bitterness
of the struggle, by opposing the extremists in either camp, and by
advocating amendments to existing law, when the social
development has become ripened for their enactment, without
waiting until the contest over these has become acute. Where an
efficient race of princes governs, whose momentary representative
adopts the policy of King Frederick, which was to regard himself only
as “the first servant of the state,” what has been said above applies
to him in an increased degree, all the more so as his interests, as
the permanent beneficiary of the continued existence of the state,
would before all else prompt him to strengthen the centripetal forces
and to weaken the centrifugal powers. In the course of the
preceding we have in many instances noted the natural solidarity
between prince and people, as an historic force of great value. In
the completed constitutional state, in which the monarch in but an
infinitesimally small degree is a subject of private economic
interests, he tends to be almost completely “an official.” This
community of interests is emphasized here much more strongly than
in either the feudal state or the despotically governed state, where
the dominion, at least for one-half its extent, is based on the private
economic interests of the prince.
Even in a constitutional state, the outer form of government is
not the decisive factor; the fight of the classes is carried on and
leads to the same result in a republic as in a monarchy. In spite of
this, it must be admitted that there is more probability, that, other
things being equal, the curve of development of the state in a
monarchy will be more sweeping, with less secondary incurvity,
because the prince is less affected by momentary losses of
popularity, is not so sensitive to momentary gusts of disapproval, as
is a president elected for a short term of years, and he can therefore
shape his policies for longer periods of time.
We must not fail to mention a special form of officialdom, the
scientific staffs of the universities, whose influence on the upward
development of the state must not be underestimated. Not only is
this a creation of the economic means, as were the officials
themselves, but it at the same time represents an historical force,
the need of causality, which we found heretofore only as an ally of
the conquering state. We saw that this need created superstition
while the state was on a primitive stage; its bastard, the taboo, we
found in all cases to be an effective means of control by the master
class. From these same needs then, science was developed,
attacking and destroying superstition, and thereby assisting in
preparation of the path of evolution. That is the incalculable
historical service of science and especially of the universities.
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