London was the great asylum throughout the nineteenth century for European exiles of all kinds, from reactionaries like Louis-Philippe, to radicals like Karl Marx. European governments sometimes complained of the generous laissez-faire attitude London took towards these exiles, though in many cases they were relieved to have the exiles safely removed from their own territory, and isolated from events in Europe by the English Channel.

Marx (himself a communist radical living in London) observed in the middle of the nineteenth century that the working class needed an international movement in part because capitalists of all nations were already united in a common front. This would prove to be a bit premature in 1914, when the capitalist world devoured itself in a spasm of irredentist violence, but we see what he meant here, as Vladimir discusses the fictional Conference in Milan.

Plainly, the idea is that the various nations of Europe will come together to agree on measures to suppress leftist terrorism and, inevitably, leftist political agitation. But Vladimir is already predicting that (like most conferences) this will turn out to be mostly rhetoric, and charges Verloc with fomenting a violent action that will really get the attention of the conferenciers.

Vladimir brightens up, both because his sudden realization of the correct idiom demonstrates further his mastery of English, and because the phrase that he chooses is so delightfully vulgar. The row of white teeth that he flashes in his moment of triumph can only seem predatory.

The identification of America with jokes about plumbers is slightly obscure today, but Vladimir’s familiarity with “American humour” (internationally famous in the era of Mark Twain) is another indication of his impressively cosmopolitan outlook — he identifies with the ruling class of every nation.

Although specific to plumbers, this harsh judgment is also indicative of Vladimir’s more general contempt for the working class, which “deserves” its inferior position because of its shiftlessness and incompetence. Vladimir reassures himself at every moment that he belongs to the natural ruling class.

Provoked, that is, by the accusation that he is not truly European, Vladimir switches to French, the language of civilized discourse in nineteenth century Europe.

The Attic Greeks used the term “Hyperborean” to describe the uncivilized Europe of the far north, conceptualized as a realm of ice and snow. Here it probably signifies Russia, respected and feared throughout the nineteenth century as a powerful despotism blending European and Oriental values. Conrad, originally from Poland (which was partitioned and swallowed by Russia, Prussia, and Austria in the late eighteenth century), understood the threat of Russian despotism on a visceral level.

In a fit of anger, Vladimir lets the mask of cool sophistication slip, sounding “guttural” in a way that suggests, not only German but Russian. Conrad’s point seems to be that even though Europe in 1886 was largely undemocratic, it presented a moderate, cosmopolitan face to the world, an inheritance of the Enlightenment. The kind of total tyranny to which Vladimir aspires seems, as a consequence, “outside” of European values and norms.

Verloc will call attention to this un-European outburst by labeling it “Hyperborean”.

It isn’t an accident that the windows are “French”, since speaking French is the bare minimum required to qualify as an elite in 1886 London. Even Verloc, a pawn in the chessboard of European class struggle, speaks passable French.

Highly ironic. Verloc is pretending to be a labor leader, agitating for justice for workers. Meanwhile, in his actual position he is forced to tolerate endless humiliations, backed by the reactionary anti-labor (that is, anti-strike) slogan “No work, no pay.”