The Secret Agent

Sharply dressed and alert, Mr. Verloc heads out unusually early one morning at about half-past 10. The dull English sun covers the city with a rusty light. As Verloc watches well-to-do people enjoying themselves in Hyde Park, he feels protective of them, their opulence, and the social order—it must all be defended from the “enviousness of […] labour.” Verloc himself avoids all unnecessary labor. He also has the look of someone who makes his living upon the “vices” and “baser fears” of humanity.

Verloc is well-dressed because he has business at a foreign Embassy. When he arrives at there, he shows an envelope at the door and is soon admitted to a small private room. Here, he’s joined by Privy Councillor Wurmt, a melancholy, near-sighted man with bushy eyebrows.  Wurmt places a stack of papers on the table: they are Verloc’s reports. Wurmt says that they are dissatisfied with the scandalously lax attitude of the British police, so they want Verloc to do something to change that—to stir up unrest. Verloc, however, doubts that anything can be done.

Wurmt decides that Verloc had better see Mr. Vladimir. He steps out, leaving Verloc sweating. Soon Verloc is led by a servant into a thickly carpeted room where First Secretary Vladimir sits. Mr. Vladimir is a young, clean-shaven man with a witty reputation in society. He coolly questions Verloc about his youthful spying while serving in the French Army, and then he abruptly asks Verloc what he has to say for himself. Verloc has gotten out of shape, Vladimir accuses—nobody would believe he is a desperate anarchist. Vladimir suspects that Verloc is lazy.

Sulkily, Verloc explains that he has worked for the Embassy for 11 years, first based in Paris and now in London. (He is a British-born subject, but his father was French.) Mr. Vladimir says that Verloc hasn’t made good use of his position; the Embassy isn’t a philanthropic institution. Now, the Embassy wants to see some activity. Verloc tries to defend himself, but Vladimir is offended by his raised voice. Verloc explains that his effortlessly loud voice has served him well at socialist meetings, but Vladimir angrily retorts that they have no use for his voice—they want facts.

Mr. Vladimir says that Verloc’s title is “agent provocateur,” but that he hasn’t done anything “provocative” for years. It’s not enough to prevent violence—the Embassy wants a cure. Then, Vladimir asks Verloc about some gray leaflets. Verloc identifies these as belonging to the F.P., or Future of the Proletariat, a revolutionary society of which he’s a vice president. Vladimir is unimpressed.

England, Mr. Vladimir tells Verloc, is far too wedded to ideals of individual liberty. The middle classes must be scared in order to shake them loose from that. He tells Verloc his idea, though it’s clear to Verloc that Vladimir doesn’t really understand the views of revolutionaries—he lumps them all together and thinks that they’re mostly “bomb throwers.” But Vladimir won’t hear any protests as he lays out his plan for “a series of outrages” that will push public opinion in favor of repressive laws. The outrages, he tells Verloc, don’t have to be especially bloody; they only have to frighten people.

Mr. Vladimir says they must attack today’s middle class “fetish,” which is neither the monarchy nor religion—it is science. Attacks on heads of state have become rather commonplace, and an attack on a church or a theater wouldn’t seem sufficiently political; all these would merely seem like outbursts of frustration, which the press would readily dismiss. In Mr. Vladimir’s view, “bomb throwing” must go beyond vengeance; in order to have an impact, it must be destructive. That’s why the attack should target something beyond ordinary human passions. Every fool believes in science, even if he doesn’t understand it, and the upper classes believe that science is the foundation of their prosperity. Attacking it would seem like madness, which is more terrifying than simple murder.

Mr. Vladimir proposes attacking astronomy, because this would not be mistaken as a mere class grievance. Besides, everyone has heard of Greenwich, no matter their class. Vladimir thinks that “the blowing up of the first meridian” will cause widespread anger and panic.

Verloc points out that such an attack will cost money, but Mr. Vladimir is adamant that Verloc will only be paid his usual fee until he’s able to execute an attack. He’s appalled to learn that Verloc not only keeps a shop, but that he’s married too. He can’t believe that Verloc maintains any credibility in the anarchist world. In any case, Verloc must provoke an “outrage” within one month, or else the Embassy will fire him. Vladimir dismisses Verloc. Ignoring his surroundings, Verloc hurries home from the Embassy and spends the rest of the day sitting immobile behind the shop counter.

Winnie leaves Verloc alone. As she prepares supper, she tells Stevie, who’s been sweeping and dusting the house, to wash up for the meal. Stevie always takes care to be clean for mealtimes, not wanting to offend Verloc. Verloc, however, never gets angry at Stevie, unlike Stevie’s and Winnie’s father. Winnie used to be “maddened” by her father’s rages toward Stevie. Nowadays, nobody would guess that Winnie is capable of any sort of passion.

At dinner, Mr. Verloc is so thoughtfully silent that Winnie and her mother watch Stevie anxiously, not wanting him to disturb the master of the house. Winnie’s father was ashamed of having a “peculiar” son and treated him brutally as a result. Verloc, by contrast, pays little attention to Stevie. Winnie always tells her mother that if Verloc tires of Stevie, he’d better tire of her first. Though Winnie’s mother doesn’t understand what Winnie sees in Verloc—she could have married a younger man—she decides that their match is lucky, since Verloc is a good provider for them all.