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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1101de2 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53467 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53467) diff --git a/old/53467-0.txt b/old/53467-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 17fddd5..0000000 --- a/old/53467-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6214 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Prejudices, Second Series, by H. L. Mencken - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Prejudices, Second Series - -Author: H. L. Mencken - -Release Date: November 7, 2016 [eBook #53467] -[Most recently updated: December 26, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Marc D’Hooghe - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PREJUDICES, SECOND SERIES *** - - - - -PREJUDICES - -SECOND SERIES - -By H. L. MENCKEN - - - -JONATHAN CAPE - -11 GOWER STREET - -LONDON - -1921 - - - - - CONTENTS - - I THE NATIONAL LETTERS, 9 - - 1. Prophets and Their Visions, 9 - 2. The Answering Fact, 14 - 3. The Ashes of New England, 18 - 4. The Ferment Underground, 25 - 5. In the Literary Abattoir, 32 - 6. Underlying Causes, 39 - 7. The Lonesome Artist, 54 - 8. The Cultural Background, 65 - 9. Under the Campus Pump, 78 - 10. The Intolerable Burden, 87 - 11. Epilogue, 98 - - II ROOSEVELT: AN AUTOPSY, 102 - - III THE SAHARA OF THE BOZART, 136 - - IV THE DIVINE AFFLATUS, 155 - - V SCIENTIFIC EXAMINATION OF A POPULAR VIRTUE, 172 - - VI EXEUNT OMNES, 180 - - VII THE ALLIED ARTS, 194 - - 1. On Music-Lovers, 194 - 2. Opera, 197 - 3. The Music of To-morrow, 201 - 4. Tempo di Valse, 204 - 5. The Puritan as Artist, 206 - 6. The Human Face, 206 - 7. The Cerebral Mime, 208 - - VIII THE CULT OF HOPE, 211 - - IX THE DRY MILLENNIUM, 219 - - 1. The Holy War, 219 - 2. The Lure of Babylon, 222 - 3. Cupid and Well-Water, 225 - 4. The Triumph of Idealism, 226 - - X APPENDIX ON A TENDER THEME, 229 - - 1. The Nature of Love, 229 - 2. The Incomparable Buzzsaw, 236 - 3. Women as Spectacles, 238 - 4. Woman and the Artist, 240 - 5. Martyrs, 243 - 6. The Burnt Child, 244 - 7. The Supreme Comedy, 244 - 8. A Hidden Cause, 245 - 9. Bad Workmanship, 245 - - - - -PREJUDICES: SECOND SERIES - - - - -I. THE NATIONAL LETTERS - - - - -1 - - -_Prophets and Their Visions_ - - -It is convenient to begin, like the gentlemen of God, with a glance at -a text or two. The first, a short one, is from Ralph Waldo Emerson's -celebrated oration, "The American Scholar," delivered before the Phi -Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge on August 31st, 1837. Emerson was then -thirty-four years old and almost unknown in his own country:, though -he had already published "Nature" and established his first contacts -with Landor and Carlyle. But "The American Scholar" brought him into -instant notice at home, partly as man of letters but more importantly -as seer and prophet, and the fame thus founded has endured without much -diminution, at all events in New England, to this day. Oliver Wendell -Holmes, giving words to what was undoubtedly the common feeling, -hailed the address as the intellectual declaration of independence of -the American people, and that judgment, amiably passed on by three -generations of pedagogues, still survives in the literature books. I -quote from the first paragraph: - - Our day of dependence, our long apprenticeship to the - learning of other lands, draws to a close.... Events, - actions arise, that must be sung, that will sing themselves. - Who can doubt that poetry will revive and lead in a new age, - as the star in the constellation Harp, which now flames - in our zenith, astronomers announce, shall one day be the - pole-star for a thousand years? - -This, as I say, was in 1837. Thirty-three years later, in 1870, Walt -Whitman echoed the prophecy in his even more famous "Democratic -Vistas." What he saw in his vision and put into his gnarled and gasping -prose was - - a class of native authors, literatuses, far different, far - higher in grade, than any yet known, sacerdotal, modern, - fit to cope with our occasions, lands, permeating the whole - mass of American morality, taste, belief, breathing into - it a new breath of life, giving it decision, affecting - politics far more than the popular superficial suffrage, - with results inside and underneath the elections of - Presidents or Congress--radiating, begetting appropriate - teachers, schools, manners, and, as its grandest result, - accomplishing, (what neither the schools nor the churches - and their clergy have hitherto accomplished, and without - which this nation will no more stand, permanently, soundly, - than a house will stand without a substratum,) a religious - and moral character beneath the political and productive and - intellectual bases of the States. - -And out of the vision straightway came the prognostication: - - The promulgation and belief in such a class or order--a - new and greater literatus order--its possibility, (nay, - certainty,) underlies these entire speculations.... Above - all previous lands, a great original literature is sure to - become the justification and reliance, (in some respects the - sole reliance,) of American democracy. - -Thus Whitman in 1870, the time of the first draft of "Democratic -Vistas." He was of the same mind, and said so, in 1888, four years -before his death. I could bring up texts of like tenor in great number, -from the years before 1837, from those after 1888, and from every -decade between. The dream of Emerson, though the eloquence of its -statement was new and arresting, embodied no novel projection of the -fancy; it merely gave a sonorous _Wald-horn_ tone to what had been -dreamed and said before. You will find almost the same high hope, the -same exuberant confidence in the essays of the elder Channing and -in the "Lectures on American Literature" of Samuel Lorenzo Knapp, -LL.D., the first native critic of beautiful letters--the primordial -tadpole of all our later Mores, Brownells, Phelpses, Mabies, Brander -Matthewses and other such grave and glittering fish. Knapp believed, -like Whitman long after him, that the sheer physical grandeur of the -New World would inflame a race of bards to unprecedented utterance. -"What are the Tibers and Scamanders," he demanded, "measured by the -Missouri and the Amazon? Or what the loveliness of Illysus or Avon by -the Connecticut or the Potomack? Whenever a nation wills it, prodigies -are born." That is to say, prodigies literary and ineffable as well as -purely material--prodigies aimed, in his own words, at "the olympick -crown" as well as at mere railroads, ships, wheatfields, droves of -hogs, factories and money. Nor were Channing and Knapp the first of -the haruspices. Noah Webster, the lexicographer, who "taught millions -to spell but not one to sin," had seen the early starlight of the same -Golden Age so early as 1789, as the curious will find by examining -his "Dissertations on the English Language," a work fallen long since -into undeserved oblivion. Nor was Whitman, taking sober second thought -exactly a century later, the last of them. Out of many brethren of our -own day, extravagantly articulate in print and among the chautauquas, -I choose one--not because his hope is of purest water, but precisely -because, like Emerson, he dilutes it with various discreet where-ases. -He is Van Wyck Brooks, a young man far more intelligent, penetrating -and hospitable to fact than any of the reigning professors--a critic -who is sharply differentiated from them, indeed, by the simple -circumstance that he has information and sense. Yet this extraordinary -Mr. Brooks, in his "Letters and Leadership," published in 1918, -rewrites "The American Scholar" in terms borrowed almost bodily -from "Democratic Vistas"--that is to say, he prophesies with Emerson -and exults with Whitman. First there is the Emersonian doctrine of -the soaring individual made articulate by freedom and realizing "the -responsibility that lies upon us, each in the measure of his own gift." -And then there is Whitman's vision of a self-interpretative democracy, -forced into high literary adventures by Joseph Conrad's "obscure inner -necessity," and so achieving a "new synthesis adaptable to the unique -conditions of our life." And finally there is the specific prediction, -the grandiose, Adam Forepaugh mirage: "We shall become a luminous -people, dwelling in the light and sharing our light." ... - -As I say, the roll of such soothsayers might be almost endlessly -lengthened. There is, in truth, scarcely a formal discourse upon the -national letters (forgetting, perhaps, Barrett Wendell's sour threnody -upon the New England _Aufklärung)_ that is without some touch of this -previsional exultation, this confident hymning of glories to come, -this fine assurance that American literature, in some future always -ready to dawn, will burst into so grand a flowering that history will -cherish its loveliest blooms even above such salient American gifts to -culture as the moving-picture, the phonograph, the New Thought and the -bi-chloride tablet. If there was ever a dissenter from the national -optimism, in this as in other departments, it was surely Edgar Allan -Poe--without question the bravest and most original, if perhaps also -the least orderly and judicious, of all the critics that we have -produced. And yet even Poe, despite his general habit of disgust and -dismay, caught a flash or two of that engaging picture--even Poe, for -an instant, in 1846, thought that he saw the beginnings of a solid -and autonomous native literature, its roots deep in the soil of the -republic--as you will discover by turning to his forgotten essay on J. -G. C. Brainard, a thrice-forgotten doggereleer of Jackson's time. Poe, -of course, was too cautious to let his imagination proceed to details; -one feels that a certain doubt, a saving peradventure or two, played -about the unaccustomed vision as he beheld it. But, nevertheless, he -unquestionably beheld it.... - - - - -2 - - -_The Answering Fact_ - - -Now for the answering fact. How has the issue replied to these -visionaries? It has replied in a way that is manifestly to the -discomfiture of Emerson as a prophet, to the dismay of Poe as a -pessimist disarmed by transient optimism, and to the utter collapse -of Whitman. We have, as every one knows, produced no such "new and -greater literatus order" as that announced by old Walt. We have given -a gaping world no books that "radiate," and surely none intelligibly -comparable to stars and constellations. We have achieved no prodigies -of the first class, and very few of the second class, and not many of -the third and fourth classes. Our literature, despite several false -starts that promised much, is chiefly remarkable, now as always, for -its respectable mediocrity. Its typical great man, in our own time, has -been Howells, as its typical great man a generation ago was Lowell, -and two generations ago, Irving. Viewed largely, its salient character -appears as a sort of timorous flaccidity, an amiable hollowness. -In bulk it grows more and more formidable, in ease and decorum it -makes undoubted progress, and on the side of mere technic, of the -bald capacity to write, it shows an ever-widening competence. But -when one proceeds from such agencies and externals to the intrinsic -substance, to the creative passion within, that substance quickly -reveals itself as thin and watery, and that passion fades to something -almost puerile. In all that mass of suave and often highly diverting -writing there is no visible movement toward a distinguished and -singular excellence, a signal national quality, a ripe and stimulating -flavor, or, indeed, toward any other describable goal. _What_ one -sees is simply a general irresolution, a pervasive superficiality. -There is no sober grappling with fundamentals, but only a shy sporting -on the surface; there is not even any serious approach, such as -Whitman dreamed of, to the special experiences and emergencies of the -American people. When one turns to any other national literature--to -Russian literature, say, or French, or German or Scandinavian--one -is conscious immediately of a definite attitude toward the primary -mysteries of existence, the unsolved and ever-fascinating problems -at the bottom of human life, and of a definite preoccupation with -some of them, and a definite way of translating their challenge into -drama. These attitudes and preoccupations raise a literature above -mere poetizing and tale-telling; they give it dignity and importance; -above all, they give it national character. But it is precisely here -that the literature of America, and especially the later literature, -is most colorless and inconsequential. As if paralyzed by the national -fear of ideas, the democratic distrust of whatever strikes beneath -the prevailing platitudes, it evades all resolute and honest dealing -with what, after all, must be every healthy literature's elementary -materials. One is conscious of no brave and noble earnestness in it, of -no generalized passion for intellectual and spiritual adventure, of no -organized determination to think things out. What is there is a highly -self-conscious and insipid correctness, a bloodless respectability, a -submergence of matter in manner--in brief, what is there is the feeble, -uninspiring quality of German painting and English music. - -It was so in the great days and it is so to-day. There has always -been hope and there has always been failure. Even the most optimistic -prophets of future glories have been united, at all times, in their -discontent with the here and now. "The mind of this country," said -Emerson, speaking of what was currently visible in 1837, "is taught -to aim at low objects.... There is no work for any but the decorous -and the complaisant.... Books are written ... by men of talent ... who -start wrong, who set out from accepted dogmas, not from their own sight -of principles." And then, turning to the way out: "The office of the -scholar (_i.e.,_ of Whitman's 'literatus') is to cheer, to raise and to -guide men by showing them _facts amid appearances._" Whitman himself, -a full generation later, found that office still unfilled. "Our -fundamental want to-day in the United States," he said, "with closest, -amplest reference to present conditions, and to the future, is of a -class, and the clear idea of a class, of native authors, literatuses, -far different, far higher in grade, than any yet known"--and so on, as -I have already quoted him. And finally, to make an end of the prophets, -there is Brooks, with nine-tenths of his book given over, not to his -prophecy--it is crowded, indeed, into the last few pages--but to a -somewhat heavy mourning over the actual scene before him. On the side -of letters, the æsthetic side, the side of ideas, we present to the -world at large, he says, "the spectacle of a vast, undifferentiated -herd of good-humored animals"--Knights of Pythias, Presbyterians, -standard model Ph.D.'s, readers of the _Saturday Evening Post,_ -admirers of Richard Harding Davis and O. Henry, devotees of Hamilton -Wright Mabie's "white list" of books, members of the Y. M. C. A. or the -Drama League, weepers at chautauquas, wearers of badges, 100 per cent. -patriots, children of God. Poe I pass over; I shall turn to him again -later on. Nor shall I repeat the parrotings of Emerson and Whitman in -the jeremiads of their innumerable heirs and assigns. What they all -establish is what is already obvious: that American thinking, when -it concerns itself with beautiful letters as when it concerns itself -with religious dogma or political theory, is extraordinarily timid and -superficial--that it evades the genuinely serious problems of life and -art as if they were stringently taboo--that the outward virtues it -undoubtedly shows are always the virtues, not of profundity, not of -courage, not of originality, but merely those of an emasculated and -often very trashy dilettantism. - - - - -3 - - -_The Ashes of New England_ - - -The current scene is surely depressing enough. What one observes -is a literature in three layers, and each inordinately doughy and -uninspiring--each almost without flavor or savor. It is hard to say, -with much critical plausibility, which layer deserves to be called -the upper, but for decorum's sake the choice may be fixed upon that -which meets with the approval of the reigning Lessings. This is the -layer of the novels of the late Howells, Judge Grant, Alice Brown and -the rest of the dwindling survivors of New England _Kultur,_ of the -brittle, academic poetry of Woodberry and the elder Johnson, of the -tea-party essays of Crothers, Miss Repplier and company, and of the -solemn, highly judicial, coroner's inquest criticism of More, Brownell, -Babbitt and their imitators. Here we have manner, undoubtedly. The -thing is correctly done; it is never crude or gross; there is in -it a faint perfume of college-town society. But when this highly -refined and attenuated manner is allowed for what remains is next to -nothing. One never remembers a character in the novels of these aloof -and de-Americanized Americans; one never encounters an idea in their -essays; one never carries away a line out of their poetry. It is -literature as an academic exercise for talented grammarians, almost as -a genteel recreation for ladies and gentlemen of fashion--the exact -equivalent, in the field of letters, of eighteenth century painting and -German _Augenmusik._ - -What ails it, intrinsically, is a dearth of intellectual audacity and -of æsthetic passion. Running through it, and characterizing the work -of almost every man and woman producing it, there is an unescapable -suggestion of the old Puritan suspicion of the fine arts as such--of -the doctrine that they offer fit asylum for good citizens only when -some ulterior and superior purpose is carried into them. This purpose, -naturally enough, most commonly shows a moral tinge. The aim of poetry, -it appears, is to fill the mind with lofty thoughts--not to give it -joy, but to give it a grand and somewhat gaudy sense of virtue. The -essay is a weapon against the degenerate tendencies of the age. The -novel, properly conceived, is a means of uplifting the spirit; its aim -is to inspire, not merely to satisfy the low curiosity of man in man. -The Puritan, of course, is not entirely devoid of æsthetic feeling. He -has a taste for good form; he responds to style; he is even capable -of something approaching a purely æsthetic emotion. But he fears this -æsthetic emotion as an insinuating distraction from his chief business -in life: the sober consideration of the all-important problem of -conduct. Art is a temptation, a seduction, a Lorelei, and the Good -Man may safely have traffic with it only when it is broken to moral -uses--in other words, when its innocence is pumped out of it, and it -is purged of gusto. It is precisely this gusto that one misses in all -the work of the New England school, and in all the work of the formal -schools that derive from it. One observes in such a fellow as Dr. Henry -Van Dyke an excellent specimen of the whole clan. He is, in his way, -a genuine artist. He has a hand for pretty verses. He wields a facile -rhetoric. He shows, in indiscreet moments, a touch of imagination. -But all the while he remains a sound Presbyterian, with one eye on -the devil. He is a Presbyterian first and an artist second, which is -just as comfortable as trying to be a Presbyterian first and a chorus -girl second. To such a man it must inevitably appear that a Molière, a -Wagner, a Goethe or a Shakespeare was more than a little bawdy. - -The criticism that supports this decaying caste of literary Brahmins -is grounded almost entirely upon ethical criteria. You will spend a -long while going through the works of such typical professors as More, -Phelps, Boynton, Burton, Perry, Brownell and Babbitt before ever you -encounter a purely æsthetic judgment upon an æsthetic question. It -is almost as if a man estimating daffodils should do it in terms of -artichokes. Phelps' whole body of "we church-goers" criticism--the most -catholic and tolerant, it may be said in passing, that the faculty can -show--consists chiefly of a plea for correctness, and particularly -for moral correctness; he never gets very far from "the axiom of the -moral law." Brownell argues eloquently for standards that would bind -an imaginative author as tightly as a Sunday-school super-intendent -is bound by the Ten Commandments and the Mann Act. Sherman tries to -save Shakespeare for the right-thinking by proving that he was an Iowa -Methodist--a member of his local Chamber of Commerce, a contemner of -Reds, an advocate of democracy and the League of Nations, a patriotic -dollar-a-year-man during the Armada scare. Elmer More devotes himself, -year in and year out, to denouncing the Romantic movement, _i. e.,_ -the effort to emancipate the artist from formulæ and categories, and -so make him free to dance with arms and legs. And Babbitt, to make -an end, gives over his days and his nights to deploring Rousseau's -anarchistic abrogation of "the veto power" over the imagination, -leading to such "wrongness" in both art and life that it threatens -"to wreck civilization." In brief, the alarms of schoolmasters. Not -many of them deal specifically with the literature that is in being. -It is too near to be quite nice. To More or Babbitt only death can -atone for the primary offense of the artist. But what they preach -nevertheless has its echoes contemporaneously, and those echoes, in the -main, are woefully falsetto. I often wonder what sort of picture of -These States is conjured up by foreigners who read, say, Crothers, Van -Dyke, Babbitt, the later Winston Churchill, and the old maids of the -Freudian suppression school. How can such a foreigner, moving in those -damp, asthmatic mists, imagine such phenomena as Roosevelt, Billy -Sunday, Bryan, the Becker case, the I. W. W., Newport, Palm Beach, the -University of Chicago, Chicago itself--the whole, gross, glittering, -excessively dynamic, infinitely grotesque, incredibly stupendous drama -of American life? - -As I have said, it is not often that the _ordentlichen Professoren_ -deign to notice contemporary writers, even of their own austere kidney. -In all the Shelburne Essays there is none on Howells, or on Churchill, -or on Mrs. Wharton; More seems to think of American literature as -expiring with Longfellow and Donald G. Mitchell. He has himself hinted -that in the department of criticism of criticism there enters into -the matter something beyond mere aloof ignorance. "I soon learned (as -editor of the pre-Bolshevik _Nation),_" he says, "that it was virtually -impossible to get fair consideration for a book written by a scholar -not connected with a university from a reviewer so connected." This -class consciousness, however, should not apply to artists, who are -admittedly inferior to professors, and it surely does not show itself -in such men as Phelps and Spingarn, who seem to be very eager to prove -that they are not professorial. Yet Phelps, in the course of a long -work on the novel, pointedly omits all mention of such men as Dreiser, -and Spingarn, as the aforesaid Brooks has said, "appears to be less -inclined even than the critics with whom he is theoretically at war -to play an active, public part in the secular conflict of darkness -and light." When one comes to the _Privat-Dozenten_ there is less -remoteness, but what takes the place of it is almost as saddening. To -Sherman and Percy Boynton the one aim of criticism seems to be the -enforcement of correctness--in Emerson's phrase, the upholding of "some -great decorum, some fetish of a government, some ephemeral trade, or -war, or man"--e. g., Puritanism, democracy, monogamy, the League of -Nations, the Wilsonian piffle. Even among the critics who escape the -worst of this schoolmastering frenzy there is some touch of the heavy -"culture" of the provincial schoolma'm. For example, consider Clayton -Hamilton, M.A., vice-president of the National Institute of Arts and -Letters. Here are the tests he proposes for dramatic critics, _i. -e.,_ for gentlemen chiefly employed in reviewing such characteristic -American compositions as the Ziegfeld Follies, "Up in Mabel's Room," -"Ben-Hur" and "The Witching Hour": - - 1. Have you ever stood bareheaded in the nave of Amiens? - - 2. Have you ever climbed to the Acropolis by moonlight? - - 3. Have you ever walked with whispers into the hushed - presence of the Frari Madonna of Bellini? - -What could more brilliantly evoke an image of the eternal Miss Birch, -blue veil flying and Baedeker in hand, plodding along faithfully -through the interminable corridors and catacombs of the Louvre, -the while bands are playing across the river, and young bucks in -three-gallon hats are sparking the gals, and the Jews and harlots -uphold the traditions of French _hig leef_ at Longchamps, and American -deacons are frisked and debauched up on martyrs' hill? The banality of -it is really too exquisite to be borne; the lack of humor is almost -that of a Fifth avenue divine. One seldom finds in the pronunciamentoes -of these dogged professors, indeed, any trace of either Attic or Gallic -salt. When they essay to be jocose, the result is usually simply an -elephantine whimsicality, by the chautauqua out of the _Atlantic -Monthly._ Their satire is mere ill-nature. One finds it difficult to -believe that they have ever read Lewes, or Hazlitt, or, above all, -Saintsbury. I often wonder, in fact, how Saintsbury would fare, an -unknown man, at the hands of, say, Brownell or More. What of his -iconoclastic gayety, his boyish weakness for tweaking noses and pulling -whiskers, his obscene delight in slang?... - - - - -4 - - -_The Ferment Underground_ - - -So much for the top layer. The bottom layer is given over to the -literature of Greenwich Village, and by Greenwich Village, of course, -I mean the whole of the advanced wing in letters, whatever the scene -of its solemn declarations of independence and forlorn hopes. Miss Amy -Lowell is herself a fully-equipped and automobile Greenwich Village, -domiciled in Boston amid the crumbling gravestones of the New England -_intelligentsia,_ but often in waspish joy-ride through the hinterland. -Vachel Lindsay, with his pilgrim's staff, is another. There is a third -in Chicago, with _Poetry: A Magazine of Verse_ as its Exhibit A; it -is, in fact, the senior of the Village fornenst Washington Square. -Others you will find in far-flung factory towns, wherever there is a -Little Theater, and a couple of local Synges and Chekovs to supply its -stage. St. Louis, before Zoë Akins took flight, had the busiest of -all these Greenwiches, and the most interesting. What lies under the -whole movement is the natural revolt of youth against the pedagogical -Prussianism of the professors. The oppression is extreme, and so the -rebellion is extreme. Imagine a sentimental young man of the provinces, -awaking one morning to the somewhat startling discovery that he is -full of the divine afflatus, and nominated by the hierarchy of hell -to enrich the literature of his fatherland. He seeks counsel and aid. -He finds, on consulting the official treatises on that literature, -that its greatest poet was Longfellow. He is warned, reading More and -Babbitt, that the literatus who lets feeling get into his compositions -is a psychic fornicator, and under German influences. He has formal -notice from Sherman that Puritanism is the lawful philosophy of the -country, and that any dissent from it is treason. He gets the news, -plowing through the New York _Times Book Review,_ the _Nation_ (so far -to the left in its politics, but hugging the right so desperately in -letters!) the _Bookman,_ the _Atlantic_ and the rest, that the salient -artists of the living generation are such masters as Robert Underwood -Johnson, Owen Wister, James Lane Allen, George E. Woodberry, Hamlin -Garland, William Roscoe Thayer and Augustus Thomas, with polite bows -to Margaret Deland, Mary Johnston and Ellen Glasgow. It slowly dawns -upon him that Robert W. Chambers is an academician and Theodore Dreiser -isn't, that Brian Hooker is and George Sterling isn't, that Henry -Sydnor Harrison is and James Branch Cabell isn't, that "Chimmie Fadden" -Townsend is and Sherwood Anderson isn't. - -Is it any wonder that such a young fellow, after one or two sniffs -of that prep-school fog, swings so vastly backward that one finds -him presently in corduroy trousers and a velvet jacket, hammering -furiously upon a pine table in a Macdougal street cellar, his mind -full of malicious animal magnetism against even so amiable an old -maid as Howells, and his discourse full of insane hair-splittings -about _vers libre,_ futurism, spectrism, vorticism, _Expressionismus, -héliogabalisme?_ The thing, in truth, is in the course of nature. -The Spaniards who were outraged by the Palmerism of Torquemada did -not become members of the Church of England; they became atheists. -The American colonists, in revolt against a bad king, did not set up -a good king; they set up a democracy, and so gave every honest man a -chance to become a rogue on his own account. Thus the young literatus, -emerging from the vacuum of Ohio or Arkansas. An early success, as we -shall see, tends to halt and moderate him. He finds that, after all, -there is still a place for him, a sort of asylum for such as he, not -over-populated or very warmly-heated, but nevertheless quite real. But -if his sledding at the start is hard, if the corrective birch finds him -while he is still tender, then he goes, as Andrew Jackson would say, -the whole hog, and another voice is added to the raucous bellowing of -the literary Reds. - -I confess that the spectacle gives me some joy, despite the fact -that the actual output of the Village is seldom worth noticing. What -commonly engulfs and spoils the Villagers is their concern with mere -technique. Among them, it goes without saying, are a great many -frauds--poets whose yearning to write is unaccompanied by anything -properly describable as capacity, dramatists whose dramas are simply -Schnitzler and well-water, workers in prose fiction who gravitate -swiftly and inevitably to the machine-made merchandise of the cheap -magazines--in brief, American equivalents of the bogus painters of the -Boul' Mich'. These pretenders, having no ideas, naturally try to make -the most of forms. Half the wars in the Village are over form; content -is taken for granted, or forgotten altogether. The extreme leftists, -in fact, descend to a meaningless gibberish, both in prose and in -verse; it is their last defiance to intellectualism. This childish -concentration upon externals unfortunately tends to debauch the small -minority that is of more or less genuine parts; the good are pulled in -by the bad. As a result, the Village produces nothing that justifies -all the noise it makes. I have yet to hear of a first-rate book coming -out of it, or a short story of arresting quality, or even a poem of -any solid distinction. As one of the editors of a magazine which -specializes in the work of new authors I am in an exceptional position -to report. Probably nine-tenths of the stuff written in the dark dens -and alleys south of the arch comes to my desk soon or late, and I go -through all of it faithfully. It is, in the overwhelming main, jejune -and imitative. The prose is quite without distinction, either in matter -or in manner. The verse seldom gets beyond a hollow audaciousness, not -unlike that of cubist painting. It is not often, indeed, that even -personality is in it; all of the Villagers seem to write alike. "Unless -one is an expert in some detective method," said a recent writer in -_Poetry,_ "one is at a loss to assign correctly the ownership of -much free verse--that is, if one plays fairly and refuses to look at -the signature until one has ventured a guess. It is difficult, for -instance, to know whether Miss Lowell is writing Mr. Bynner's verse, or -whether he is writing hers." Moreover, this monotony keeps to a very -low level. There is no poet in the movement who has produced anything -even remotely approaching the fine lyrics of Miss Reese, Miss Teasdale -and John McClure, and for all its war upon the _cliché_ it can show -nothing to equal the _cliché-free_ beauty of Robert Loveman's "Rain -Song." In the drama the Village has gone further. In Eugene O'Neill, -Rita Wellman and Zoë Akins it offers dramatists who are obviously many -cuts above the well-professored mechanicians who pour out of Prof. Dr. -Baker's _Ibsenfabrik_ at Cambridge. But here we must probably give -the credit, not to any influence residing within the movement itself, -but to mere acts of God. Such pieces as O'Neill's one-acters, Miss -Wellman's "The Gentile Wife" and Miss Akins' extraordinary "Papa" lie -quite outside the Village scheme of things. There is no sign of formal -revolt in them. They are simply first-rate work, done miraculously in a -third-rate land. - -But if the rebellion is thus sterile of direct results, and, in more -than one aspect, fraudulent and ridiculous, it is at all events an -evidence of something not to be disregarded, and that something is -the gradual formulation of a challenge to the accepted canons in -letters and to the accepted canon lawyers. The first hoots come from -a tatterdemalion horde of rogues and vagabonds without the gates, -but soon or late, let us hope, they will be echoed in more decorous -quarters, and with much greater effect. The Village, in brief, is an -earnest that somewhere or other new seeds are germinating. Between the -young tutor who launches into letters with imitations of his seminary -chief's imitations of Agnes Repplier's imitations of Charles Lamb, and -the young peasant who tries to get his honest exultations into free -verse there can be no hesitant choice: the peasant is, by long odds, -the sounder artist, and, what is more, the sounder American artist. -Even the shy and somewhat stagey carnality that characterizes the -Village has its high symbolism and its profound uses. It proves that, -despite repressions unmatched in civilization in modern times, there is -still a sturdy animality in American youth, and hence good health. The -poet hugging his Sonia in a Washington square beanery, and so giving -notice to all his world that he is a devil of a fellow, is at least a -better man than the emasculated stripling in a Y. M. C. A. gospel-mill, -pumped dry of all his natural appetites and the vacuum filled with -double-entry book-keeping, business economics and auto-erotism. In -so foul a nest of imprisoned and fermenting sex as the United States, -plain fornication becomes a mark of relative decency. - - - - -5 - - -_In the Literary Abattoir_ - - -But the theme is letters, not wickedness. The upper and lower layers -have been surveyed. There remains the middle layer, the thickest and -perhaps the most significant of the three. By the middle layer I mean -the literature that fills the magazines and burdens the book-counters -in the department-stores--the literature adorned by such artists as -Richard Harding Davis, Rex Beach, Emerson Hough, O. Henry, James -Whitcomb Riley, Augustus Thomas, Robert W. Chambers, Henry Sydnor -Harrison, Owen Johnson, Cyrus Townsend Brady, Irvin Cobb and Mary -Roberts Rinehart--in brief, the literature that pays like a bucket-shop -or a soap-factory, and is thus thoroughly American. At the bottom this -literature touches such depths of banality that it would be difficult -to match it in any other country. The "inspirational" and patriotic -essays of Dr. Frank Crane, Orison Sweet Marden, Porter Emerson Browne, -Gerald Stanley Lee, E. S. Martin, Ella Wheeler Wilcox and the Rev. Dr. -Newell Dwight Hillis, the novels of Harold Bell Wright, Eleanor H. -Porter and Gene Stratton-Porter, and the mechanical sentimentalities -in prose and verse that fill the cheap fiction magazines--this stuff -has a native quality that is as unmistakable as that of Mother's Day, -Billy-Sundayism or the Junior Order of United American Mechanics. It -is the natural outpouring of a naïve and yet half barbarous people, -full of delight in a few childish and inaccurate ideas. But it would -be a grave error to assume that the whole of the literature of the -middle layer is of the same infantile quality. On the contrary, a -great deal of it--for example, the work of Mrs. Rinehart, and that -of Corra Harris, Gouverneur Morris, Harold MacGrath and the late O. -Henry--shows an unmistakably technical excellence, and even a certain -civilized sophistication in point of view. Moreover, this literature is -constantly graduating adept professors into something finer, as witness -Booth Tarkington, Zona Gale, Ring W. Lardner and Montague Glass. S. L. -Clemens came out of forty years ago. Nevertheless, its general tendency -is distinctly in the other direction. It seduces by the power of money, -and by the power of great acclaim no less. One constantly observes -the collapse and surrender of writers who started out with aims far -above that of the magazine nabob. I could draw up a long, long list of -such victims: Henry Milner Rideout, Jack London, Owen Johnson, Chester -Bailey Fernald, Hamlin Garland, Will Levington Comfort, Stephen French -Whitman, James Hopper, Harry Leon Wilson, and so on. They had their -fore-runner, in the last generation, in Bret Harte. It is, indeed, -a characteristic American phenomenon for a young writer to score a -success with novel and meritorious work, and then to yield himself to -the best-seller fever, and so disappear down the sewers. Even the man -who struggles to emerge again is commonly hauled back. For example, -Louis Joseph Vance, Rupert Hughes, George Bronson-Howard, and, to -go back a few years, David Graham Phillips and Elbert Hubbard--all -men flustered by high aspiration, and yet all pulled down by the -temptations below. Even Frank Norris showed signs of yielding. The -pull is genuinely powerful. Above lies not only isolation, but also a -dogged and malignant sort of opposition. Below, as Morris has frankly -admitted, there is the place at Aiken, the motor-car, babies, money in -the bank, and the dignity of an important man. - -It is a commonplace of the envious to put all the blame upon the -_Saturday Evening Post,_ for in its pages many of the Magdalens of -letters are to be found, and out of its bulging coffers comes much -of the lure. But this is simply blaming the bull for the sins of all -the cows. The _Post,_ as a matter of fact, is a good deal less guilty -than such magazines as the _Cosmopolitan, Hearst's, McClure's_ and -the _Metropolitan,_ not to mention the larger women's magazines. In -the _Post_ one often discerns an effort to rise above the level of -shoe-drummer fiction. It is edited by a man who, almost alone among -editors of the great periodicals of the country, is himself a writer -of respectable skill. It has brought out (after lesser publications -unearthed them) a member of authors of very solid talents, notably -Glass, Lardner and E. W. Howe. It has been extremely hospitable to men -not immediately comprehensible to the mob, for example, Dreiser and -Hergesheimer. Most of all, it has avoided the Barnum-like exploitation -of such native bosh-mongers as Crane, Hillis and Ella Wheeler -Wilcox, and of such exotic mountebanks as D'Annunzio, Hall Caine and -Maeterlinck. In brief, the _Post_ is a great deal better than ever -Greenwich Village and the Cambridge campus are disposed to admit. It -is the largest of all the literary Hog Islands, but it is by no means -the worst. Appealing primarily to the great masses of right-thinking -and unintelligent Americans, it must necessarily print a great deal -of preposterous tosh, but it flavors the mess with not a few things -of a far higher quality, and at its worst it is seldom downright -idiotic. In many of the other great magazines one finds stuff that -it would be difficult to describe in any other words. It is gaudily -romantic, furtively sexual, and full of rubber-stamp situations and -personages--a sort of amalgam of the worst drivel of Marie Corelli, -Elinor Glyn, E. Phillips Oppenheim, William Le Quex and Hall Caine. -This is the literature of the middle layer--the product of the national -Rockefellers and Duponts of letters. This is the sort of thing that the -young author of facile pen is encouraged to manufacture. This is the -material of the best sellers and the movies. - -Of late it is the movies that have chiefly provoked its composition: -the rewards they offer are even greater than those held out by the -commercial book-publishers and the train-boy magazines. The point of -view of an author responsive to such rewards was recently set forth -very naively in the _Authors' League Bulletin._ This author undertook, -in a short article, to refute the fallacies of an unknown who ventured -to protest against the movies on the ground that they called only for -bald plots, elementary and generally absurd, and that all the rest of a -sound writer's equipment--"the artistry of his style, the felicity of -his apt expression, his subtlety and thoroughness of observation and -comprehension and sympathy, the illuminating quality of his analysis -of motive and character, even the fundamental skillful development of -the bare plot"--was disdained by the Selznicks, Goldfishes, Zukors and -other such _entrepreneurs,_ and by the overwhelming majority of their -customers. I quote from the reply: - - There are some conspicuous word merchants who deal in the - English language, but the general public doesn't clamor - for their wares. They write for the "thinking class." - The élite, the discriminating. As a rule, they scorn the - crass commercialism of the magazines and movies and such - catch-penny devices. However, literary masterpieces live - because they have been and will be read, not by the few, but - by the many. That was true in the time of Homer, and even - to-day the first move made by an editor when he receives a - manuscript, or a gentle reader when he buys a book, or a - T. B. M. when he sinks into an orchestra chair is to look - around for John Henry Plot. If Mr. Plot is too long delayed - in arriving or doesn't come at all, the editor usually sends - regrets, the reader yawns and the tired business man falls - asleep. It's a sad state of affairs and awful tough on art, - but it can't be helped. - -Observe the lofty scorn of mere literature--the superior irony at the -expense of everything beyond the bumping of boobs. Note the sound -judgment as to the function and fate of literary masterpieces, e. g., -"Endymion," "The Canterbury Tales," "Faust," "Typhoon." Give your -eye to the chaste diction--"John Henry Plot," "T. B. M.," "awful -tough," and so on. No doubt you will at once assume that this curious -counterblast to literature was written by some former bartender now -engaged in composing scenarios for Pearl White and Theda Bara. But it -was not. It was written and signed by the president of the Authors' -League of America. - -Here we have, unconsciously revealed, the secret of the depressing -badness of what may be called the staple fiction of the country--the -sort of stuff that is done by the Richard Harding Davises, Rex Beaches, -Houghs, McCutcheons, and their like, male and female. The worse of it -is not that it is addressed primarily to shoe-drummers and shop-girls; -the worst of it is that it is written by authors who _are,_ to all -intellectual intents and purposes, shoe-drummers and shop-girls. -American literature, even on its higher levels, seldom comes out of -the small and lonesome upper classes of the people. An American author -with traditions behind him and an environment about him comparable to -those, say, of George Moore, or Hugh Walpole, or E. F. Benson is and -always has been relatively rare. On this side of the water the arts, -like politics and religion, are chiefly in the keeping of persons of -obscure origin, defective education and elemental tastes. Even some -of the most violent upholders of the New England superstition are -aliens to the actual New England heritage; one discovers, searching -"Who's Who in America," that they are recent fugitives from the six-day -sock and saleratus _Kultur_ of the cow and hog States. The artistic -merchandise produced by liberated yokels of that sort is bound to show -its intellectual newness, which is to say, its deficiency in civilized -culture and sophistication. It is, on the plane of letters, precisely -what evangelical Christianity is on the plane of religion, to wit, -the product of ill-informed, emotional and more or less pushing and -oafish folk. Life, to such Harvardized peasants, is not a mystery; it -is something absurdly simple, to be described with surety and in a -few words. If they set up as critics their criticism is all a matter -of facile labeling, chiefly ethical; find the pigeon-hole, and the -rest is easy. If they presume to discuss the great problems of human -society, they are equally ready with their answers: draw up and pass -a harsh enough statute, and the corruptible will straightway put on -incorruption. And if, fanned by the soft breath of beauty, they go into -practice as creative artists, as poets, as dramatists, as novelists, -then one learns from them that we inhabit a country that is the model -and despair of other states, that its culture is coextensive with human -culture and enlightenment, and that every failure to find happiness -under that culture, is the result of sin. - - - - -6 - - -_Underlying Causes_ - - -Here is one of the fundamental defects of American fiction--perhaps -the one character that sets it off sharply from all other known kinds -of contemporary fiction. It habitually exhibits, not a man of delicate -organization in revolt against the inexplicable tragedy of existence, -but a man of low sensibilities and elemental desires yielding himself -gladly to his environment, and so achieving what, under a third-rate -civilization, passes for success. To get on: this is the aim. To weigh -and reflect, to doubt and rebel: this is the thing to be avoided. -I describe the optimistic, the inspirational, the Authors' League, -the popular magazine, the peculiarly American school. In character -creation its masterpiece is the advertising agent who, by devising -some new and super-imbecile boob-trap, puts his hook-and-eye factory -"on the map," ruins all other factories, marries the daughter of his -boss, and so ends as an eminent man. Obviously, the drama underlying -such fiction--what Mr. Beach would call its John Henry Plot--is false -drama, Sunday-school drama, puerile and disgusting drama. It is the -sort of thing that awakens a response only in men who are essentially -unimaginative, timorous and degraded--in brief, in democrats, bagmen, -yahoos. The man of reflective habit cannot conceivably take any -passionate interest in the conflicts it deals with. He doesn't want -to marry the daughter of the owner of the hook-and-eye factory; he -would probably burn down the factory itself if it ever came into his -hands. What interests this man is the far more poignant and significant -conflict between a salient individual and the harsh and meaningless -fiats of destiny, the unintelligible mandates and vagaries of God. His -hero is not one who yields and wins, but one who resists and fails. - -Most of these conflicts, of course, are internal, and hence do not -make themselves visible in the overt melodrama of the Beaches, Davises -and Chamberses. A superior man's struggle in the world is not with -exterior lions, trusts, margraves, policemen, rivals in love, German -spies, radicals and tornadoes, but with the obscure, atavistic impulses -within him--the impulses, weaknesses and limitations that war with his -notion of what life should be. Nine times out of ten he succumbs. Nine -times out of ten he must yield to the dead hand. Nine times out of ten -his aspiration is almost infinitely above his achievement. The result -is that we see him sliding downhill--his ideals breaking up, his hope -petering out, his character in decay. Character in decay is thus the -theme of the great bulk of superior fiction. One has it in Dostoievsky, -in Balzac, in Hardy, in Conrad, in Flaubert, in Zola, in Turgenieff, -in Goethe, in Sudermann, in Bennett, and, to come home, in Dreiser. -In nearly all first-rate novels the hero is defeated. In perhaps a -majority he is completely destroyed. The hero of the inferior--_i. e.,_ -the typically American--novel engages in no such doomed and fateful -combat. His conflict is not with the inexplicable ukases of destiny, -the limitations of his own strength, the dead hand upon him, but -simply with the superficial desires of his elemental fellow men. He -thus has a fair chance of winning--and in bad fiction that chance is -always converted into a certainty. So he marries the daughter of the -owner of the factory and eventually gobbles the factory itself. His -success gives thrills to persons who can imagine no higher aspiration. -He embodies their optimism, as the other hero embodies the pessimism of -more introspective and idealistic men. He is the protagonist of that -great majority which is so inferior that it is quite unconscious of its -inferiority. - -It is this superficiality of the inferior man, it seems to me, that -is the chief hallmark of the American novel. Whenever one encounters -a novel that rises superior to it the thing takes on a subtle but -unmistakable air of foreignness--for example, Frank Norris' "Vandover -and the Brute," Hergesheimer's "The Lay Anthony" and Miss Cather's -"My Antonia," or, to drop to short stories, Stephen Crane's "The Blue -Hotel" and Mrs. Wharton's "Ethan Frome." The short story is commonly -regarded, at least by American critics, as a preëminently American -form; there are even patriots who argue that Bret Harte invented it. -It meets very accurately, in fact, certain characteristic demands of -the American temperament: it is simple, economical and brilliantly -effective. Yet the same hollowness that marks the American novel also -marks the American short story. Its great masters, in late years, have -been such cheese-mongers as Davis, with his servant-girl romanticism, -and O. Henry, with his smoke-room and variety show smartness. In the -whole canon of O. Henry's work you will not find a single recognizable -human character; his people are unanimously marionettes; he makes -Mexican brigands, Texas cowmen and New York cracksmen talk the same -highly ornate Broadwayese. The successive volumes of Edward J. -O'Brien's "Best Short-Story" series throw a vivid light upon the -feeble estate of the art in the land. O'Brien, though his æsthetic -judgments are ludicrous, at least selects stories that are thoroughly -representative; his books are trade successes because the crowd is -undoubtedly with him. He has yet to discover a single story that even -the most naïve professor would venture to mention in the same breath -with Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness," or Andrieff's "Silence," or -Sudermann's "Das Sterbelied," or the least considerable tale by Anatole -France. In many of the current American makers of magazine short -stories--for example, Gouverneur Morris--one observes, as I have said, -a truly admirable technical skill. They have mastered the externals of -the form. They know how to get their effects. But in content their work -is as hollow as a jug. Such stuff has no imaginable relation to life -as men live it in the world. It is as artificial as the heroic strut -and romantic eyes of a moving-picture actor. - -I have spoken of the air of foreignness that clings to certain -exceptional American compositions. In part it is based upon a -psychological trick--upon the surprise which must inevitably seize upon -any one who encounters a decent piece of writing in so vast a desert -of mere literacy. But in part it is grounded soundly enough on the -facts. The native author of any genuine force and originality is almost -invariably found to be under strong foreign influences, either English -or Continental. It was so in the earliest days. Freneau, the poet of -the Revolution, was thoroughly French in blood and traditions. Irving, -as H. R. Haweis has said, "took to England as a duck takes to water," -and was in exile seventeen years. Cooper, with the great success of -"The Last of the Mohicans" behind him, left the country in disgust -and was gone for seven years. Emerson, Bryant, Lowell, Hawthorne and -even Longfellow kept their eyes turned across the water; Emerson, in -fact, was little more than an importer and popularizer of German and -French ideas. Bancroft studied in Germany; Prescott, like Irving, -was enchanted by Spain. Poe, unable to follow the fashion, invented -mythical travels to save his face--to France, to Germany, to the Greek -isles. The Civil War revived the national consciousness enormously, -but it did not halt the movement of _émigrés._ Henry James, in the -seventies, went to England, Bierce and Bret Harte followed him, and -even Mark Twain, absolutely American though he was, was forever pulling -up stakes and setting out for Vienna, Florence or London. Only poverty -tied Whitman to the soil; his audience, for many years, was chiefly -beyond the water, and there, too, he often longed to be. This distaste -for the national scene is often based upon a genuine alienness. The -more, indeed, one investigates the ancestry of Americans who have won -distinction in the fine arts, the more one discovers tempting game for -the critical Know Nothings. Whitman was half Dutch, Harte was half -Jew, Poe was partly German, James had an Irish grand-father, Howells -was largely Irish and German, Dreiser is German and Hergesheimer is -Pennsylvania Dutch. Fully a half of the painters discussed in John G. -van Dyke's "American Painting and Its Tradition" were of mixed blood, -with the Anglo-Saxon plainly recessive. And of the five poets singled -out for encomium by Miss Lowell in "Tendencies in Modern American -Poetry" one is a Swede, two are partly German, one was educated in the -German language, and three of the five exiled themselves to England -as soon as they got out of their nonage. The exiles are of all sorts: -Frank Harris, Vincent O'Sullivan, Ezra Pound, Herman Scheffauer, T. -S. Eliot, Henry B. Fuller, Stuart Merrill, Edith Wharton. They go to -England, France, Germany, Italy--anywhere to escape. Even at home the -literatus is perceptibly foreign in his mien. If he lies under the -New England tradition he is furiously colonial--more English than the -English. If he turns to revolt, he is apt to put on a French hat and a -Russion red blouse. _The Little Review,_ the organ of the extreme wing -of _révoltés,_ is so violently exotic that several years ago, during -the plupatriotic days of the war, some of its readers protested. With -characteristic lack of humor it replied with an American number--and -two of the stars of that number bore the fine old Anglo-Saxon names of -Ben Hecht and Eisa von Freytag-Loringhoven. - -This tendency of American literature, the moment it begins to show -enterprise, novelty and significance, to radiate an alien smell is not -an isolated phenomenon. The same smell accompanies practically all -other sorts of intellectual activity in the republic. Whenever one -hears that a new political theory is in circulation, or a scientific -heresy, or a movement toward rationalism in religion, it is always -safe to guess that some discontented stranger or other has a hand in -it. In the newspapers and on the floor of Congress a new heterodoxy is -always denounced forthwith as a product of foreign plotting, and here -public opinion undoubtedly supports both the press and the politicians, -and with good reason. The native culture of the country--that is, -the culture of the low caste Anglo-Saxons who preserve the national -tradition--is almost completely incapable of producing ideas. It is -a culture that roughly corresponds to what the culture of England -would be if there were no universities over there, and no caste of -intellectual individualists and no landed aristocracy--in other words, -if the tone of the national thinking were set by the non-conformist -industrials, the camorra of Welsh and Scotch political scoundrels, -and the town and country mobs. As we shall see, the United States has -not yet produced anything properly describable as an aristocracy, and -so there is no impediment to the domination of the inferior orders. -Worse, the Anglo-Saxon strain, second-rate at the start, has tended to -degenerate steadily to lower levels--in New England, very markedly. -The result is that there is not only a great dearth of ideas in the -land, but also an active and relentless hostility to ideas. The chronic -suspiciousness of the inferior man here has full play; never in modern -history has there been another civilization showing so vast a body of -prohibitions and repressions, in both conduct and thought. The second -result is that intellectual experimentation is chiefly left to the -immigrants of the later migrations, and to the small sections of the -native population that have been enriched with their blood. For such a -pure Anglo-Saxon as Cabell to disport himself in the field of ideas is -a rarity in the United States--and no exception to the rule that I have -just mentioned, for Cabell belongs to an aristocracy that is now almost -extinct, and has no more in common with the general population than -a Baltic baron has with the indigenous herd of Letts and Esthonians. -All the arts in America are thoroughly exotic. Music is almost wholly -German or Italian, painting is French, literature may be anything from -English to Russian, architecture (save when it becomes a mere branch -of engineering) is a maddening phantasmagoria of borrowings. Even -so elemental an art as that of cookery shows no native development, -and is greatly disesteemed by Americans of the Anglo-Saxon majority; -any decent restaurant that one blunders upon in the land is likely -to be French, and if not French, then Italian or German or Chinese. -So with the sciences: they have scarcely any native development. -Organized scientific research began in the country with the founding -of the Johns Hopkins University, a bald imitation of the German -universities, and long held suspect by native opinion. Even after its -great success, indeed, there was rancorous hostility to its scheme of -things on chauvinistic grounds, and some years ago efforts were begun -to Americanize it, with the result that it is now sunk to the level -of Princeton, Amherst and other such glorified high-schools, and is -dominated by native savants who would be laughed at in any Continental -university. Science, oppressed by such assaults from below, moves out -of the academic grove into the freer air of the great foundations, -where the pursuit of the shy fact is uncontaminated by football and -social pushing. The greatest of these foundations is the Rockefeller -Institute. Its salient men are such investigators as Flexner, Loeb and -Carrel--all of them Continental Jews. - -Thus the battle of ideas in the United States is largely carried on -under strange flags, and even the stray natives on the side of free -inquiry have to sacrifice some of their nationality when they enlist. -The effects of this curious condition of affairs are both good and -evil. The good ones are easily apparent. The racial division gives the -struggle a certain desperate earnestness, and even bitterness, and so -makes it the more inviting to lively minds. It was a benefit to the -late D. C. Gilman rather than a disadvantage that national opinion -opposed his traffic with Huxley and the German professors in the early -days of the Johns Hopkins; the stupidity of the opposition stimulated -him, and made him resolute, and his resolution, in the long run, was of -inestimable cultural value. Scientific research in America, indeed, was -thus set securely upon its legs precisely because the great majority -of right-thinking Americans were violently opposed to it. In the same -way it must be obvious that Dreiser got something valuable out of -the grotesque war that was carried on against him during the greater -war overseas because of his German name--a _jehad_ fundamentally -responsible for the suppression of "The 'Genius.'" The chief danger -that he ran six or seven years ago was the danger that he might be -accepted, explained away, and so seduced downward to the common level. -The attack of professional patriots saved him from that calamity. -More, it filled him with a keen sense of his isolation, and stirred -up the vanity that was in him as it is in all of us, and so made him -cling with new tenacity to the very peculiarities that differentiate -him from his inferiors. Finally, it is not to be forgotten that, -without this rebellion of immigrant iconoclasts, the whole body of the -national literature would tend to sink to the 100% American level of -such patriotic literary business men as the president of the Authors' -League. In other words, we must put up with the æsthetic Bolshevism of -the Europeans and Asiatics who rage in the land, for without them we -might not have any literature at all. - -But the evils of the situation are not to be gainsaid. One of them I -have already alluded to: the tendency of the beginning literatus, once -he becomes fully conscious of his foreign affiliations, to desert the -republic forthwith, and thereafter view it from afar, and as an actual -foreigner. More solid and various cultures lure him; he finds himself -uncomfortable at home. Sometimes, as in the case of Henry James, he -becomes a downright expatriate, and a more or less active agent of -anti-American feeling; more often, he goes over to the outlanders -without yielding up his theoretical citizenship, as in the cases of -Irving, Harris, Pound and O'Sullivan. But all this, of course, works -relatively light damage, for not many native authors are footloose -enough to indulge in any such physical desertion of the soil. Of much -more evil importance is the tendency of the cultural alienism that I -have described to fortify the uncontaminated native in his bilious -suspicion of all the arts, and particularly of all artists. The news -that the latest poet to flutter the dovecotes is a Jew, or that the -last novelist mauled by comstockery has a German or Scandinavian -or Russian name, or that the critic newly taken in sacrilege is a -partisan of Viennese farce or of the French moral code or of English -literary theory--this news, among a people so ill-informed, so horribly -well-trained in flight from bugaboos, and so savagely suspicious of -the unfamiliar in ideas, has the inevitable effect of stirring up -opposition that quickly ceases to be purely æsthetic objection, and -so becomes increasingly difficult to combat. If Dreiser's name were -Tompkins or Simpson, there is no doubt whatever that he would affright -the professors a good deal less, and appear less of a hobgoblin to -the _intelligentsia_ of the women's clubs. If Oppenheim were less -palpably levantine, he would come much nearer to the popularity of -Edwin Markham and Walt Mason. And if Cabell kept to the patriotic -business of a Southern gentleman, to wit, the praise of General Robert -E. Lee, instead of prowling the strange and terrible fields of mediæval -Provence, it is a safe wager that he would be sold openly over the -counter instead of stealthily behind the door. - -In a previous work I have discussed this tendency in America to -estimate the artist in terms of his secular character. During the -war, when all of the national defects in intelligence were enormously -accentuated, it went to ludicrous lengths. There were then only authors -who were vociferous patriots and thus geniuses, and authors who kept -their dignity and were thus suspect and without virtue. By this gauge -Chambers became the superior of Dreiser and Cabell, and Joyce Kilmer -and Amy Lowell were set above Sandburg and Oppenheim. The test was -even extended to foreigners: by it H. G. Wells took precedence of -Shaw, and Blasco Ibáñez became a greater artist than Romain Rolland. -But the thing is not peculiar to war times; when peace is densest it -is to be observed. The man of letters, pure and simple, is a rarity -in America. Almost always he is something else--and that something -else commonly determines his public eminence. Mark Twain, with only -his books to recommend him, would probably have passed into obscurity -in middle age; it was in the character of a public entertainer, not -unrelated to Coxey, Dr. Mary Walker and Citizen George Francis Train, -that he wooed and won his country. The official criticism of the land -denied him any solid literary virtue to the day of his death, and even -to-day the campus critics and their journalistic valets stand aghast -before "The Mysterious Stranger" and "What is Man?" Emerson passed -through almost the same experience. It was not as a man of letters that -he was chiefly thought of in his time, but as the prophet of a new -cult, half religious, half philosophical, and wholly unintelligible to -nine-tenths of those who discussed it. The first author of a handbook -of American literature to sweep away the codfish Moses and expose -the literary artist was the Polish Jew, Leon Kellner, of Czernowitz. -So with Whitman and Poe--both hobgoblins far more than artists. So, -even, with Howells: it was as the exponent of a dying culture that he -was venerated, not as the practitioner of an art. Few actually read -his books. His celebrity, of course, was real enough, but it somehow -differed materially from that of a pure man of letters--say Shelley, -Conrad, Hauptmann, Hardy or Synge. That he was himself keenly aware of -the national tendency to judge an artist in terms of the citizen was -made plain at the time of the Gorky scandal, when he joined Clemens in -an ignominious desertion of Gorky, scared out of his wits by the danger -of being manhandled for a violation of the national pecksniffery. -Howells also refused to sign the Dreiser Protest. The case of Frank -Harris is one eloquently in point. Harris has written, among other -books, perhaps the best biography ever done by an American. Yet his -politics keep him in a sort of Coventry and the average American critic -would no more think of praising him than of granting Treitschke any -merit as an historian. - - - - -7 - - -_The Lonesome Artist_ - - -Thus falsely judged by standards that have no intelligible appositeness -when applied to an artist, however accurately they may weigh a -stock-broker or a Presbyterian elder, and forced to meet not only -the hunkerous indifference of the dominant mob but also the bitter -and disingenuous opposition of the classes to which he might look -reasonably for understanding and support, the American author is forced -into a sort of social and intellectual vacuum, and lives out his days, -as Henry James said of Hawthorne, "an alien everywhere, an æsthetic -solitary." - -The wonder is that, in the face of so metallic and unyielding a front, -any genuine artists in letters come to the front at all. But they -constantly emerge; the first gestures are always on show; the prodigal -and gorgeous life of the country simply forces a sensitive minority to -make some attempt at representation and interpretation, and out of many -trying there often appears one who can. The phenomenon of Dreiser is -not unique. He had his forerunners in Fuller and Frank Norris and he -has his _compagnons du voyage_ in Anderson, Charles G. Norris and more -than one other. But the fact only throws up his curious isolation in a -stronger light. It would be difficult to imagine an artist of his sober -purpose and high accomplishment, in any civilized country, standing -so neglected. The prevailing criticism, when it cannot dispose of him -by denying that he exists--in the two chief handbooks of latter-day -literature by professors he is not even mentioned!--seeks to dispose -of him by arraying the shoddy fury of the mob against him. When he -was under attack by the Comstocks, more than one American critic gave -covert aid to the common enemy, and it was with difficulty that the -weight of the Authors' League was held upon his side. More help for -him, in fact, came from England, and quite voluntarily, than could be -drummed up for him at home. No public sense of the menace that the -attack offered to free speech and free art was visible; it would have -made a nine-days' sensation for any layman of public influence to -have gone to his rescue, as would have certainly happened in France, -England or Germany. As for the newspaper-reading mob, it probably went -unaware of the business altogether. When Arnold Bennett, landing in -New York some time previously, told the reporters that Dreiser was the -American he most desired to meet, the news was quite unintelligible to -perhaps nine readers out of ten: they had no more heard _of_ Dreiser -than their fathers had heard of Whitman in 1875. - -So with all the rest. I have mentioned Harris. It would be difficult -to imagine Rolland meeting such a fate in France or Shaw in England as -he has met in the United States. O'Sullivan, during the war, came home -with "A Good Girl" in his pocket. The book was republished here--and -got vastly less notice than the latest piece of trade-goods by Kathleen -Norris. Fuller, early in his career, gave it up as hopeless. Norris -died vainly battling for the young Dreiser. An Abraham Cahan goes -unnoticed. Miss Cather, with four sound books behind her, lingers -in the twilight of an esoteric reputation. Cabell, comstocked, is -apprehended by his country only as a novelist to be bought by stealth -and read in private. When Hugh Walpole came to America a year or two -ago he favored the newspapers, like Bennett before him, with a piece -of critical news that must have puzzled all readers save a very small -minority. Discussing the living American novelists worth heeding, he -nominated three--and of them only one was familiar to the general -run of novel-buyers, or had ever been mentioned by a native critic of -the apostolic succession. Only the poets of the land seem to attract -the notice of the professors, and no doubt this is largely because -most of the more salient of them--notably Miss Lowell and Lindsay--are -primarily press-agents. Even so, the attention that they get is seldom -serious. The only professor that I know of who has discussed the -matter in precise terms holds that Alfred Noyes is the superior of -all of them. Moreover, the present extraordinary interest in poetry -stops short with a few poets, and one of its conspicuous phenomena is -its lack of concern with the poets outside the movement, some of them -unquestionably superior to any within. - -Nor is this isolation of the artist in America new. The contemporary -view of Poe and Whitman was almost precisely like the current view of -Dreiser and Cabell. Both were neglected by the Brahmins of their time, -and both were regarded hostilely by the great body of right-thinking -citizens. Poe, indeed, was the victim of a furious attack by Rufus W. -Griswold, the Hamilton Wright Mabie of the time, and it set the tone -of native criticism for years. Whitman, living, narrowly escaped going -to jail as a public nuisance. One thinks of Hawthorne and Emerson -as writers decently appreciated by their contemporaries, but it is -not to be forgotten that the official criticism of the era saw no -essential difference between Hawthorne and Cooper, and that Emerson's -reputation, to the end of his life, was far more that of a theological -prophet and ethical platitudinarian, comparable to Lyman Abbott or -Frank Crane, than that of a literary artist, comparable to Tennyson -or Matthew Arnold. Perhaps Carlyle understood him, but who in America -understood him? To this day he is the victim of gross misrepresentation -by enthusiasts who read into him all sorts of flatulent bombast, -as Puritanism is read into the New Testament by Methodists. As for -Hawthorne, his extraordinary physical isolation during his lifetime was -but the symbol of a complete isolation of the spirit, still surviving. -If his preference for the internal conflict as opposed to the external -act were not sufficient to set him off from the main stream of American -speculation, there would always be his profound ethical skepticism--a -state of mind quite impossible to the normal American, at least of -Anglo-Saxon blood. Hawthorne, so far as I know, has never had a single -professed follower in his own country. Even his son, attempting to -carry on his craft, yielded neither to his meticulous method nor to his -detached point of view. In the third generation, with infinite irony, -there is a grand-daughter who is a reviewer of books for the New York -_Times,_ which is almost as if Wagner should have a grand-daughter -singing in the operas of Massenet. - -Of the four indubitable masters thus named, Hawthorne, Emerson, Whitman -and Poe, only the last two have been sufficiently taken into the -consciousness of the country to have any effect upon its literature, -and even here that influence has been exerted only at second-hand, -and against very definite adverse pressure. It would certainly seem -reasonable for a man of so forceful a habit of mind as Poe, and of such -prodigal and arresting originality, to have founded a school, but a -glance at the record shows that he did nothing of the sort. Immediately -he was dead, the shadows of the Irving tradition closed around his -tomb, and for nearly thirty years thereafter all of his chief ideas -went disregarded in his own country. If, as the literature books -argue, Poe was the father of the American short story, then it was a -posthumous child, and had step-fathers who did their best to conceal -its true parentage. When it actually entered upon the vigorous life -that we know to-day Poe had been dead for a generation. Its father, -at the time of its belated adolescence, seemed to be Bret Harte--and -Harte's debt to Dickens was vastly more apparent, first and last, than -his debt to Poe. What he got from Poe was essential; it was the inner -structure of the modern short story, the fundamental devices whereby a -mere glimpse at events could be made to yield brilliant and seemingly -complete images. But he himself was probably largely unaware of this -indebtedness. A man little given to critical analysis, and incompetent -for it when his own work was under examination, he saw its externals -much more clearly than he saw its intrinsic organization, and these -externals bore the plain marks of Dickens. It remained for one of his -successors, Ambrose Bierce, to bridge belatedly the space separating -him from Poe, and so show the route that he had come. And it remained -for foreign criticism, and particularly for French criticism, to lift -Poe himself to the secure place that he now holds. It is true enough -that he enjoyed, during his lifetime, a certain popular reputation, -and that he was praised by such men as N. P. Willis and James Russell -Lowell, but that reputation was considerably less than the fame of men -who were much his inferiors, and that praise, especially in Lowell's -case, was much corrupted by reservations. Not many native critics of -respectable position, during the 50's and 60's, would have ranked him -clearly above, say, Irving or Cooper, or even above Longfellow, his old -enemy. A few partisans argued for him, but in the main, as Saintsbury -has said, he was the victim of "extreme and almost incomprehensible -injustice" at the hands of his countrymen. It is surely not without -significance that it took ten years to raise money enough to put a -cheap and hideous tombstone upon his neglected grave, that it was -not actually set up until he had been dead twenty-six years, that no -contemporary American writer took any part in furthering the project, -and that the only one who attended the final ceremony was Whitman. - -It was Baudelaire's French translation of the prose tales and -Mallarmé's translation of the poems that brought Poe to Valhalla. The -former, first printed in 1856, founded the Poe cult in France, and -during the two decades following it flourished amazingly, and gradually -extended to England and Germany. It was one of the well-springs, in -fact, of the whole so-called decadent movement. If Baudelaire, the -father of that movement, "cultivated hysteria with delight and terror," -he was simply doing what Poe had done before him. Both, reacting -against the false concept of beauty as a mere handmaiden of logical -ideas, sought its springs in those deep feelings and inner experiences -which lie beyond the range of ideas and are to be interpreted only -as intuitions. Emerson started upon the same quest, but was turned -off into mazes of contradiction and unintelligibility by his ethical -obsession--the unescapable burden of his Puritan heritage. But Poe -never wandered from the path. You will find in "The Poetic Principle" -what is perhaps the clearest statement of this new and sounder concept -of beauty that has ever been made--certainly it is clearer than any -ever made by a Frenchman. But it was not until Frenchmen had watered -the seed out of grotesque and vari-colored pots that it began to -sprout. The tide of Poe's ideas, set in motion in France early in -the second half of the century, did not wash England until the last -decade, and in America, save for a few dashes of spray, it has yet to -show itself. There is no American writer who displays the influence -of this most potent and original of Americans so clearly as whole -groups of Frenchmen display it, and whole groups of Germans, and -even a good many Englishmen. What we have from Poe at first hand is -simply a body of obvious yokel-shocking in the _Black Cat_ manner, -with the tales of Ambrose Bierce as its finest flower--in brief, an -imitation of Poe's externals without any comprehension whatever of his -underlying aims and notions. What we have from him at second-hand is a -somewhat childish Maeterlinckism, a further dilution of Poe-and-water. -This Maeterlinckism, some time ago, got itself intermingled with the -Whitmanic stream flowing back to America through the channel of French -Imagism, with results destructive to the sanity of earnest critics -and fatal to the gravity of those less austere. It is significant -that the critical writing of Poe, in which there lies most that was -best in him, has not come back; no normal American ever thinks of -him as a critic, but only as a poet, as a raiser of goose-flesh, or -as an immoral fellow. The cause thereof is plain enough. The French, -instead of borrowing his critical theory directly, deduced it afresh -from his applications of it; it became criticism _of_ him rather than -_by_ him. Thus his own speculations have lacked the authority of -foreign approval, and have consequently made no impression. The weight -of native opinion is naturally against them, for they are at odds, -not only with its fundamental theories, but also with its practical -doctrine that no criticism can be profound and respectable which is not -also dull. - -"Poe," says Arthur Ransome, in his capital study of the man and the -artist, "was like a wolf chained by the leg among a lot of domestic -dogs." The simile here is somewhat startling, and Ransome, in a -footnote, tries to ameliorate it: the "domestic dogs" it refers to -were magnificoes of no less bulk than Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes and -Emerson. In the case of Whitman, the wolf was not only chained, but -also muzzled. Nothing, indeed, could be more amazing than the hostility -that surrounded him at home until the very end of his long life. True -enough, it was broken by certain feeble mitigations. Emerson, in -1855, praised him--though later very eager to forget it and desert -him, as Clemens and Howells, years afterward, deserted Gorky. Alcott, -Thoreau, Lowell and even Bryant, during his brief Bohemian days, -were polite to him. A group of miscellaneous enthusiasts gradually -gathered about him, and out of this group emerged at least one man of -some distinction, John Burroughs. Young adventurers of letters--for -example, Huneker--went to see him and hear him, half drawn by genuine -admiration and half by mere deviltry. But the general tone of the -opinion that beat upon him, the attitude of domestic criticism, was -unbrokenly inimical; he was opposed by misrepresentation and neglect. -"The prevailing range of criticism on my book," he wrote in "A -Backward Glance on My Own Road" in 1884, "has been either mockery or -denunciation--and ... I have been the marked object of two or three -(to me pretty serious) official bufferings." "After thirty years -of trial," he wrote in "My Book and I," three years later, "public -criticism on the book and myself as author of it shows marked anger -and contempt more than anything else." That is, at home. Abroad he -was making headway all the while, and long years afterward, by way of -France and England, he began to force his way into the consciousness -of his countrymen. What could have been more ironical than the solemn -celebrations of Whitman's centenary that were carried off in various -American universities in 1919? One can picture the old boy rolling with -homeric mirth in hell. Imagine the fate of a university don of 1860, -or 1870, or 1880, or even 1890 who had ventured to commend "Leaves of -Grass" to the young gentlemen of his seminary! He would have come to -grief as swiftly as that Detroit pedagogue of day before yesterday who -brought down the Mothers' Legion upon him by commending "Jurgen." - - - - -8 - - -_The Cultural Background_ - - -So far, the disease. As to the cause, I have delivered a few hints. -I now describe it particularly. It is, in brief, a defect in the -general culture of the country--one reflected, not only in the national -literature, but also in the national political theory, the national -attitude toward religion and morals, the national habit in all -departments of thinking. It is the lack of a civilized aristocracy, -secure in its position, animated by an intelligent curiosity, skeptical -of all facile generalizations, superior to the sentimentality of the -mob, and delighting in the battle of ideas for its own sake. - -The word I use, despite the qualifying adjective, has got itself -meanings, of course, that I by no means intend to convey. Any mention -of an aristocracy, to a public fed upon democratic fustian, is bound -to bring up images of stock-brokers' wives lolling obscenely in opera -boxes, or of haughty Englishmen slaughtering whole generations of -grouse in an inordinate and incomprehensible manner, or of Junkers -with tight waists elbowing American schoolmarms off the sidewalks of -German beer towns, or of perfumed Italians coming over to work their -abominable magic upon the daughters of breakfast-food and bathtub -kings. Part of this misconception, I suppose, has its roots in the -gaudy imbecilities of the yellow press, but there is also a part that -belongs to the general American tradition, along with the oppression of -minorities and the belief in political panaceas. Its depth and extent -are constantly revealed by the naïve assumption that the so-called -fashionable folk of the large cities--chiefly wealthy industrials in -the interior-decorator and country-club stage of culture--constitute an -aristocracy, and by the scarcely less remarkable assumption that the -peerage of England is identical with the gentry--that is, that such -men as Lord Northcliffe, Lord Iveagh and even Lord Reading are English -gentlemen, and of the ancient line of the Percys. - -Here, as always, the worshiper is the father of the gods, and no less -when they are evil than when they are benign. The inferior man must -find himself superiors, that he may marvel at his political equality -with them, and in the absence of recognizable superiors _de facto_ he -creates superiors _de jure._ The sublime principle of one man, one -vote must be translated into terms of dollars, diamonds, fashionable -intelligence; the equality of all men before the law must have clear -and dramatic proofs. Sometimes, perhaps, the thing goes further and is -more subtle. The inferior man needs an aristocracy to demonstrate, not -only his mere equality, but also his actual superiority. The society -columns in the newspapers may have some such origin: they may visualize -once more the accomplished journalist's understanding of the mob mind -that he plays upon so skillfully, as upon some immense and cacophonous -organ, always going _fortissimo._ What the inferior man and his wife -see in the sinister revels of those amazing first families, I suspect, -is often a massive witness to their own higher rectitude--to their -relative innocence of cigarette-smoking, poodle-coddling, child-farming -and the more abstruse branches of adultery--in brief, to their firmer -grasp upon the immutable axioms of Christian virtue, the one sound -boast of the nether nine-tenths of humanity in every land under the -cross. - -But this bugaboo aristocracy, as I hint, is actually bogus, and the -evidence of its bogusness lies in the fact that it is insecure. One -gets into it only onerously, but out of it very easily. Entrance is -effected by dint of a long and bitter straggle, and the chief incidents -of that struggle are almost intolerable humiliations. The aspirant -must school and steel himself to sniffs and sneers; he must see the -door slammed upon him a hundred times before ever it is thrown open -to him. To get in at all he must show a talent for abasement--and -abasement makes him timorous. Worse, that timorousness is not cured -when he succeeds at last. On the contrary, it is made even more -tremulous, for what he faces within the gates is a scheme of things -made up almost wholly of harsh and often unintelligible taboos, -and the penalty for violating even the least of them is swift and -disastrous. He must exhibit exactly the right social habits, appetites -and prejudices, public and private. He must harbor exactly the right -political enthusiasms and indignations. He must have a hearty taste -for exactly the right sports. His attitude toward the fine arts must -be properly tolerant and yet not a shade too eager. He must read and -like exactly the right books, pamphlets and public journals. He must -put up at the right hotels when he travels. His wife must patronize -the right milliners. He himself must stick to the right haberdashery. -He must live in the right neighborhood. He must even embrace the right -doctrines of religion. It would ruin him, for all opera box and society -column purposes, to set up a plea for justice to the Bolsheviki, or -even for ordinary decency. It would ruin him equally to wear celluloid -collars, or to move to Union Hill, N. J., or to serve ham and cabbage -at his table. And it would ruin him, too, to drink coffee from his -saucer, or to marry a chambermaid with a gold tooth, or to join the -Seventh Day Adventists. Within the boundaries of his curious order -he is worse fettered than a monk in a cell. Its obscure conception of -propriety, its nebulous notion that this or that is honorable, hampers -him in every direction, and very narrowly. What he resigns when he -enters, even when he makes his first deprecating knock at the door, is -every right to attack the ideas that happen to prevail within. Such -as they are, he must accept them without question. And as they shift -and change in response to great instinctive movements (or perhaps, -now and then, to the punished but not to be forgotten revolts of -extraordinary rebels) he must shift and change with them, silently and -quickly. To hang back, to challenge and dispute, to preach reforms and -revolutions--these are crimes against the brummagen Holy Ghost of the -order. - -Obviously, that order cannot constitute a genuine aristocracy, in -any rational sense. A genuine aristocracy is grounded upon very much -different principles. Its first and most salient character is its -interior security, and the chief visible evidence of that security is -the freedom that goes with it--not only freedom in act, the divine -right of the aristocrat to do what he jolly well pleases, so long as he -does not violate the primary guarantees and obligations of his class, -but also and more importantly freedom in thought, the liberty to try -and err, the right to be his own man. It is the instinct of a true -aristocracy, not to punish eccentricity by expulsion, but to throw a -mantle of protection about it--to safeguard it from the suspicions and -resentments of the lower orders. Those lower orders are inert, timid, -inhospitable to ideas, hostile to changes, faithful to a few maudlin -superstitions. All progress goes on on the higher levels. It is there -that salient personalities, made secure by artificial immunities, -may oscillate most widely from the normal track. It is within that -entrenched fold, out of reach of the immemorial certainties of the -mob, that extraordinary men of the lower orders may find their city -of refuge, and breathe a clear air. This, indeed, is at once the -hall-mark and the justification of an aristocracy--that it is beyond -responsibility to the general masses of men, and hence superior to both -their degraded longings and their no less degraded aversions. It is -nothing if it is not autonomous, curious, venturesome, courageous, and -everything if it is. It is the custodian of the qualities that make for -change and experiment; it is the class that organizes danger to the -service of the race; it pays for its high prerogatives by standing in -the forefront of the fray. - -No such aristocracy, it must be plain, is now on view in the United -States. The makings of one were visible in the Virginia of the later -eighteenth century, but with Jefferson and Washington the promise -died. In New England, it seems to me, there was never any aristocracy, -either in being or in nascency: there was only a theocracy that -degenerated very quickly into a plutocracy on the one hand and a caste -of sterile _Gelehrten_ on the other--the passion for God splitting -into a lust for dollars and a weakness for mere words. Despite the -common notion to the contrary--a notion generated by confusing -literacy with intelligence--New England has never shown the slightest -sign of a genuine enthusiasm for ideas. It began its history as a -slaughter-house of ideas, and it is to-day not easily distinguishable -from a cold-storage plant. Its celebrated adventures in mysticism, once -apparently so bold and significant, are now seen to have been little -more than an elaborate hocus-pocus--respectable Unitarians shocking the -peasantry and scaring the horned cattle in the fields by masquerading -in the robes of Rosicrucians. The ideas that it embraced in those -austere and far-off days were stale, and when it had finished with them -they were dead: to-day one hears of Jakob Böhme almost as rarely as one -hears of Allen G. Thurman. So in politics. Its glory is Abolition--an -English invention, long under the interdict of the native plutocracy. -Since the Civil War its six states have produced fewer political ideas, -as political ideas run in the Republic, than any average county in -Kansas or Nebraska. Appomattox seemed to be a victory for New England -idealism. It was actually a victory for the New England plutocracy, -and that plutocracy has dominated thought above the Housatonic ever -since. The sect of professional idealists has so far dwindled that it -has ceased to be of any importance, even as an opposition. When the -plutocracy is challenged now, it is challenged by the proletariat. - -Well, what is on view in New England is on view in all other parts -of the nation, sometimes with ameliorations, but usually with the -colors merely exaggerated. What one beholds, sweeping the eye over -the land, is a culture that, like the national literature, is in -three layers--the plutocracy on top, a vast mass of undifferentiated -human blanks at the bottom, and a forlorn _intelligentsia_ gasping -out a precarious life between. I need not set out at any length, I -hope, the intellectual deficiencies of the plutocracy--its utter -failure to show anything even remotely resembling the makings of -an aristocracy. It is badly educated, it is stupid, it is full of -low-caste superstitions and indignations, it is without decent -traditions or informing vision; above all, it is extraordinarily -lacking in the most elemental independence and courage. Out of this -class comes the grotesque fashionable society of our big towns, -already described. Imagine a horde of peasants incredibly enriched -and with almost infinite power thrust into their hands, and you will -have a fair picture of its habitual state of mind. It shows all -the stigmata of inferiority--moral certainty, cruelty, suspicion -of ideas, fear. Never did it function more revealingly than in the -late _pogrom_ against the so-called Reds, _i. e.,_ against humorless -idealists who, like Andrew Jackson, took the platitudes of democracy -quite seriously. The machinery brought to bear upon these feeble and -scattered fanatics would have almost sufficed to repel an invasion by -the united powers of Europe. They were hunted out of their sweat-shops -and coffee-houses as if they were so many Carranzas or Ludendorffs, -dragged to jail to the tooting of horns, arraigned before quaking -judges on unintelligible charges, condemned to deportation without the -slightest chance to defend themselves, torn from their dependent -families, herded into prison-ships, and then finally dumped in a snow -waste, to be rescued and fed by the Bolsheviki. And what was the -theory at the bottom of all these astounding proceedings? So far as -it can be reduced to comprehensible terms it was much less a theory -than a fear--a shivering, idiotic, discreditable fear of a mere -banshee--an overpowering, paralyzing dread that some extra-eloquent -Red, permitted to emit his balderdash unwhipped, might eventually -convert a couple of courageous men, and that the courageous men, filled -with indignation against the plutocracy, might take to the highroad, -burn down a nail-factory or two, and slit the throat of some virtuous -profiteer. In order to lay this fear, in order to ease the jangled -nerves of the American successors to the Hapsburgs and Hohenzollerns, -all the constitutional guarantees of the citizen were suspended, the -statute-books were burdened with laws that surpass anything heard of -in the Austria of Maria Theresa, the country was handed over to a -frenzied mob of detectives, informers and _agents provocateurs_--and -the Reds departed laughing loudly, and were hailed by the Bolsheviki as -innocents escaped from an asylum for the criminally insane. - -Obviously, it is out of reason to look for any hospitality to ideas -in a class so extravagantly fearful of even the most palpably absurd -of them. Its philosophy is firmly grounded upon the thesis that the -existing order must stand forever free from attack, and not only -from attack, but also from mere academic criticism, and its ethics -are as firmly grounded upon the thesis that every attempt at any -such criticism is a proof of moral turpitude. Within its own ranks, -protected by what may be regarded as the privilege of the order, -there is nothing to take the place of this criticism. A few feeble -platitudes by Andrew Carnegie and a book of moderate merit by John D. -Rockefeller's press-agent constitute almost the whole of the interior -literature of ideas. In other countries the plutocracy has often -produced men of reflective and analytical habit, eager to rationalize -its instincts and to bring it into some sort of relationship to the -main streams of human thought. The case of David Ricardo at once comes -to mind. There have been many others: John Bright, Richard Cobden, -George Grote, and, in our own time, Walther von Rathenau. But in -the United States no such phenomenon has been visible. There was a -day, not long ago, when certain young men of wealth gave signs of an -unaccustomed interest in ideas on the political side, but the most they -managed to achieve was a banal sort of Socialism, and even this was -abandoned in sudden terror when the war came, and Socialism fell under -suspicion of being genuinely international--in brief, of being honest -under the skin. Nor has the plutocracy of the country ever fostered an -inquiring spirit among its intellectual valets and footmen, which is -to say, among the gentlemen who compose headlines and leading articles -for its newspapers. What chiefly distinguishes the daily press of the -United States from the press of all other countries pretending to -culture is not its lack of truthfulness or even its lack of dignity -and honor, for these deficiencies are common to the newspapers -everywhere, but its incurable fear of ideas, its constant effort to -evade the discussion of fundamentals by translating all issues into -a few elemental fears, its incessant reduction of all reflection to -mere emotion. It is, in the true sense, never well-informed. It is -seldom intelligent, save in the arts of the mob-master. It is never -courageously honest. Held harshly to a rigid correctness of opinion by -the plutocracy that controls it with less and less attempt at disguise, -and menaced on all sides by censorships that it dare not flout, it -sinks rapidly into formalism and feebleness. Its yellow section is -perhaps its most respectable section, for there the only vestige of the -old free journalist survives. In the more conservative papers one finds -only a timid and petulant animosity to all questioning of the existing -order, however urbane and sincere--a pervasive and ill-concealed dread -that the mob now heated up against the orthodox hobgoblins may suddenly -begin to unearth hobgoblins of its own, and so run amok. For it is upon -the emotions of the mob, of course, that the whole comedy is played. -Theoretically the mob is the repository of all political wisdom and -virtue; actually it is the ultimate source of all political power. Even -the plutocracy cannot make war upon it openly, or forget the least -of its weaknesses. The business of keeping it in order must be done -discreetly, warily, with delicate technique. In the main that business -consists of keeping alive its deep-seated fears--of strange faces, of -unfamiliar ideas, of unhackneyed gestures, of untested liberties and -responsibilities. The one permanent emotion of the inferior man, as of -all the simpler mammals, is fear--fear of the unknown, the complex, -the inexplicable. What he wants beyond everything else is safety. -His instincts incline him toward a society so organized that it will -protect him at all hazards, and not only against perils to his hide -but also against assaults upon his mind--against the need to grapple -with unaccustomed problems, to weigh ideas, to think things out for -himself, to scrutinize the platitudes upon which his everyday thinking -is based. Content under kaiserism so long as it functions efficiently, -he turns, when kaiserism falls, to some other and perhaps worse form -of paternalism, bringing to its benign tyranny only the docile tribute -of his pathetic allegiance. In America it is the newspaper that is his -boss. From it he gets support for his elemental illusions. In it he -sees a visible embodiment of his own wisdom and consequence. Out of it -he draws fuel for his simple moral passion, his congenital suspicion of -heresy, his dread of the unknown. And behind the newspaper stands the -plutocracy, ignorant, unimaginative and timorous. - -Thus at the top and at the bottom. Obviously, there is no aristocracy -here. One finds only one of the necessary elements, and that only in -the plutocracy, to wit, a truculent egoism. But where is intelligence? -Where are ease and surety of manner? Where are enterprise and -curiosity? Where, above all, is courage, and in particular, moral -courage--the capacity for independent thinking, for difficult problems, -for what Nietzsche called the joys of the labyrinth? As well look for -these things in a society of half-wits. Democracy, obliterating the old -aristocracy, has left only a vacuum in its place; in a century and a -half it has failed either to lift up the mob to intellectual autonomy -and dignity or to purge the plutocracy of its inherent stupidity and -swinishness. It is precisely here, the first and favorite scene of the -Great Experiment, that the culture of the individual has been reduced -to the most rigid and absurd regimentation. It is precisely here, of -all civilized countries, that eccentricity in demeanor and opinion -has come to bear the heaviest penalties. The whole drift of our law -is toward the absolute prohibition of all ideas that diverge in the -slightest from the accepted platitudes, and behind that drift of law -there is a far more potent force of growing custom, and under that -custom there is a national philosophy which erects conformity into -the noblest of virtues and the free functioning of personality into a -capital crime against society. - - - - -9 - - -_Under the Campus Pump_ - - -But there remain the _intelligentsia,_ the free spirits in the middle -ground, neither as anæsthetic to ideas as the plutocracy on the one -hand nor as much the slaves of emotion as the proletariat on the other. -Have I forgotten them? I have not. But what actually reveals itself -when this small brotherhood of the superior is carefully examined? -What reveals itself, it seems to me, is a gigantic disappointment. -Superficially, there are all the marks of a caste of learned and -sagacious men--a great book-knowledge, a laudable diligence, a certain -fine reserve and sniffishness, a plain consciousness of intellectual -superiority, not a few gestures that suggest the aristocratic. But -under the surface one quickly discovers that the whole thing is little -more than play-acting, and not always very skillful. Learning is there, -but not curiosity. A heavy dignity is there, but not much genuine -self-respect. Pretentiousness is there, but not a trace of courage. -Squeezed between the plutocracy on on side and the mob on the other, -the _intelligentsia_ face the eternal national problem of maintaining -their position, of guarding themselves against challenge and attack, -of keeping down suspicion. They have all the attributes of knowledge -save the sense of power. They have all the qualities of an aristocracy -save the capital qualities that arise out of a feeling of security, of -complete independence, of absolute immunity to onslaught from above -and below. In brief, the old bogusness hangs about them, as about the -fashionable aristocrats of the society columns. They are safe so long -as they are good, which is to say, so long as they neither aggrieve the -plutocracy nor startle the proletariat. Immediately they fall into -either misdemeanor all their apparent dignity vanishes, and with it all -of their influence, and they become simply somewhat ridiculous rebels -against a social order that has no genuine need of them and is disposed -to tolerate them only when they are not obtrusive. - -For various reasons this shadowy caste is largely made up of men who -have official stamps upon their learning--that is, of professors, -of doctors of philosophy; outside of academic circles it tends to -shade off very rapidly into a half-world of isolated anarchists. One -of those reasons is plain enough: the old democratic veneration for -mere schooling, inherited from the Puritans of New England, is still -in being, and the mob, always eager for short cuts in thinking, is -disposed to accept a schoolmaster without looking beyond his degree. -Another reason lies in the fact that the higher education is still -rather a novelty in the country, and there have yet to be developed -any devices for utilizing learned men in any trade save teaching. Yet -other reasons will suggest themselves. Whatever the ramification of -causes, the fact is plain that the pedagogues have almost a monopoly -of what passes for the higher thinking in the land. Not only do they -reign unchallenged in their own chaste grove; they also penetrate to -all other fields of ratiocination, to the almost complete exclusion of -unshrived rivals. They dominate the weeklies of opinion; they are to -the fore in every review; they write nine-tenths of the serious books -of the country; they begin to invade the newspapers; they instruct and -exhort the yokelry from the stump; they have even begun to penetrate -into the government. One cannot turn in the United States without -encountering a professor. There is one on every municipal commission. -There is one in every bureau of the federal government. There is one at -the head of every intellectual movement. There is one to explain every -new mystery. Professors appraise all works of art, whether graphic, -tonal or literary. Professors supply the brain power for agriculture, -diplomacy, the control of dependencies and the distribution of -commodities. A professor was until lately sovereign of the country, and -pope of the state church. - -So much for their opportunity. What, now, of their achievement? -I answer as one who has had thrown upon him, by the impenetrable -operations of fate, the rather thankless duties of a specialist in the -ways of pedagogues, a sort of professor of professors. The job has got -me enemies. I have been accused of carrying on a defamatory _jehad_ -against virtuous and laborious men; I have even been charged with doing -it in the interest of the Wilhelmstrasse, the White Slave Trust and the -ghost of Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. Nothing could be more absurd. -All my instincts are on the side of the professors. I esteem a man -who devotes himself to a subject with hard diligence; I esteem even -more a man who puts poverty and a shelf of books above profiteering -and evenings of jazz; I am naturally monkish. Moreover, there are more -Ph.D.'s on my family tree than even a Boston bluestocking can boast; -there was a whole century when even the most ignorant of my house was -at least _Juris utriusque Doctor._ But such predispositions should not -be permitted to color sober researches. What I have found, after long -and arduous labors, is a state of things that is surely not altogether -flattering to the _Gelehrten_ under examination. What I have found, -in brief, is that pedagogy turned to general public uses is almost -as timid and flatulent as journalism--that the professor, menaced by -the timid dogmatism of the plutocracy above him and the incurable -suspiciousness of the mob beneath him, is almost invariably inclined -to seek his own security in a mellifluous inanity--that, far from -being a courageous spokesman of ideas and an apostle of their free -dissemination, in politics, in the fine arts, in practical ethics, he -comes close to being the most prudent and skittish of all men concerned -with them--in brief, that he yields to the prevailing correctness of -thought in all departments, north, east, south and west, and is, in -fact, the chief exponent among us of the democratic doctrine that -heresy is not only a mistake, but also a crime. - -A philosophy is not put to much of a test in ordinary times, for in -ordinary times philosophies are permitted to lie like sleeping dogs. -When it shows its inward metal is when the band begins to play. The -turmoils of the late lamentable war, it seems to me, provided for -such a trying out of fundamental ideas and attitudes upon a colossal -scale. The whole thinking of the world was thrown into confusion; all -the worst fears and prejudices of ignorant and emotional men came to -the front; it was a time, beyond all others in modern history, when -intellectual integrity was subjected to a cruel strain. How did the -_intelligentsia_ of These States bear up under that strain? What -was the reaction of our learned men to the challenge of organized -hysteria, mob fear, incitement to excess, downright insanity? How did -they conduct themselves in that universal whirlwind? They conducted -themselves, I fear, in a manner that must leave a brilliant question -mark behind their claim to independence and courage, to true knowledge -and dignity, to ordinary self-respect--in brief, to every quality that -belongs to the authentic aristocrat. They constituted themselves, -not a restraining influence upon the mob run wild, but the loudest -spokesmen of its worst imbecilities. They fed it with bogus history, -bogus philosophy, bogus idealism, bogus heroics. They manufactured -blather for its entertainment. They showed themselves to be as naïve -as so many Liberty Loan orators, as emotional, almost, as the spy -hunters, and as disdainful of the ordinary intellectual decencies -as the editorial writers. I accumulated, in those great days, for -the instruction and horror of posterity, a very large collection -of academic arguments, expositions and pronunciamentos; it fills a -trunk, and got me heavily into debt to three clipping-bureaux. Its -contents range from solemn hymns of hate in the learned (and even -the theological) reviews and such official donkeyisms as the formal -ratification of the so-called Sisson documents down to childish -harangues to student-bodies, public demands that the study of the enemy -language and literature be prohibited by law, violent denunciations of -all enemy science as negligible and fraudulent, vitriolic attacks upon -enemy magnificos, and elaborate proofs that the American Revolution -was the result of a foul plot hatched in the Wilhelmstrasse of the -time, to the wanton injury of two loving bands of brothers. I do not -exaggerate in the slightest. The proceedings of Mr. Creel's amazing -corps of "twenty-five hundred American historians" went further than -anything I have described. And in every far-flung college town, in -every one-building "university" on the prairie, even the worst efforts -of those "historians" were vastly exceeded. - -But I am forgetting the like phenomena on the other side of the bloody -chasm? I am overlooking the darker crimes of the celebrated German -professors? Not at all. Those crimes against all reason and dignity, -had they been committed in fact, would not be evidence in favor of the -Americans in the dock: the principle of law is too well accepted to -need argument. But I venture to deny them, and out of a very special -and singular knowledge, for I seem to be one of the few Americans who -has ever actually read the proclamations of the German professors: -all the most indignant critics of them appear to have accepted -second-hand accounts of their contents. Having suffered the onerous -labor of reading them, I now offer sworn witness to their relative -mildness. Now and then one encounters in them a disconcerting bray. -Now and then one weeps with sore heart. Now and then one is bogged in -German made wholly unintelligible by emotion. But taking them as they -stand, and putting them fairly beside the corresponding documents of -American vintage, one is at once struck by their comparative suavity -and decorum, their freedom from mere rhetoric and fustian--above all, -by their effort to appeal to reason, such as it is, rather than to -emotion. No German professor, from end to end of the war, put his hand -to anything as transparently silly as the Sisson documents. No German -professor essayed to prove that the Seven Years' War was caused by -Downing Street. No German professor argued that the study of English -would corrupt the soul. No German professor denounced Darwin as an -ignoramus and Lister as a scoundrel. Nor was anything of the sort done, -so far as I know, by any French professor. Nor even by any reputable -English professor. All such honorable efforts on behalf of correct -thought in war-time were monopolized by American professors. And if -the fact is disputed, then I threaten upon some future day, when the -stealthy yearning to forget has arisen, to print my proofs in parallel -columns--the most esteemed extravagances of the German professors -in one column and the corresponding masterpieces of the American -professors in the other. - -I do not overlook, of course, the self-respecting men who, in the -midst of all the uproar, kept their counsel and their dignity. A small -minority, hard beset and tested by the fire! Nor do I overlook the -few sentimental fanatics who, in the face of devastating evidence to -the contrary, proceeded upon the assumption that academic freedom was -yet inviolable, and so got themselves cashiered, and began posturing -in radical circles as martyrs, the most absurd of men. But I think I -draw a fair picture of the general. I think I depict with reasonable -accuracy the typical response of the only recognizable _intelligentsia_ -of the land to the first great challenge to their aristocratic -aloofness--the first test in the grand manner of their freedom alike -from the bellicose imbecility of the plutocracy and the intolerable -fears and childish moral certainties of the mob. That test exposed them -shamelessly. It revealed their fast allegiance to the one thing that is -the antithesis of all free inquiry, of all honest hospitality to ideas, -of all intellectual independence and integrity. They proved that they -were correct--and in proving it they threw a brilliant light upon many -mysteries of our national culture. - - - - -10 - - -_The Intolerable Burden_ - - -Among others, upon the mystery of our literature--its faltering -feebleness, its lack of genuine gusto, its dearth of salient -personalities, its general air of poverty and imitation: What ails -the beautiful letters of the Republic, I repeat, is what ails the -general culture of the Republic--the lack of a body of sophisticated -and civilized public opinion, independent of plutocratic control -and superior to the infantile philosophies of the mob--a body of -opinion showing the eager curiosity, the educated skepticism and the -hospitality to ideas of a true aristocracy. This lack is felt by the -American author, imagining him to have anything new to say, every day -of his life. He can hope for no support, in ordinary cases, from the -mob: it is too suspicious of all ideas. He can hope for no support -from the spokesmen of the plutocracy: they are too diligently devoted -to maintaining the intellectual _status quo._ He turns, then, to -the _intelligentsia_--and what he finds is correctness! In his two -prime functions, to represent the life about him accurately and to -criticize it honestly, he sees that correctness arrayed against him. -His representation is indecorous, unlovely, too harsh to be borne. His -criticism is in contumacy to the ideals upon which the whole structure -rests. So he is either attacked vigorously as an anti-patriot whose -babblings ought to be put down by law, or enshrouded in a silence which -commonly disposes of him even more effectively. - -Soon or late, of course, a man of genuine force and originality is -bound to prevail against that sort of stupidity. He will unearth an -adherent here and another there; in the long run they may become -numerous enough to force some recognition of him, even from the -most immovable exponents of correctness. But the business is slow, -uncertain, heart-breaking. It puts a burden upon the artist that -ought not to be put upon him. It strains beyond reason his diligence -and passion. A man who devotes his life to creating works of the -imagination, a man who gives over all his strength and energy to -struggling with problems that are essentially delicate and baffling and -pregnant with doubt--such a man does not ask for recognition as a mere -reward for his industry; he asks for it as a necessary _help_ to his -industry; he needs it as he needs decent subsistence and peace of mind. -It is a grave damage to the artist and a grave loss to the literature -when such a man as Poe has to seek consolation among his inferiors, -and such a man as the Mark Twain of "What Is Man?" is forced to -conceal his most profound beliefs, and such men as Dreiser and Cabell -are exposed to incessant attacks by malignant stupidity. The notion -that artists flourish upon adversity and misunderstanding, that they -are able to function to the utmost in an atmosphere of indifference -or hostility--this notion is nine-tenths nonsense. If it were true, -then one would never hear of painters going to France or of musicians -going to Germany. What the artist actually needs is comprehension -of his aims and ideals by men he respects--not necessarily approval -of his products, but simply an intelligent sympathy for him in the -great agony of creation. And that sympathy must be more than the mere -fellow-feeling of other craftsmen; it must come, in large part, out of -a connoisseurship that is beyond the bald trade interest; it must have -its roots in the intellectual curiosity of an aristocracy of taste. -Billroth, I believe, was more valuable to Brahms than even Schumann. -His eager interest gave music-making a solid dignity. His championship -offered the musician a visible proof that his labors had got for him a -secure place in a civilized and stable society, and that he would be -judged by his peers, and safeguarded against the obtuse hostility of -his inferiors. - -No such security is thrown about an artist in America. It is not that -the country lacks the standards that Dr. Brownell pleads for; it is -that its standards are still those of a primitive and timorous society. -The excesses of Comstockery are profoundly symbolical. What they show -is the moral certainty of the mob in operation against something that -is as incomprehensible to it as the theory of least squares, and what -they show even more vividly is the distressing lack of any automatic -corrective of that outrage--of any firm and secure body of educated -opinion, eager to hear and test all intelligible ideas and sensitively -jealous of the right to discuss them freely. When "The Genius" was -attacked by the Comstocks, it fell to my lot to seek assistance for -Dreiser among the _intelligentsia._ I found them almost unanimously -disinclined to lend a hand. A small number permitted themselves to be -induced, but the majority held back, and not a few, as I have said, -actually offered more or less furtive aid to the Comstocks. I pressed -the matter and began to unearth reasons. It was, it appeared, dangerous -for a member of the _intelligentsia,_ and particularly for a member -of the academic _intelligentsia,_ to array himself against the mob -inflamed--against the moral indignation of the sort of folk who devour -vice reports and are converted by the Rev. Billy Sunday! If he came -forward, he would have to come forward alone. There was no organized -support behind him. No instinctive urge of class, no prompting of -a great tradition, moved him to speak out for artistic freedom ... -England supplied the lack. Over there they have a mob too, and -something akin to Comstockery, and a cult of hollow correctness--but -they also have a caste that stands above all that sort of thing, and -out of that caste came aid for Dreiser. - -England is always supplying the lack--England, or France, or Germany, -or some other country, but chiefly England. "My market and my -reputation," said Prescott in 1838, "rest principally with England." -To Poe, a few years later, the United States was "a literary colony -of Great Britain." And there has been little change to this day. The -English leisure class, says Prof. Dr. Veblen, is "for purposes of -reputable usage the upper leisure class of this country." Despite all -the current highfalutin about melting pots and national destinies the -United States remains almost as much an English colonial possession, -intellectually and spiritually, as it was on July 3, 1776. The American -social pusher keeps his eye on Mayfair; the American literatus dreams -of recognition by the London weeklies; the American don is lifted to -bliss by the imprimatur of Oxford or Cambridge; even the American -statesman knows how to cringe to Downing Street. Most of the essential -policies of Dr. Wilson between 1914 and 1920--when the realistic -English, finding him no longer useful, incontinently dismissed -him--were, to all intents and purposes, those of a British colonial -premier. He went into the Peace Conference willing to yield everything -to English interests, and he came home with a treaty that was so -extravagantly English that it fell an easy prey to the anti-English -minority, ever alert for the makings of a bugaboo to scare the plain -people. What lies under all this subservience is simple enough. The -American, for all his braggadocio, is quite conscious of his intrinsic -inferiority to the Englishman, on all cultural counts. He may put -himself first as a man of business, as an adventurer in practical -affairs or as a pioneer in the applied arts and sciences, but in -all things removed from the mere pursuit of money and physical ease -he well understands that he belongs at the second table. Even his -recurrent attacks of Anglophobia are no more than Freudian evidences -of his inferiority complex. He howls in order to still his inner -sense of inequality, as he howls against imaginary enemies in order -to convince himself that he is brave and against fabulous despotisms -in order to prove that he is free. The Englishman is never deceived -by this hocus-pocus. He knows that it is always possible to fetch -the rebel back into camp by playing upon his elemental fears and -vanities. A few dark threats, a few patronizing speeches, a few Oxford -degrees, and the thing is done. More, the English scarcely regard -it as hunting in the grand manner; it is a business of subalterns. -When, during the early stages of the war, they had occasion to woo -the American _intelligentsia,_ what agents did they choose? Did they -nominate Thomas Hardy, Joseph Conrad, George Moore and company? Nay, -they nominated Conan Doyle, Coningsby Dawson, Alfred Noyes, Ian Hay, -Chesterton, Kipling, Zangwill and company. In the choice there was high -sagacity and no little oblique humor--as there was a bit later in the -appointment of Lord Reading and Sir Auckland Geddes to Washington. The -valuation they set upon the _aluminados_ of the Republic was exactly -the valuation they were in the habit of setting, at home, upon MM. of -the Free Church Federation. They saw the eternal green-grocer beneath -the master's gown and mortarboard. Let us look closely and we shall see -him, too. - -The essence of a self-reliant and autonomous culture is an unshakable -egoism. It must not only regard itself as the peer of any other -culture; it must regard itself as the superior of any other. You will -find this indomitable pride in the culture of any truly first-rate -nation: France, Germany or England. But you will not find it in the -so-called culture of America. Here the decadent Anglo-Saxon majority -still looks obediently and a bit wistfully toward the motherland. -No good American ever seriously questions an English judgment on an -æsthetic question, or even on an ethical, philosophical or political -question. There is, in fact, seldom any rational reason why he should: -it is almost always more mature, more tolerant, more intelligent than -any judgment hatched at home. Behind it lies a settled scheme of -things, a stable point of view, the authority of a free intellectual -aristocracy, the pride of tradition and of power. The English are -sure-footed, well-informed, persuasive. It is beyond their imagination -that any one should seriously challenge them. In this over-grown and -oafish colony there is no such sureness. The American always secretly -envies the Englishman, even when he professes to flout him. The -Englishman never envies the American. - -The extraordinary colonist, moved to give utterance to the ideas -bubbling within him, is thus vastly handicapped, for he must submit -them to the test of a culture that, in the last analysis, is never -quite his own culture, despite its dominance. Looking within himself, -he finds that he is different, that he diverges from the English -standard, that he is authentically American--and to be authentically -American is to be officially inferior. He thus faces dismay at -the very start: support is lacking when he needs it most. In the -motherland--in any motherland, in any wholly autonomous nation--there -is a class of men like himself, devoted to translating the higher -manifestations of the national spirit into ideas--men differing -enormously among themselves, but still united in common cause against -the lethargy and credulity of the mass. But in a colony that class, -if it exists at all, lacks coherence and certainty; its authority -is not only disputed by the inertia and suspiciousness of the lower -orders, but also by the superior authority overseas; it is timorous and -fearful of challenge. Thus it affords no protection to an individual -of assertive originality, and he is forced to go as a suppliant to a -quarter in which nothing is his by right, but everything must go by -favor--in brief to a quarter where his very application must needs be -regarded as an admission of his inferiority. The burden of proof upon -him is thus made double. Obviously, he must be a man of very strong -personality to surmount such obstacles triumphantly. Such strong men, -of course, sometimes appear in a colony, but they always stand alone; -their worst opposition is at home. For a colonial of less vigorous soul -the battle is almost hopeless. Either he submits to subordination and -so wears docilely the inferior badge of a praiseworthy and tolerated -colonist, or he deserts the minority for the far more hospitable and -confident majority, and so becomes a mere mob-artist. - -Examples readily suggest themselves. I give you Poe and Whitman as men -strong enough to weather the adverse wind. The salient thing about each -of these men was this: that his impulse to self-expression, the force -of his "obscure, inner necessity," was so powerful that it carried him -beyond all ordinary ambitions and prudences--in other words, that the -ego functioned so heroically that it quite disregarded the temporal -welfare of the individual. Neither Poe nor Whitman made the slightest -concession to what was the predominant English taste, the prevailing -English authority, of his time. And neither yielded in the slightest -to the maudlin echoes of English notions that passed for ideas in the -United States; in neither will you find any recognizable reflection -of the things that Americans were saying and doing all about them. -Even Whitman, preaching democracy, preached a democracy that not one -actual democrat in a hundred thousand could so much as imagine. What -happened? _Imprimis,_ English authority, at the start, dismissed them -loftily; they were, at best, simply rare freaks from the colonies. -Secondly, American stupidity, falling into step, came near overlooking -them altogether. The accident that maintained them was an accident -of personality and environment. They happened to be men accustomed -to social isolation and of the most meager wants, and it was thus -difficult to deter them by neglect and punishment. So they stuck to -their guns--and presently they were "discovered," as the phrase is, by -men of a culture wholly foreign to them and perhaps incomprehensible -to them, and thereafter, by slow stages, they began to win a slow -and reluctant recognition in England (at first only from rebels and -iconoclasts), and finally even in America. That either, without French -prompting, would have come to his present estate I doubt very much. And -in support of that doubt I cite again the fact that Poe's high talents -as a critic, not having interested the French, have never got their -deserts either in England or at home. - -It is lesser men that we chiefly have to deal with in this world, -and it is among lesser men that the lack of a confident intellectual -viewpoint in America makes itself most evident. Examples are numerous -and obvious. On the one hand, we have Fenimore Cooper first making a -cringing bow for English favor, and then, on being kicked out, joining -the mob against sense; he wrote books so bad that even the Americans of -1830 admired them. On the other hand, we nave Henry James, a deserter -made by despair; one so depressed by the tacky company at the American -first table that he preferred to sit at the second table of the -English. The impulse was, and is common; it was only the forthright -act that distinguished him. And in the middle ground, showing both -seductions plainly, there is Mark Twain--at one moment striving his -hardest for the English _imprimatur,_ and childishly delighted by every -favorable gesture; at the next, returning to the native mob as its -premier clown-monkey-shining at banquets, cavorting in the newspapers, -shrinking poltroonishly from his own ideas, obscenely eager to give -no offense. A much greater artist than either Poe or Whitman, so I -devoutly believe, but a good deal lower as a man. The ultimate passion -was not there; the decent householder always pulled the ear of the -dreamer. His fate has irony in it. In England they patronize him: he -is, for an American, not so bad. In America, appalled by his occasional -ascents to honesty, his stray impulses to be wholly himself, the -dunderheads return him to arm's length, his old place, and one of the -most eminent of them, writing in the New York _Times,_ argues piously -that it is impossible to imagine him actually believing the commonplace -heresies he put into "What Is Man?" - - - - -11 - - -_Epilogue_ - - -I have described the disease. Let me say at once that I have no remedy -to offer. I simply set down a few ideas, throw out a few hints, -attempt a few modest inquiries into causes. Perhaps my argument -often turns upon itself: the field is weed-grown and paths are hard -to follow. It may be that insurmountable natural obstacles stand -in the way of the development of a distinctively American culture, -grounded upon a truly egoistic nationalism and supported by a native -aristocracy. After all, there is no categorical imperative that ordains -it. In such matters, when the conditions are right, nature often -arranges a division of labor. A nation shut in by racial and linguistic -isolation--a Sweden, a Holland or a France--is forced into autonomy by -sheer necessity; if it is to have any intellectual life at all it must -develop its own. But that is not our case. There is England to hold -up the torch for us, as France holds it up for Belgium, and Spain for -Latin America, and Germany for Switzerland. It is our function, as the -younger and less confident partner, to do the simpler, rougher parts of -the joint labor--to develop the virtues of the more elemental orders -of men: industry, piety, docility, endurance, assiduity and ingenuity -in practical affairs--the wood-hewing and water-drawing of the race. -It seems to me that we do all this very well; in these things we are -better than the English. But when it comes to those larger and more -difficult activities which concern only the superior minority, and are, -in essence, no more than products of its efforts to _demonstrate_ its -superiority--when it comes to the higher varieties of speculation and -self-expression, to the fine arts and the game of ideas--then we fall -into a bad second place. Where we stand, intellectually, is where the -English non-conformists stand; like them, we are marked by a fear of -ideas as disturbing and corrupting. Our art is imitative and timorous. -Our political theory is hopelessly sophomoric and superficial; even -English Toryism and Russian Bolshevism are infinitely more profound -and penetrating. And of the two philosophical systems that we have -produced, one is so banal that it is now imbedded in the New Thought, -and the other is so shallow that there is nothing in it either to -puzzle or to outrage a school-marm. - -Nevertheless, hope will not down, and now and then it is supported -by something rather more real than mere desire. One observes an -under-current of revolt, small but vigorous, and sometimes it exerts -its force, not only against the superficial banality but also against -the fundamental flabbiness, the intrinsic childishness of the Puritan -_Anschauung._ The remedy for that childishness is skepticism, and -already skepticism shows itself: in the iconoclastic political realism -of Harold Stearns, Waldo Frank and company, in the groping questions -of Dreiser, Cabell and Anderson, in the operatic rebellions of the -Village. True imagination, I often think, is no more than a function -of this skepticism. It is the dull man who is always sure, and the sure -man who is always dull. The more a man dreams, the less he believes. A -great literature is thus chiefly the product of doubting and inquiring -minds in revolt against the immovable certainties of the nation. -Shakespeare, at a time of rising democratic feeling in England, flung -the whole force of his genius against democracy. Cervantes, at a time -when all Spain was romantic, made a headlong attack upon romance. -Goethe, with Germany groping toward nationalism, threw his influences -on the side of internationalism. The central trouble with America is -conformity, timorousness, lack of enterprise and audacity. A nation -of third-rate men, a land offering hospitality only to fourth-rate -artists. In Elizabethan England they would have bawled for democracy, -in the Spain of Cervantes they would have yelled for chivalry, and in -the Germany of Goethe they would have wept and beat their breasts for -the Fatherland. To-day, as in the day of Emerson, they set the tune.... -But into the singing there occasionally enters a discordant note. On -some dim to-morrow, perhaps, perchance, peradventure, they may be -challenged. - - - - -II. ROOSEVELT: AN AUTOPSY - - -One thinks of Dr. Woodrow Wilson's biography of George Washington as -of one of the strangest of all the world's books. Washington: the -first, and perhaps also the last American gentleman. Wilson: the -self-bamboozled Presbyterian, the right-thinker, the great moral -statesman, the perfect model of the Christian cad. It is as if the -Rev. Dr. Billy Sunday should do a biography of Charles Darwin--almost -as if Dr. Wilson himself should dedicate his senility to a life of -the Chevalier Bayard, or the Cid, or Christ.... But such phenomena, -of course, are not actually rare in the republic; here everything -happens that is forbidden by the probabilities and the decencies. The -chief native critic of beautiful letters, for a whole generation, was -a Baptist clergyman; he was succeeded by a literary Wall Street man, -who gave way, in turn, to a soviet of ninth-rate pedagogues; this -very curious apostolic succession I have already discussed. The dean -of the music critics, even to-day, is a translator of grand opera -libretti, and probably one of the worst that ever lived. Return, -now, to political biography. Who can think of anything in American -literature comparable to Morley's life of Gladstone, or Trevelyan's -life of Macaulay, or Carlyle's Frederick, or even Winston Churchill's -life of his father? I dredge my memory hopelessly; only William Graham -Sumner's study of Andrew Jackson emerges--an extraordinarily astute and -careful piece of work by one of the two most underestimated Americans -of his generation, the other being Daniel Coit Gilman. But where is the -first-rate biography of Washington--sound, fair, penetrating, honest, -done by a man capable of comprehending the English gentry of the -eighteenth century? And how long must we wait for adequate treatises -upon Jefferson, Hamilton, Sam Adams, Aaron Burr, Henry Clay, Calhoun, -Webster, Sumner, Grant, Sherman, Lee? - -Even Lincoln is yet to be got vividly between the covers of a book. -The Nicolay-Hay work is quite impossible; it is not a biography, but -simply a huge storehouse of biographical raw materials; whoever can -read it can also read the official Records of the Rebellion. All the -other standard lives of old Abe--for instance, those of Lamon, Herndon -and Weil, Stoddard, Morse and Miss Tarbell--fail still worse; when -they are not grossly preachy and disingenuous they are trivial. So far -as I can make out, no genuinely scientific study of the man has ever -been attempted. The amazing conflict of testimony about him remains a -conflict; the most elemental facts are yet to be established; he grows -vaguer and more fabulous as year follows year. One would think that, by -this time, the question of his religious views (to take one example) -ought to be settled, but apparently it is not, for no longer than a -year ago there came a reverend author, Dr. William E. Barton, with a -whole volume upon the subject, and I was as much in the dark after -reading it as I had been before I opened it. All previous biographers, -it appeared by this author's evidence, had either dodged the problem, -or lied. The official doctrine, in this as in other departments, is -obviously quite unsound. One hears in the Sunday-schools that Abe was -an austere and pious fellow, constantly taking the name of God in -whispers, just as one reads in the school history-books that he was a -shining idealist, holding all his vast powers by the magic of an inner -and ineffable virtue. Imagine a man getting on in American politics, -interesting and enchanting the boobery, sawing off the horns of other -politicians, elbowing his way through primaries and conventions, by the -magic of virtue! As well talk of fetching the mob by hawking exact and -arctic justice! Abe, in fact, must have been a fellow highly skilled -at the great democratic art of gum-shoeing. I like to think of him as -one who defeated such politicians as Stanton, Douglas and Sumner with -their own weapons--deftly leading them into ambuscades, boldly pulling -their noses, magnificently ham-stringing and horn-swoggling them--in -brief, as a politician of extraordinary talents, who loved the game for -its own sake, and had the measure of the crowd. His official portraits, -both in prose and in daguerreotype, show him wearing the mien of a -man about to be hanged; one never sees him smiling. Nevertheless, one -hears that, until he emerged from Illinois, they always put the women, -children and clergy to bed when he got a few gourds of corn aboard, -and it is a matter of unescapable record that his career in the State -Legislature was indistinguishable from that of a Tammany Nietzsche. - -But, as I say, it is hopeless to look for the real man in the -biographies of him: they are all full of distortion, chiefly pious -and sentimental. The defect runs through the whole of American -political biography, and even through the whole of American history. -Nearly all our professional historians are poor men holding college -posts, and they are ten times more cruelly beset by the ruling -politico-plutocratic-social oligarchy than ever the Prussian professors -were by the Hohenzollerns. Let them diverge in the slightest from what -is the current official doctrine, and they are turned out of their -chairs with a ceremony suitable for the expulsion of a drunken valet. -During the recent war a herd of two thousand and five hundred such -miserable slaves was organized by Dr. Creel to lie for their country, -and they at once fell upon the congenial task of rewriting American -history to make it accord with the ideas of H. P. Davison, Admiral -Sims, Nicholas Murray Butler, the Astors, Barney Baruch and Lord -Northcliffe. It was a committee of this herd that solemnly pledged the -honor of American scholarship to the authenticity of the celebrated -Sisson documents.... - -In the face of such acute miliary imbecility it is not surprising to -discover that all of the existing biographies of the late Colonel -Roosevelt--and they have been rolling off the presses at a dizzy rate -since his death--are feeble, inaccurate, ignorant and preposterous. I -have read, I suppose, at least ten of these tomes during the past year -or so, and in all of them I have found vastly more gush than sense. -Lawrence Abbott's "Impressions of Theodore Roosevelt" and William -Roscoe Thayer's "Theodore Roosevelt" may well serve as specimens. -Abbott's book is the composition, not of an unbiased student of the -man, but of a sort of groom of the hero. He is so extremely eager to -prove that Roosevelt was the perfect right-thinker, according to the -transient definitions of right-thinking, that he manages to get a -flavor of dubiousness into his whole chronicle. I find myself doubting -him even when I know that he is honest and suspect that he is right. -As for Thayer, all he offers is a hasty and hollow pot-boiler--such a -work as might have been well within the talents of, say, the late Murat -Halstead or the editor of the New York _Times._ This Thayer has been -heavily praised of late as the Leading American Biographer, and one -constantly hears that some new university has made him _Legum Doctor,_ -or that he has been awarded a medal by this or that learned society, or -that the post has brought him a new ribbon from some literary potentate -in foreign parts. If, in fact, he is actually the cock of the walk in -biography, then all I have said against American biographers is too -mild and mellow. What one finds in his book is simply the third-rate -correctness of a Boston colonial. Consider, for example, his frequent -discussions of the war--a necessity in any work on Roosevelt. In -England there is the mob's view of the war, and there is the view of -civilized and intelligent men, _e. g.,_ Lansdowne, Loreburn, Austin -Harrison, Morel, Keynes, Haldane, Hirst, Balfour, Robert Cecil. In -New England, it would appear, the two views coalesce, with the first -outside. There is scarcely a line on the subject in Thayer's book that -might not have been written by Horatio Bottomley.... - -Obviously, Roosevelt's reaction to the war must occupy a large part -of any adequate biography of him, for that reaction was probably more -comprehensively typical of the man than any other business of his -life. It displayed not only his whole stock of political principles, -but also his whole stock of political tricks. It plumbed, on the one -hand, the depths of his sagacity, and on the other hand the depths of -his insincerity. Fundamentally, I am convinced, he was quite out of -sympathy with, and even quite unable to comprehend the body of doctrine -upon which the Allies, and later the United States, based their case. -To him it must have seemed insane when it was not hypocritical, and -hypocritical when it was not insane. His instincts were profoundly -against a new loosing of democratic fustian upon the world; he believed -in strongly centralized states, founded upon power and devoted to -enterprises far transcending mere internal government; he was an -imperialist of the type of Cecil Rhodes, Treitschke and Delcassé. But -the fortunes of domestic politics jockeyed him into the position of -standing as the spokesman of an almost exactly contrary philosophy. The -visible enemy before him was Wilson. What he wanted as a politician -was something that he could get only by wresting it from Wilson, and -Wilson was too cunning to yield it without making a tremendous fight, -chiefly by chicane--whooping for peace while preparing for war, playing -mob fear against mob fear, concealing all his genuine motives and -desires beneath clouds of chautauqual rhetoric, leading a mad dance -whose tune changed at every swing. Here was an opponent that more than -once puzzled Roosevelt, and in the end flatly dismayed him. Here was a -mob-master with a technique infinitely more subtle and effective than -his own. So lured into an unequal combat, the Rough Rider got bogged in -absurdities so immense that only the democratic anæsthesia to absurdity -saved him. To make any progress at all he was forced into fighting -against his own side. He passed from the scene bawling piteously for a -cause that, at bottom, it is impossible to imagine him believing in, -and in terms of a philosophy that was as foreign to his true faith as -it was to the faith of Wilson. In the whole affair there was a colossal -irony. Both contestants were intrinsically frauds. - -The fraudulence of Wilson is now admitted by all save a few survivors -of the old corps of official press-agents, most of them devoid of -both honesty and intelligence. No unbiased man, in the presence of -the revelations of Bullitt, Keynes and a hundred other witnesses, and -of the Russian and Shantung performances, and of innumerable salient -domestic phenomena, can now believe that the _Doctor dulcifluus_ was -ever actually in favor of any of the brummagem ideals he once wept -for, to the edification of a moral universe. They were, at best, no -more than ingenious _ruses de guerre,_ and even in the day of their -widest credit it was the Espionage Act and the Solicitor-General to -the Postoffice, rather than any plausibility in their substance, -that got them their credit. In Roosevelt's case the imposture is -less patent; he died before it was fully unmasked. What is more, his -death put an end to whatever investigation of it was under way, for -American sentimentality holds that it is indecent to inquire into the -weaknesses of the dead, at least until all the flowers have withered -on their tombs. When, a year ago, I ventured in a magazine article to -call attention to Roosevelt's philosophical kinship to the Kaiser I -received letters of denunciation from all parts of the United States, -and not a few forthright demands that I recant on penalty of lynch law. -Prudence demanded that I heed these demands. We live in a curious and -often unsafe country. Haled before a Roosevelt judge for speeding my -automobile, or spitting on the sidewalk, or carrying a jug, I might -have been railroaded for ten years under some constructive corollary -of the Espionage Act. But there were two things that supported me -in my contumacy to the departed. One was a profound reverence for -and fidelity to the truth, sometimes almost amounting to fanaticism. -The other was the support of my venerable brother in epistemology, -the eminent Iowa right-thinker and patriot, Prof. Dr. S. P. Sherman. -Writing in the _Nation,_ where he survives from more seemly days than -these, Prof. Dr. Sherman put the thing in plain terms. "With the -essentials in the religion of the militarists of Germany," he said, -"Roosevelt was utterly in sympathy." - -Utterly? Perhaps the adverb is a bit too strong. There was in the man -a certain instinctive antipathy to the concrete aristocrat and in -particular to the aristocrat's private code--the product, no doubt, -of his essentially _bourgeois_ origin and training. But if he could -not go with the Junkers all the way, he could at least go the whole -length of their distrust of the third order--the undifferentiated -masses of men below. Here, I daresay, he owed a lot to Nietzsche. He -was always reading German books, and among them, no doubt, were "Also -sprach Zarathustra" and "Jenseits von Gut und Böse." In fact, the -echoes were constantly sounding in his own harangues. Years ago, as an -intellectual exercise while confined to hospital, I devised and printed -a give-away of the Rooseveltian philosophy in parallel columns--in one -column, extracts from "The Strenuous Life"; in the other, extracts -from Nietzsche. The borrowings were numerous and unescapable. Theodore -had swallowed Friedrich as a peasant swallows Peruna--bottle, cork, -label and testimonials. Worse, the draft whetted his appetite, and -soon he was swallowing the Kaiser of the _Garde-Kavallerie-mess_ -and battleship-launching speeches--another somewhat defective -Junker. In his palmy days it was often impossible to distinguish his -politico-theological bulls from those of Wilhelm; during the war, -indeed, I suspect that some of them were boldly lifted' by the British -press bureau, and palmed off as felonious imprudences out of Potsdam. -Wilhelm was his model in _Weltpolitik,_ and in sociology, exegetics, -administration, law, sport and connubial polity no less. Both roared -for doughty armies, eternally prepared--for the theory that the way to -prevent war is to make all conceivable enemies think twice, thrice, -ten times. Both dreamed of gigantic navies, with battleships as long -as Brooklyn Bridge. Both preached incessantly the duty of the citizen -to the state, with the soft pedal upon the duty of the state to the -citizen. Both praised the habitually gravid wife. Both delighted in -the armed pursuit of the lower fauna. Both heavily patronized the -fine arts. Both were intimates of God, and announced His desires with -authority. Both believed that all men who stood opposed to them were -prompted by the devil and would suffer for it in hell. - -If, in fact, there was any difference between them, it was all in favor -of Wilhelm. For one thing, he made very much fewer speeches; it took -some colossal event, such as the launching of a dreadnaught or the -birthday of a colonel-general, to get him upon his legs; the Reichstag -was not constantly deluged with his advice and upbraiding. For another -thing, he was a milder and more modest man--one more accustomed, let us -say, to circumstance and authority, and hence less intoxicated by the -greatness of his state. Finally, he had been trained to think, not only -of his own immediate fortunes, but also of the remote interests of a -family that, in his most expansive days, promised to hold the throne -for many years, and so he cultivated a certain prudence, and even a -certain ingratiating suavity. He could, on occasion, be extremely -polite to an opponent. But Roosevelt was never polite to an opponent; -perhaps a gentleman, by American standards, he was surely never a -gentle man. In a political career of nearly forty years he was never -even fair to an opponent. All of his gabble about the square deal was -merely so much protective coloration, easily explicable on elementary -Freudian grounds. No man, facing Roosevelt in the heat of controversy, -ever actually got a square deal. He took extravagant advantages; he -played to the worst idiocies of the mob; he hit below the belt almost -habitually. One never thinks of him as a duelist, say of the school -of Disraeli, Palmerston and, to drop a bit, Blaine. One always thinks -of him as a glorified longshoreman engaged eternally in cleaning out -bar-rooms--and not too proud to gouge when the inspiration came to -him, or to bite in the clinches, or to oppose the relatively fragile -brass knuckles of the code with chair-legs, bung-starters, cuspidors, -demijohns, and ice-picks. - -Abbott and Thayer, in their books, make elaborate efforts to depict -their hero as one born with a deep loathing of the whole Prussian -scheme of things, and particularly of the Prussian technique in combat. -Abbott even goes so far as to hint that the attentions of the Kaiser, -during Roosevelt's historic tour of Europe on his return from Africa, -were subtly revolting to him. Nothing could be more absurd. Prof. Dr. -Sherman, in the article I have mentioned, blows up that nonsense by -quoting from a speech made by the tourist in Berlin--a speech arguing -for the most extreme sort of militarism in a manner that must have made -even some of the Junkers blow their noses dubiously. The disproof need -not be piled up; the America that Roosevelt dreamed of was always a -sort of swollen Prussia, truculent without and regimented within. There -was always a clank of the saber in his discourse; he could not discuss -the tamest matter without swaggering in the best dragoon fashion. -Abbott gets into yet deeper waters when he sets up the doctrine that -the invasion of Belgium threw his darling into an instantaneous and -tremendous fit of moral indignation, and that the curious delay in the -public exhibition thereof, so much discussed since, was due to his -(Abbott's) fatuous interference--a _faux pas_ later regretted with much -bitterness. Unluckily, the evidence he offers leaves me full of doubts. -What the doctrine demands that one believe is simply this: that the man -who, for mere commercial advantage and (in Frederick's famous phrase) -"to make himself talked of in the world," tore up the treaty of 1848 -between the United States and Colombia (_geb._ New Granada), whereby -the United States forever guaranteed the "sovereignty and ownership" -of the Colombians in the isthmus of Panama--that this same man, -thirteen years later, was horrified into a fever when Germany, facing -powerful foes on two fronts, tore up the treaty of 1832, guaranteeing, -not the sovereignty, but the bald neutrality of Belgium--a neutrality -already destroyed, according to the evidence before the Germans, by -Belgium's own acts. - -It is hard, without an inordinate strain upon the credulity, to -believe any such thing, particularly in view of the fact that this -instantaneous indignation of the most impulsive and vocal of men was -diligently concealed for at least six weeks, with reporters camped upon -his doorstep day and night, begging him to say the very thing that -he left so darkly unsaid. Can one imagine Roosevelt, with red-fire -raging within him and sky-rockets bursting in his veins, holding his -peace for a month and a half? I have no doubt whatever that Abbott, -as he says, desired to avoid embarrassing Dr. Wilson--but think of -Roosevelt showing any such delicacy! For one, I am not equal to the -feat. All that unprecedented reticence, in fact, is far more readily -explicable on other and less lofty grounds. What really happened I -presume to guess. My guess is that Roosevelt, like the great majority -of other Americans, was _not_ instantly and automatically outraged by -the invasion of Belgium. On the contrary, he probably viewed it as a -regrettable, but not unexpected or unparalleled device of war--if -anything, as something rather thrillingly gaudy and effective--a fine -piece of virtuosity, pleasing to a military connoisseur. But then came -the deluge of Belgian atrocity stories, and the organized campaign to -enlist American sympathies. It succeeded very quickly. By the middle of -August the British press bureau was in full swing; by the beginning of -September the country was flooded with inflammatory stuff; six weeks -after the war opened it was already hazardous for a German in America -to state his country's case. Meanwhile, the Wilson administration had -declared for neutrality, and was still making a more or less sincere -effort to practice it, at least on the surface. Here was Roosevelt's -opportunity, and he leaped to it with sure instinct. On the one side -was the adminstration that he detested, and that all his self-interest -(e. g., his yearning to get back his old leadership and to become -President again in 1917) prompted him to deal a mortal blow, and on the -other side was a ready-made issue, full of emotional possibilities, -stupendously pumped up by extremely clever propaganda, and so far -unembraced by any other rabble-rouser of the first magnitude. Is it -any wonder that he gave a whoop, jumped upon his cayuse, and began -screaming for war? In war lay the greatest chance of his life. In war -lay the confusion and destruction of Wilson, and the melodramatic -renaissance of the Rough Rider, the professional hero, the national -Barbarossa. - -In all this, of course, I strip the process of its plumes and spangles, -and expose a chain of causes and effects that Roosevelt himself, if he -were alive, would denounce as grossly contumelious to his native purity -of spirit--and perhaps in all honesty. It is not necessary to raise -any doubts as to that honesty. No one who has given any study to the -developement and propagation of political doctrine in the United States -can have failed to notice how the belief in issues among politicians -tends to run in exact ratio to the popularity of those issues. Let the -populace begin suddenly to swallow a new panacea or to take fright at -a new bugaboo, and almost instantly nine-tenths of the master-minds -of politics begin to believe that the panacea is a sure cure for -all the malaises of, the republic, and the bugaboo an immediate and -unbearable menace to all law, order and domestic tranquillity. At the -bottom of this singular intellectual resilience, of course, there is a -good deal of hard calculation; a man must keep up with the procession -of crazes, or his day is swiftly done. But in it there are also -considerations a good deal more subtle, and maybe less discreditable. -For one thing, a man devoted professionally to patriotism and the -wisdom of the fathers is very apt to come to a resigned sort of -acquiescence in all the doctrinaire rubbish that lies beneath the -national scheme of things--to believe, let us say, if not that the -plain people are gifted with an infallible sagacity, then at least -that they have an inalienable right to see their follies executed. -Poll-parroting nonsense as a matter of daily routine, the politician -ends by assuming that it is sense, even though he doesn't believe -it. For another thing, there is the contagion of mob enthusiasm--a -much underestimated murrain. We all saw what it could do during the -war--college professors taking their tune from the yellow journals, -the rev. clergy performing in the pulpit like so many Liberty Loan -orators in five-cent moving-picture houses, hysteria grown epidemic -like the influenza. No man is so remote and arctic that he is wholly -safe from that contamination; it explains many extravagant phenomena of -a democratic society; in particular, it explains why the mob leader is -so often a victim to his mob. - -Roosevelt, a perfectly typical politician, devoted to the trade, not -primarily because he was gnawed by ideals, but because he frankly -enjoyed its rough-and-tumble encounters and its gaudy rewards, was -probably moved in both ways--and also by the hard calculation that -I have mentioned. If, by any ineptness of the British press-agents, -tear-squeezers and orphan-exhibitors, indignation over the invasion -of Belgium had failed to materialize--if, worse still, some gross -infringement of American rights by the English had caused it to be -forgotten completely--if, finally, Dr. Wilson had been whooping for war -with the populace firmly against him--in such event it goes without -saying that the moral horror of Dr. Roosevelt would have stopped short -at a very low amperage, and that he would have refrained from making it -the center of his polity. But with things as they were, lying neatly to -his hand, he permitted it to take on an extraordinary virulence, and -before long all his old delight in German militarism had been converted -into a lofty detestation of German militarism, and its chief spokesman -on this side of the Atlantic became its chief opponent. Getting rid -of that old delight, of course, was not easily achieved. The concrete -enthusiasm could be throttled, but the habit of mind remained. Thus -one beheld the curious spectacle of militarism belabored in terms of -militarism--of the Kaiser arraigned in unmistakably _kaiserliche_ tones. - -Such violent swallowings and regurgitations were no novelties to the -man. His whole political career was marked, in fact, by performances -of the same sort. The issues that won him most votes were issues that, -at bottom, he didn't believe in; there was always a mental reservation -in his rhetoric. He got into politics, not as a tribune of the plain -people, but as an amateur reformer of the snobbish type common in the -eighties, by the _Nation_ out of the Social Register. He was a young -Harvard man scandalized by the discovery that his town was run by -men with such names as Michael O'Shaunnessy and Terence Googan--that -his social inferiors were his political superiors. His sympathies -were essentially anti-democratic. He had a high view of his private -position as a young fellow of wealth and education. He believed in -strong centralization--the concentration of power in a few hands, the -strict regimentation of the nether herd, the abandonment of democratic -platitudes. His heroes were such Federalists as Morris and Hamilton; he -made his first splash in the world by writing about them and praising -them. Worse, his daily associations were with the old Union League -crowd of high-tariff Republicans--men almost apoplectically opposed -to every movement from below--safe and sane men, highly conservative -and suspicious men--the profiteers of peace, as they afterward became -the profiteers of war. His early adventures in politics were not -very fortunate, nor did they reveal any capacity for leadership. -The bosses of the day took him in rather humorously, played him for -what they could get out of him, and then turned him loose. In a few -years he became disgusted and went West. Returning after a bit, he -encountered catastrophe: as a candidate for Mayor of New York he was -drubbed unmercifully. He went back to the West. He was, up to this -time, a comic figure--an anti-politician victimized by politicians, a -pseudo-aristocrat made ridiculous by the mob-masters he detested. - -But meanwhile something was happening that changed the whole color of -the political scene, and was destined, eventually, to give Roosevelt -his chance. That something was a shifting in what might be called -the foundations of reform. Up to now it had been an essentially -aristocratic movement--superior, sniffish and anti-democratic. But -hereafter it took on a strongly democratic color and began to adopt -democratic methods. More, the change gave it new life. What Harvard, -the Union League Club and the _Nation_ had failed to accomplish, -the plain people now undertook to accomplish. This invasion of -the old citadel of virtue was first observed in the West, and its -manifestations out there must have given Roosevelt a good deal more -disquiet than satisfaction. It is impossible to imagine him finding -anything to his taste in the outlandish doings of the Populists, the -wild schemes of the pre-Bryan dervishes. His instincts were against -all that sort of thing. But as the movement spread toward the East it -took on a certain urbanity, and by the time it reached the seaboard -it had begun to be quite civilized. With this new brand of reform -Roosevelt now made terms. It was full of principles that outraged all -his pruderies, but it at least promised to work. His entire political -history thereafter, down to the day of his death, was a history of -compromises with the new forces--of a gradual yielding, for strategic -purposes, to ideas that were intrinsically at odds with his congenital -prejudices. When, after a generation of that sort of compromising, the -so-called Progressive party was organized and he seized the leadership -of it from the Westerners who had founded it, he performed a feat -of wholesale englutination that must forever hold a high place upon -the roll of political prodigies. That is to say, he swallowed at one -gigantic gulp, and out of the same herculean jug, the most amazing -mixture of social, political and economic perunas ever got down by -one hero, however valiant, however athirst--a cocktail made up of all -the elixirs hawked among the boobery in his time, from woman suffrage -to the direct primary, and from the initiative and referendum to the -short ballot, and from prohibition to public ownership, and from -trust-busting to the recall of judges. - -This homeric achievement made him the head of the most tatterdemalion -party ever seen in American politics--a party composed of such -incompatible ingredients and hung together so loosely that it began -to disintegrate the moment it was born. In part it was made up of -mere disordered enthusiasts--believers in anything and everything, -pathetic victims of the credulity complex, habitual followers of -jitney messiahs, incurable hopers and snufflers. But in part it was -also made up of rice converts like Roosevelt himself--men eager for -office, disappointed by the old parties, and now quite willing to -accept any aid that half-idiot doctrinaires could give them. I have no -doubt that Roosevelt himself, carried away by the emotional storms of -the moment and especially by the quasi-religious monkey-shines that -marked the first Progressive convention, gradually convinced himself -that at least some of the doctrinaires, in the midst of all their -imbecility, yet preached a few ideas that were workable, and perhaps -even sound. But at bottom he was against them, and not only in the -matter of their specific sure cures, but also in the larger matter of -their childish faith in the wisdom and virtue of the plain people. -Roosevelt, for all his fluent mastery of democratic counter-words, -democratic gestures and all the rest of the armamentarium of the -mob-master, had no such faith in his heart of hearts. He didn't believe -in democracy; he believed simply in government. His remedy for all -the great pangs and longings of existence was not a dispersion of -authority, but a hard concentration of authority. He was not in favor -of unlimited experiment; he was in favor of a rigid control from -above, a despotism of inspired prophets and policemen. He was not for -democracy as his followers understood democracy, and as it actually is -and must be; he was for a paternalism of the true Bismarckian pattern, -almost of the Napoleonic or Ludendorffian pattern--a paternalism -concerning itself with all things, from the regulation of coal-mining -and meat-packing to the regulation of spelling and marital rights. His -instincts were always those of the property-owning Tory, not those -of the romantic Liberal. All the fundamental objects of Liberalism ---free speech, unhampered enterprise, the least possible governmental -interference--were abhorrent to him. Even when, for campaign purposes, -he came to terms with the Liberals his thoughts always ranged far -afield. When he tackled the trusts the thing that he had in his mind's -eye was not the restoration of competition but the subordination of -all private trusts to one great national trust, with himself at its -head. And when he attacked the courts it was not because they put their -own prejudice before the law but because they refused to put _his_ -prejudices before the law. - -In all his career no one ever heard him make an argument for the rights -of the citizen; his eloquence was always expended in expounding the -duties of the citizen. I have before me a speech in which he pleaded -for "a spirit of kindly justice toward every man and woman," but that -seems to be as far as he ever got in that direction--and it was the -gratuitous justice of the absolute monarch that he apparently had in -mind, not the autonomous and inalienable justice of a free society. -The duties of the citizen, as he understood them, related not only to -acts, but also to thoughts. There was, to his mind, a simple body of -primary doctrine, and dissent from it was the foulest of crimes. No -man could have been more bitter against opponents, or more unfair to -them, or more ungenerous. In this department, indeed, even so gifted -a specialist in dishonorable controversy as Dr. Wilson has seldom -surpassed him. He never stood up to a frank and chivalrous debate. -He dragged herrings across the trail. He made seductive faces at the -gallery. He capitalized his enormous talents as an entertainer, his -rank as a national hero, his public influence and consequence. The -two great law-suits in which he was engaged were screaming burlesques -upon justice. He tried them in the newspapers before ever they were -called; he befogged them with irrelevant issues; his appearances in -court were not the appearances of a witness standing on a level with -other witnesses, but those of a comedian sure of his crowd. He was, in -his dealings with concrete men as in his dealings with men in the mass, -a charlatan of the very highest skill--and there was in him, it goes -without saying, the persuasive charm of the charlatan as well as the -daring deviousness, the humanness of naïveté as well as the humanness -of chicane. He knew how to woo--and not only boobs. He was, for all his -ruses and ambuscades, a jolly fellow. - -It seems to be forgotten that the current American theory that -political heresy should be put down by force, that a man who disputes -whatever is official has no rights in law or equity, that he is lucky -if he fares no worse than to lose his constitutional benefits of free -speech, free assemblage and the use of the mails--it seems to be -forgotten that this theory was invented, not by Dr. Wilson, but by -Roosevelt. Most Liberals, I suppose, would credit it, if asked, to -Wilson. He has carried it to extravagant lengths; he is the father -superior of all the present advocates of it; he will probably go -down into American history as its greatest prophet. But it was first -clearly stated, not in any Wilsonian bull to the right-thinkers of all -lands, but in Roosevelt's proceedings against the so-called Paterson -anarchists. You will find it set forth at length in an opinion prepared -for him by his Attorney-General, Charles J. Bonaparte, another curious -and almost fabulous character, also an absolutist wearing the false -whiskers of a democrat. Bonaparte furnished the law, and Roosevelt -furnished the blood and iron. It was an almost ideal combination; -Bonaparte had precisely the touch of Italian finesse that the Rough -Rider always lacked. Roosevelt believed in the Paterson doctrine--in -brief, that the Constitution does not throw its cloak around -heretics--to the end of his days. In the face of what he conceived to -be contumacy to revelation his fury took on a sort of lyrical grandeur. -There was nothing too awful for the culprit in the dock. Upon his head -were poured denunciations as violent as the wildest interdicts of a -mediæval pope. - -The appearance of such men, of course, is inevitable under a democracy. -Consummate showmen, they arrest the wonder of the mob, and so put -its suspicions to sleep. What they actually believe is of secondary -consequence; the main thing is what they say; even more, the way -they say it. Obviously, their activity does a great deal of damage -to the democratic theory, for they are standing refutations of the -primary doctrine that the common folk choose their leaders wisely. -They damage it again in another and more subtle way. That is to say, -their ineradicable contempt for the minds they must heat up and -bamboozle leads them into a fatalism that shows itself in a cynical -and opportunistic politics, a deliberate avoidance of fundamentals. -The policy of a democracy thus becomes an eternal improvisation, -changing with the private ambitions of its leaders and the transient -and often unintelligible emotions of its rank and file. Roosevelt, -incurably undemocratic in his habits of mind, often found it difficult -to gauge those emotional oscillations. The fact explains his frequent -loss of mob support, his periodical journeys into Coventry. There were -times when his magnificent talents as a public comedian brought the -proletariat to an almost unanimous groveling at his feet, but there -were also times when he puzzled and dismayed it, and so awakened its -hostility. When he assaulted Wilson on the neutrality issue, early -in 1915, he made a quite typical mistake. That mistake consisted in -assuming that public indignation over the wrongs of the Belgians would -maintain itself at a high temperature--that it would develop rapidly -into a demand for intervention. Roosevelt made himself the spokesman -of that demand, and then found to his consternation that it was -waning--that the great masses of the plain people, prospering under -the Wilsonian neutrality, were inclined to preserve it, at no matter -what cost to the Belgians. In 1915, after the _Lusitania_ affair, -things seemed to swing his way again, and he got vigorous support from -the British press bureau. But in a few months he found himself once -more attempting to lead a mob that was fast slipping away. Wilson, a -very much shrewder politician, with little of Roosevelt's weakness for -succumbing to his own rhetoric, discerned the truth much more quickly -and clearly. In 1916 he made his campaign for reëlection on a flatly -anti-Roosevelt peace issue, and not only got himself reëlected, but -also drove Roosevelt out of the ring. - -What happened thereafter deserves a great deal more careful study than -it will ever get from the timorous eunuchs who posture as American -historians. At the moment, it is the official doctrine in England, -where the thing is more freely discussed than at home, that Wilson was -forced into the war by an irresistible movement from below--that the -plain people compelled him to abandon neutrality and move reluctantly -upon the Germans. Nothing could be more untrue. The plain people, -at the end of 1916, were in favor of peace, and they believed that -Wilson was in favor of peace. How they were gradually worked up to -complaisance and then to enthusiasm and then to hysteria and then to -acute mania--this is a tale to be told in more leisurely days and by -historians without boards of trustees on their necks. For the present -purpose it is sufficient to note that the whole thing was achieved so -quickly and so neatly that its success left Roosevelt surprised and -helpless. His issue had been stolen from directly under his nose. He -was left standing daunted and alone, a boy upon a burning deck. It took -him months to collect his scattered wits, and even then his attack upon -the administration was feeble and ineffective. To the plain people it -seemed a mere ill-natured snapping at a successful rival, which in fact -it was, and so they paid no heed to it, and Roosevelt found himself -isolated once more. Thus he passed from the scene in the shadows, a -broken politician and a disappointed man. - -I have a notion that he died too soon. His best days were probably -not behind him, but ahead of him. Had he lived ten years longer, he -might have enjoyed a great rehabilitation, and exchanged his old -false leadership of the inflammatory and fickle mob for a sound and -true leadership of the civilized minority. For the more one studies -his mountebankeries as mob-master, the more one is convinced that -there was a shrewd man beneath the motley, and that his actual beliefs -were anything but nonsensical. The truth of them, indeed, emerges -more clearly day by day. The old theory of a federation of free and -autonomous states has broken down by its own weight, and we are moved -toward centralization by forces that have long been powerful and are -now quite irresistible. So with the old theory of national isolation: -it, too, has fallen to pieces. The United States can no longer hope -to lead a separate life in the world, undisturbed by the pressure of -foreign aspirations. We came out of the war to find ourselves hemmed in -by hostilities that no longer troubled to conceal themselves, and if -they are not as close and menacing to-day as those that have hemmed in -Germany for centuries they are none the less plainly there and plainly -growing. Roosevelt, by whatever route of reflection or intuition, -arrived at a sense of these facts at a time when it was still somewhat -scandalous to state them, and it was the capital effort of his life -to reconcile them, in some dark way or other, to the prevailing -platitudes, and so get them heeded. To-day no one seriously maintains, -as all Americans once maintained, that the states can go on existing -together as independent commonwealths, each with its own laws, its own -legal theory and its own view of the common constitutional bond. And -to-day no one seriously maintains, as all Americans once maintained, -that the nation may safely potter on without adequate means of defense. -However unpleasant it may be to contemplate, the fact is plain that -the American people, during the next century, will have to fight to -maintain their place in the sun. - -Roosevelt lived just long enough to see his notions in these directions -take on life, but not long enough to see them openly adopted. To the -extent of his prevision he was a genuine leader of the nation, and -perhaps in the years to come, when his actual ideas are disentangled -from the demagogic fustian in which he had to wrap them, his more -honest pronunciamentoes will be given canonical honors, and he will be -ranked among the prophets. He saw clearly more than one other thing -that was by no means obvious to his age--for example, the inevitability -of frequent wars under the new world-system of extreme nationalism; -again, the urgent necessity, for primary police ends, of organizing the -backward nations into groups of vassals, each under the hoof of some -first-rate power; yet again, the probability of the breakdown of the -old system of free competition; once more, the high social utility of -the Spartan virtues and the grave dangers of sloth and ease; finally, -the incompatibility of free speech and democracy. I do not say that -he was always quite honest, even when he was most indubitably right. -But in so far as it was possible for him to be honest and exist at all -politically, he inclined toward the straightforward thought and the -candid word. That is to say, his instinct prompted him to tell the -truth, just as the instinct of Dr. Wilson prompts him to shift and -dissimulate. What ailed him was the fact that his lust for glory, when -it came to a struggle, was always vastly more powerful than his lust -for the eternal verities. Tempted sufficiently, he would sacrifice -anything and everything to get applause. Thus the statesman was -debauched by the politician, and the philosopher was elbowed out of -sight by the popinjay. - -Where he failed most miserably was in his remedies. A remarkably -penetrating diagnostician, well-read, unprejudiced and with a touch -of genuine scientific passion, he always stooped to quackery when he -prescribed a course of treatment. For all his sensational attacks upon -the trusts, he never managed to devise a scheme to curb them--and -even when he sought to apply the schemes of other men he invariably -corrupted the business with timorousness and insincerity. So with -his campaign for national preparedness. He displayed the disease -magnificently, but the course of medication that he proposed was -vague and unconvincing; it was not, indeed, without justification -that the plain people mistook his advocacy of an adequate army for -a mere secret yearning to prance upon a charger at the head of huge -hordes. So, again, with his eloquent plea for national solidarity -and an end of hyphenism. The dangers that he pointed out were very -real and very menacing, but his plan for abating them only made them -worse. His objurgations against the Germans surely accomplished -nothing; the hyphenate of 1915 is still a hyphenate in his heart--with -bitter and unforgettable grievances to support him. Roosevelt, very -characteristically, swung too far. In denouncing German hyphenism so -extravagantly he contrived to give an enormous impetus to English -hyphenism, a far older and more perilous malady. It has already gone -so far that a large and influential party endeavors almost openly -to convert the United States into a mere vassal state of England's. -Instead of national solidarity following the war, we have only a -revival of Know-Nothingism; one faction of hyphenates tries to -exterminate another faction. Roosevelt's error here was one that he -was always making. Carried away by the ease with which he could heat -up the mob, he tried to accomplish instantly and by _force majeure_ -what could only be accomplished by a long and complex process, with -more good will on both sides than ever so opinionated and melodramatic -a pseudo-Junker was capable of. But though he thus made a mess of the -cure, he was undoubtedly right about the disease. - -The talented Sherman, in the monograph that I have praised, argues -that the chief contribution of the dead gladiator to American life was -the example of his gigantic gusto, his delight in toil and struggle, -his superb aliveness. The fact is plain. What he stood most clearly -in opposition to was the superior pessimism of the three Adams -brothers--the notion that the public problems of a democracy are -unworthy the thought and effort of a civilized and self-respecting -man--the sad error that lies in wait for all of us who hold ourselves -above the general. Against this suicidal aloofness Roosevelt always -hurled himself with brave effect. Enormously sensitive and resilient, -almost pathological in his appetite for activity, he made it plain to -every one that the most stimulating sort of sport imaginable was to -be obtained in fighting, not for mere money, but for ideas. There was -no aristocratic reserve about him. He was not, in fact, an aristocrat -at all, but a quite typical member of the upper _bourgeoisie;_ his -people were not _patroons_ in New Amsterdam, but simple traders; he was -himself a social pusher, and eternally tickled by the thought that he -had had a Bonaparte in his cabinet. The marks of the thoroughbred were -simply not there. The man was blatant, crude, overly confidential, -devious, tyrannical, vainglorious, sometimes quite childish. One often -observed in him a certain pathetic wistfulness, a reaching out for -a grand manner that was utterly beyond him. But the sweet went with -the bitter. He had all the virtues of the fat and complacent burgher. -His disdain of affectation and prudery was magnificent. He hated all -pretension save his own pretension. He had a sound respect for hard -effort, for loyalty, for thrift, for honest achievement. - -His worst defects, it seems to me, were the defects of his race and -time. Aspiring to be the leader of a nation of third-rate men, he had -to stoop to the common level. When he struck out for realms above that -level he always came to grief: this was the "unsafe" Roosevelt, the -Roosevelt who was laughed at, the Roosevelt retired suddenly to cold -storage. This was the Roosevelt who, in happier times and a better -place, might have been. Well, one does what one can. - - - - -III. THE SAHARA OF THE BOZART - - -Alas, for the South! Her books have grown fewer-- -She never was much given to literature. - - -In the lamented J. Gordon Coogler, author of these elegaic lines, -there was the insight of a true poet. He was the last bard of Dixie, -at least in the legitimate line. Down there a poet is now almost as -rare as an oboe-player, a dry-point etcher or a metaphysician. It is, -indeed, amazing to contemplate so vast a vacuity. One thinks of the -interstellar spaces, of the colossal reaches of the now mythical ether. -Nearly the whole of Europe could be lost in that stupendous region of -fat farms, shoddy cities and paralyzed cerebrums: one could throw in -France, Germany and Italy, and still have room for the British Isles. -And yet, for all its size and all its wealth and all the "progress" -it babbles of, it is almost as sterile, artistically, intellectually, -culturally, as the Sahara Desert. There are single acres in Europe that -house more first-rate men than all the states south of the Potomac; -there are probably single square miles in America. If the whole of the -late Confederacy were to be engulfed by a tidal wave to-morrow, the -effect upon the civilized minority of men in the world would be but -little greater than that of a flood on the Yang-tse-kiang. It would -be impossible in all history to match so complete a drying-up of a -civilization. - -I say a civilization because that is what, in the old days, the South -had, despite the Baptist and Methodist barbarism that reigns down there -now. More, it was a civilization of manifold excellences--perhaps -the best that the Western Hemisphere has ever seen--undoubtedly the -best that These States have ever seen. Down to the middle of the last -century, and even beyond, the main hatchery of ideas on this side of -the water was across the Potomac bridges. The New England shopkeepers -and theologians never really developed a civilization; all they ever -developed was a government. They were, at their best, tawdry and tacky -fellows, oafish in manner and devoid of imagination; one searches the -books in vain for mention of a salient Yankee gentleman; as well look -for a Welsh gentleman. But in the south there were men of delicate -fancy, urbane instinct and aristocratic manner--in brief, superior -men--in brief, gentry. To politics, their chief diversion, they brought -active and original minds. It was there that nearly all the political -theories we still cherish and suffer under came to birth. It was there -that the crude dogmatism of New England was refined and humanized. It -was there, above all, that some attention was given to the art of -living--that life got beyond and above the state of a mere infliction -and became an exhilarating experience. A certain noble spaciousness -was in the ancient southern scheme of things. The _Ur-_Confederate had -leisure. He liked to toy with ideas. He was hospitable and tolerant. He -had the vague thing that we call culture. - -But consider the condition of his late empire to-day. The picture -gives one the creeps. It is as if the Civil War stamped out every last -bearer of the torch, and left only a mob of peasants on the field. One -thinks of Asia Minor, resigned to Armenians, Greeks and wild swine, of -Poland abandoned to the Poles. In all that gargantuan paradise of the -fourth-rate there is not a single picture gallery worth going into, or -a single orchestra capable of playing the nine symphonies of Beethoven, -or a single opera-house, or a single theater devoted to decent plays, -or a single public monument (built since the war) that is worth looking -at, or a single workshop devoted to the making of beautiful things. -Once you have counted Robert Loveman (an Ohioan by birth) and John -McClure (an Oklahoman) you will not find a single southern poet above -the rank of a neighborhood rhymester. Once you have counted James -Branch Cabell (a lingering survivor of the _ancien régime:_ a scarlet -dragonfly imbedded in opaque amber) you will not find a single southern -prose writer who can actually write. And once you have--but when you -come to critics, musical composers, painters, sculptors, architects -and the like, you will have to give it up, for there is not even a bad -one between the Potomac mud-flats and the Gulf. Nor an historian. Nor -a sociologist. Nor a philosopher. Nor a theologian. Nor a scientist. -In all these fields the south is an awe-inspiring blank--a brother to -Portugal, Serbia and Esthonia. - -Consider, for example, the present estate and dignity of Virginia--in -the great days indubitably the premier American state, the mother of -Presidents and statesmen, the home of the first American university -worthy of the name, the _arbiter elegantiarum_ of the western world. -Well, observe Virginia to-day. It is years since a first-rate man, -save only Cabell, has come out of it; it is years since an idea has -come out of it. The old aristocracy went down the red gullet of war; -the poor white trash are now in the saddle. Politics in Virginia are -cheap, ignorant, parochial, idiotic; there is scarcely a man in office -above the rank of a professional job-seeker; the political doctrine -that prevails is made up of hand-me-downs from the bumpkinry of the -Middle West--Bryanism, Prohibition, vice crusading, all that sort -of filthy claptrap; the administration of the law is turned over to -professors of Puritanism and espionage; a Washington or a Jefferson, -dumped there by some act of God, would be denounced as a scoundrel -and jailed overnight. Elegance, _esprit,_ culture? Virginia has no -art, no literature, no philosophy, no mind or aspiration of her own. -Her education has sunk to the Baptist seminary level; not a single -contribution to human knowledge has come out of her colleges in -twenty-five years; she spends less than half upon her common schools, -_per capita,_ than any northern state spends. In brief, an intellectual -Gobi or Lapland. Urbanity, _politesse,_ chivalry? Co to! It was in -Virginia that they invented the device of searching for contraband -whisky in women's underwear.... There remains, at the top, a ghost of -the old aristocracy, a bit wistful and infinitely charming. But it has -lost all its old leadership to fabulous monsters from the lower depths; -it is submerged in an industrial plutocracy that is ignorant and -ignominious. The mind of the state, as it is revealed to the nation, -is pathetically naïve and inconsequential. It no longer reacts with -energy and elasticity to great problems. It has fallen to the bombastic -trivialities of the camp-meeting and the chautauqua. Its foremost -exponent--if so flabby a thing may be said to have an exponent--is a -stateman whose name is synonymous with empty words, broken pledges and -false pretenses. One could no more imagine a Lee or a Washington in the -Virginia of to-day than one could imagine a Huxley in Nicaragua. - -I choose the Old Dominion, not because I disdain it, but precisely -because I esteem it. It is, by long odds, the most civilized of the -southern states, now as always. It has sent a host of creditable sons -northward; the stream kept running into our own time. Virginians, even -the worst of them, show the effects of a great tradition. They hold -themselves above other southerners, and with sound pretension. If -one turns to such a commonwealth as Georgia the picture becomes far -darker. There the liberated lower orders of whites have borrowed the -worst commercial bounderism of the Yankee and superimposed it upon a -culture that, at bottom, is but little removed from savagery. Georgia -is at once the home of the cotton-mill sweater and of the most noisy -and vapid sort of chamber of commerce, of the Methodist parson turned -Savonarola and of the lynching bee. A self-respecting European, going -there to live, would not only find intellectual stimulation utterly -lacking; he would actually feel a certain insecurity, as if the scene -were the Balkans or the China Coast. The Leo Frank affair was no -isolated phenomenon. It fitted into its frame very snugly. It was a -natural expression of Georgian notions of truth and justice. There is -a state with more than half the area of Italy and more population than -either Denmark or Norway, and yet in thirty years it has not produced -a single idea. Once upon a time a Georgian printed a couple of books -that attracted notice, but immediately it turned out that he was -little more than an amanuensis for the local blacks--that his works -were really the products, not of white Georgia, but of black Georgia. -Writing afterward _as_ a white man, he swiftly subsided into the fifth -rank. And he is not only the glory of the literature of Georgia; he is, -almost literally, the whole of the literature of Georgia--nay, of the -entire art of Georgia. - -Virginia is the best of the south to-day, and Georgia is perhaps the -worst. The one is simply senile; the other is crass, gross, vulgar -and obnoxious. Between lies a vast plain of mediocrity, stupidity, -lethargy, almost of dead silence. In the north, of course, there -is also grossness, crassness, vulgarity. The north, in its way, is -also stupid and obnoxious. But nowhere in the north is there such -complete sterility, so depressing a lack of all civilized gesture -and aspiration. One would find it difficult to unearth a second-rate -city between the Ohio and the Pacific that isn't struggling to -establish an orchestra, or setting up a little theater, or going in -for an art gallery, or making some other effort to get into touch -with civilization. These efforts often fail, and sometimes they -succeed rather absurdly, but under them there is at least an impulse -that deserves respect, and that is the impulse to seek beauty and to -experiment with ideas, and so to give the life of every day a certain -dignity and purpose. You will find no such impulse in the south. - -There are no committees down there cadging subscriptions for -orchestras; if a string quartet is ever heard there, the news of it -has never come out; an opera troupe, when it roves the land, is a nine -days' wonder. The little theater movement has swept the whole country, -enormously augmenting the public interest in sound plays, giving new -dramatists their chance, forcing reforms upon the commercial theater. -Everywhere else the wave rolls high--but along the line of the Potomac -it breaks upon a rock-bound shore. There is no little theater beyond. -There is no gallery of pictures. No artist ever gives exhibitions. No -one talks of such things. No one seems to be interested in such things. - -As for the cause of this unanimous torpor and doltishness, this -curious and almost pathological estrangement from everything that -makes for a civilized culture, I have hinted at it already, and now -state it again. The south has simply been drained of all its best -blood. The vast blood-letting of the Civil War half exterminated and -wholly paralyzed the old aristocracy, and so left the land to the -harsh mercies of the poor white trash, now its masters. The war, of -course, was not a complete massacre. It spared a decent number of -first-rate southerners--perhaps even some of the very best. Moreover, -other countries, notably France and Germany, have survived far more -staggering butcheries, and even showed marked progress thereafter. -But the war not only cost a great many valuable lives; it also brought -bankruptcy, demoralization and despair in its train--and so the -majority of the first-rate southerners that were left, broken in spirit -and unable to live under the new dispensation, cleared out. A few went -to South America, to Egypt, to the Far East. Most came north. They were -fecund; their progeny is widely dispersed, to the great benefit of -the north. A southerner of good blood almost always does well in the -north. He finds, even in the big cities, surroundings fit for a man of -condition. His peculiar qualities have a high social value, and are -esteemed. He is welcomed by the codfish aristocracy as one palpably -superior. But in the south he throws up his hands. It is impossible for -him to stoop to the common level. He cannot brawl in politics with the -grandsons of his grand-father's tenants. He is unable to share their -fierce jealousy of the emerging black--the cornerstone of all their -public thinking. He is anæsthetic to their theological and political -enthusiasms. He finds himself an alien at their feasts of soul. And -so he withdraws into his tower, and is heard of no more. Cabell is -almost a perfect example. His eyes, for years, were turned toward -the past; he became a professor of the grotesque genealogizing that -decaying aristocracies affect; it was only by a sort of accident that -he discovered himself to be an artist. The south is unaware of the -fact to this day; it regards Woodrow Wilson and Col. John Temple Graves -as much finer stylists, and Frank L. Stanton as an infinitely greater -poet. If it has heard, which I doubt, that Cabell has been hoofed by -the Comstocks, it unquestionably views that assault as a deserved -rebuke to a fellow who indulges a lewd passion for fancy writing, and -is a covert enemy to the Only True Christianity. - -What is needed down there, before the vexatious public problems of the -region may be intelligently approached, is a survey of the population -by competent ethnologists and anthropologists. The immigrants of the -north have been studied at great length, and any one who is interested -may now apply to the Bureau of Ethnology for elaborate data as to their -racial strains, their stature and cranial indices, their relative -capacity for education, and the changes that they undergo under -American _Kultur._ But the older stocks of the south, and particularly -the emancipated and dominant poor white trash, have never been -investigated scientifically, and most of the current generalizations -about them are probably wrong. For example, the generalization that -they are purely Anglo-Saxon in blood. This I doubt very seriously. -The chief strain down there, I believe, is Celtic rather than Saxon, -particularly in the hill country. French blood, too, shows itself here -and there, and so does Spanish, and so does German. The last-named -entered from the northward, by way of the limestone belt just east -of the Alleghenies. Again, it is very likely that in some parts of -the south a good many of the plebeian whites have more than a trace -of negro blood. Interbreeding under concubinage produced some very -light half-breeds at an early day, and no doubt appreciable numbers of -them went over into the white race by the simple process of changing -their abode. Not long ago I read a curious article by an intelligent -negro, in which he stated that it is easy for a very light negro to -pass as white in the south on account of the fact that large numbers -of southerners accepted as white have distinctly negroid features. -Thus it becomes a delicate and dangerous matter for a train conductor -or a hotel-keeper to challenge a suspect. But the Celtic strain is -far more obvious than any of these others. It not only makes itself -visible in physical stigmata--e. g., leanness and dark coloring--but -also in mental traits. For example, the religious thought of the south -is almost precisely identical with the religious thought of Wales. -There is the same naïve belief in an anthropomorphic Creator but little -removed, in manner and desire, from an evangelical bishop; there is -the same submission to an ignorant and impudent sacerdotal tyranny, -and there is the same sharp contrast between doctrinal orthodoxy and -private ethics. Read Caradoc Evans' ironical picture of the Welsh -Wesleyans in his preface to "My Neighbors," and you will be instantly -reminded of the Georgia and Carolina Methodists. The most booming -sort of piety, in the south, is not incompatible with the theory that -lynching is a benign institution. Two generations ago it was not -incompatible with an ardent belief in slavery. - -It is highly probable that some of the worst blood of western Europe -flows in the veins of the southern poor whites, now poor no longer. The -original strains, according to every honest historian, were extremely -corrupt. Philip Alexander Bruce (a Virginian of the old gentry) says -in his "Industrial History of Virginia in the Seventeenth Century" -that the first native-born generation was largely illegitimate. "One -of the most common offenses against morality committed in the lower -ranks of life in Virginia during the seventeenth century," he says, -"was bastardy." The mothers of these bastards, he continues, were -chiefly indentured servants, and "had belonged to the lowest class in -their native country." Fanny Kemble Butler, writing of the Georgia -poor whites of a century later, described them as "the most degraded -race of human beings claiming an Anglo-Saxon origin that can be found -on the face of the earth--filthy, lazy, ignorant, brutal, proud, -penniless savages." The Sunday-school and the chautauqua, of course, -have appreciably mellowed the descendants of these "savages," and their -economic progress and rise to political power have done perhaps even -more, but the marks of their origin are still unpleasantly plentiful. -Every now and then they produce a political leader who puts their -secret notions of the true, the good and the beautiful into plain -words, to the amazement and scandal of the rest of the country. That -amazement is turned into downright incredulity when news comes that his -platform has got him high office, and that he is trying to execute it. - -In the great days of the south the line between the gentry and the poor -whites was very sharply drawn. There was absolutely no intermarriage. -So far as I know there is not a single instance in history of a -southerner of the upper class marrying one of the bondwomen described -by Mr. Bruce. In other societies characterized by class distinctions -of that sort it is common for the lower class to be improved by -extra-legal crosses. That is to say, the men of the upper class take -women of the lower class as mistresses, and out of such unions spring -the extraordinary plebeians who rise sharply from the common level, -and so propagate the delusion that all other plebeians would do the -same thing if they had the chance--in brief, the delusion that class -distinctions are merely economic and conventional, and not congenital -and genuine. But in the south the men of the upper classes sought their -mistresses among the blacks, and after a few generations there was -so much white blood in the black women that they were considerably -more attractive than the unhealthy and bedraggled women of the poor -whites. This preference continued into our own time. A southerner of -good family once told me in all seriousness that he had reached his -majority before it ever occurred to him that a white woman might make -quite as agreeable a mistress as the octaroons of his jejune fancy. -If the thing has changed of late, it is not the fault of the southern -white man, but of the southern mulatto women. The more sightly yellow -girls of the region, with improving economic opportunities, have gained -self-respect, and so they are no longer as willing to enter into -concubinage as their grand-dams were. - -As a result of this preference of the southern gentry for mulatto -mistresses there was created a series of mixed strains containing the -best white blood of the south, and perhaps of the whole country. As -another result the poor whites went unfertilized from above, and so -missed the improvement that so constantly shows itself in the peasant -stocks of other countries. It is a commonplace that nearly all negroes -who rise above the general are of mixed blood, usually with the white -predominating. I know a great many negroes, and it would be hard for -me to think of an exception. What is too often forgotten is that this -white blood is not the blood of the poor whites but that of the old -gentry. The mulatto girls of the early days despised the poor whites -as creatures distinctly inferior to negroes, and it was thus almost -unheard of for such a girl to enter into relations with a man of that -submerged class. This aversion was based upon a sound instinct. The -southern mulatto of to-day is a proof of it. Like all other half-breeds -he is an unhappy man, with disquieting tendencies toward anti-social -habits of thought, but he is intrinsically a better animal than the -pure-blooded descendant of the old poor whites, and he not infrequently -demonstrates it. It is not by accident that the negroes of the south -are making faster progress, economically and culturally, than the -masses of the whites. It is not by accident that the only visible -æsthetic activity in the south is wholly in their hands. No southern -composer has ever written music so good as that of half a dozen -white-black composers who might be named. Even in politics, the negro -reveals a curious superiority. Despite the fact that the race question -has been the main political concern of the southern whites for two -generations, to the practical exclusion of everything else, they have -contributed nothing to its discussion that has impressed the rest of -the world so deeply and so favorably as three or four books by southern -negroes. - -Entering upon such themes, of course, one must resign one's self to -a vast misunderstanding and abuse. The south has not only lost its -old capacity for producing ideas; it has also taken on the worst -intolerance of ignorance and stupidity. Its prevailing mental attitude -for several decades past has been that of its own hedge ecclesiastics. -All who dissent from its orthodox doctrines are scoundrels. All who -presume to discuss its ways realistically are damned. I have had, in -my day, several experiences in point. Once, after I had published -an article on some phase of the eternal race question, a leading -southern newspaper replied by printing a column of denunciation of my -father, then dead nearly twenty years--a philippic placarding him as -an ignorant foreigner of dubious origin, inhabiting "the Baltimore -ghetto" and speaking a dialect recalling that of Weber & Fields--two -thousand words of incandescent nonsense, utterly false and beside -the point, but exactly meeting the latter-day southern notion of -effective controversy. Another time, I published a short discourse -on lynching, arguing that the sport was popular in the south because -the backward culture of the region denied the populace more seemly -recreations. Among such recreations I mentioned those afforded by -brass bands, symphony orchestras, boxing matches, amateur athletic -contests, shoot-the-chutes, roof gardens, horse races, and so on. In -reply another great southern journal denounced me as a man "of wineshop -temperament, brass-jewelry tastes and pornographic predilections." -In other words, brass bands, in the south, are classed with brass -jewelry, and both are snares of the devil! To advocate setting up -symphony orchestras is pornography!... Alas, when the touchy southerner -attempts a greater urbanity, the result is often even worse. Some time -ago a colleague of mine printed an article deploring the arrested -cultural development of Georgia. In reply he received a number of -protests from patriotic Georgians, and all of them solemnly listed the -glories of the state. I indulge in a few specimens: - - Who has not heard of Asa G. Candler, whose name is - synonymous with Coca-Cola, a Georgia product? - - The first Sunday-school in the world was opened in Savannah. - - Who does not recall with pleasure the writings of ... Frank - L. Stanton, Georgia's brilliant poet? - - Georgia was the first state to organize a Boys' Corn Club in - the South--Newton county, 1904. - - The first to suggest a common United Daughters of the - Confederacy badge was Mrs. Raynes, of Georgia. - - The first to suggest a state historian of the United - Daughters of the Confederacy was Mrs. C. Helen Plane (Macon - convention, 1896). - - The first to suggest putting to music Heber's "From - Green-land's Icy Mountains" was Mrs. F. R. Goulding, of - Savannah. - -And so on, and so on. These proud boasts came, remember, not from -obscure private persons, but from "Leading Georgians"--in one case, -the state historian. Curious sidelights upon the ex-Confederate mind! -Another comes from a stray copy of a negro paper. It describes an -ordinance lately passed by the city council of Douglas, Ga., forbidding -any trousers presser, on penalty of forfeiting a $500 bond, to engage -in "pressing for both white and colored." This in a town, says the -negro paper, where practically all of the white inhabitants have "their -food prepared by colored hands," "their babies cared for by colored -hands," and "the clothes which they wear right next to their skins -washed in houses where negroes live"--houses in which the said clothes -"remain for as long as a week at a time." But if you marvel at the -absurdity, keep it dark! A casual word, and the united press of the -south will be upon your trail, denouncing you bitterly as a scoundrelly -Yankee, a Bolshevik Jew, an agent of the Wilhelmstrasse.... - -Obviously, it is impossible for intelligence to flourish in such -an atmosphere. Free inquiry is blocked by the idiotic certainties -of ignorant men. The arts, save in the lower reaches of the gospel -hymn, the phonograph and the chautauqua harangue, are all held -in suspicion. The tone of public opinion is set by an upstart -class but lately emerged from industrial slavery into commercial -enterprise--the class of "hustling" business men, of "live wires," of -commercial club luminaries, of "drive" managers, of forward-lookers -and right-thinkers--in brief, of third-rate southerners inoculated -with all the worst traits of the Yankee sharper. One observes the -curious effects of an old tradition of truculence upon a population -now merely pushful and impudent, of an old tradition of chivalry upon -a population now quite without imagination. The old repose is gone. -The old romanticism is gone. The philistinism of the new type of -town-boomer southerner is not only indifferent to the ideals of the -old south; it is positively antagonistic to them. That philistinism -regards human life, not as an agreeable adventure, but as a mere trial -of rectitude and efficiency. It is overwhelmingly utilitarian and -moral. It is inconceivably hollow and obnoxious. What remains of the -ancient tradition is simply a certain charming civility in private -intercourse--often broken down, alas, by the hot rages of Puritanism, -but still generally visible. The southerner, at his worst, is never -quite the surly cad that the Yankee is. His sensitiveness may betray -him into occasional bad manners, but in the main he is a pleasant -fellow--hospitable, polite, good-humored, even jovial.... But a bit -absurd.... A bit pathetic. - - - - -IV. THE DIVINE AFFLATUS - - -The suave and [oe]dematous Chesterton, in a late effort to earn -the honorarium of a Chicago newspaper, composed a thousand words -of labored counterblast to what is called inspiration in the arts. -The thing itself, he argued, has little if any actual existence; we -hear so much about it because its alleged coyness and fortuitousness -offer a convenient apology for third-rate work. The man taken in such -third-rate work excuses himself on the ground that he is a helpless -slave of some power that stands outside him, and is quite beyond his -control. On days when it favors him he teems with ideas and creates -masterpieces, but on days when it neglects him he is crippled and -impotent--a fiddle without a bow, an engine without steam, a tire -without air. All this, according to Chesterton, is nonsense. A man who -can really write at all, or paint at all, or compose at all should be -able to do it at almost any time, provided only "he is not drunk or -asleep." - -So far Chesterton. The formula of the argument is simple and familiars -to dispose of a problem all that is necessary is to deny that it -exists. But there are plenty of men, I believe, who find themselves -unable to resolve the difficulty in any such cavalier manner--men whose -chief burden and distinction, in fact, is that they do not employ -formulæ in their thinking, but are thrown constantly upon industry, -ingenuity and the favor of God. Among such men there remains a good -deal more belief in what is vaguely called inspiration. They know -by hard experience that there are days when their ideas flow freely -and clearly, and days when they are dammed up damnably. Say a man of -that sort has a good day. For some reason quite incomprehensible to -him all his mental processes take on an amazing ease and slickness. -Almost without conscious effort he solves technical problems that have -badgered him for weeks. He is full of novel expedients, extraordinary -efficiencies, strange cunnings. He has a feeling that he has suddenly -and unaccountably broken through a wall, dispersed a fog, got himself -out of the dark. So he does a double or triple stint of the best work -that he is capable of--maybe of far better work than he has ever been -capable of before--and goes to bed impatient for the morrow. And on -the morrow he discovers to his consternation that he has become almost -idiotic, and quite incapable of any work at all. - -I challenge any man who trades in ideas to deny that he has this -experience. The truth is that he has it constantly. It overtakes -poets and contrapuntists, critics and dramatists, philosophers and -journalists; it may even be shared, so far as I know, by advertisement -writers, chautauqua orators and the rev. clergy. The characters that -all anatomists of melancholy mark in it are the irregular ebb and flow -of the tides, and the impossibility of getting them under any sort of -rational control. The brain, as it were, stands to one side and watches -itself pitching and tossing, full of agony but essentially helpless. -Here the man of creative imagination pays a ghastly price for all -his superiorities and immunities; nature takes revenge upon him for -dreaming of improvements in the scheme of things. Sitting there in his -lonely room, gnawing the handle of his pen, racked by his infernal -quest, horribly bedevilled by incessant flashes of itching, toothache, -eye-strain and evil conscience--thus tortured, he makes atonement for -his crime of being intelligent. The normal man, the healthy and honest -man, the good citizen and householder--this man, I daresay, knows -nothing of all that travail. It is reserved especially for artists -and metaphysicians. It is the particular penalty of those who pursue -strange butterflies into dark forests, and go fishing in enchanted and -forbidden streams. - -Let us, then, assume that the fact is proved: the nearest poet -is a witness to it. But what of the underlying mystery? How are -we to account for that puckish and inexplicable rise and fall of -inspiration? My questions, of course, are purely rhetorical. -Explanations exist; they have existed for all time; there is always -a well-known solution to every human problem--neat, plausible, and -wrong. The ancients, in the case at bar, laid the blame upon the gods: -sometimes they were remote and surly, and sometimes they were kind. In -the Middle Ages lesser powers took a hand in the matter, and so one -reads of works of art inspired by Our Lady, by the Blessed Saints, by -the souls of the departed, and even by the devil. In our own day there -are explanations less super-natural but no less fanciful--to wit, -the explanation that the whole thing is a matter of pure chance, and -not to be resolved into any orderly process--to wit, the explanation -that the controlling factor is external circumstance, that the artist -happily married to a dutiful wife is thereby inspired--finally, to -make an end, the explanation that it is all a question of Freudian -complexes, themselves lurking in impenetrable shadows. But all of these -explanations fail to satisfy the mind that is not to be put off with -mere words. Some of them are palpably absurd; others beg the question. -The problem of the how remains, even when the problem of the why is -disposed of. What is the precise machinery whereby the cerebrum is -bestirred to such abnormal activity on one day that it sparkles and -splutters like an arclight, and reduced to such feebleness on another -day that it smokes and gutters like a tallow dip? - -In this emergency, having regard for the ages-long and unrelieved -sufferings of artists great and small, I offer a new, simple, and -at all events not ghostly solution. It is supported by the observed -facts, by logical analogies and by the soundest known principles of -psychology, and so I present it without apologies. It may be couched, -for convenience, in the following brief terms: that inspiration, -so-called, is a function of metabolism, and that it is chiefly -conditioned by the state of the intestinal flora--in larger words, that -a man's flow of ideas is controlled and determined, both quantitatively -and qualitatively, not by the whims of the gods, nor by the terms -of his armistice with his wife, nor by the combinations of some -transcendental set of dice, but by the chemical content of the blood -that lifts itself from his liver to his brain, and that this chemical -content is established in his digestive tract, particularly south of -the pylorus. A man may write great poetry when he is drunk, when he -is cold and miserable, when he is bankrupt, when he has a black eye, -when his wife glowers at him across the table, when his children lie -dying of smallpox; he may even write it during an earthquake, or while -crossing the English channel, or in the midst of a Methodist revival, -or in New York. But I am so far gone in materialism that I am disposed -to deny flatly and finally, and herewith do deny flatly and finally, -that there has lived a poet in the whole history of the world, ancient -or modern, near or far, who ever managed to write great poetry, or even -passably fair and decent poetry, at a time when he was suffering from -stenosis at any point along the thirty-foot _via dolorosa_ running from -the pylorus to the sigmoid flexure. In other words, when he was-- - -But perhaps I had better leave your medical adviser to explain. After -all, it is not necessary to go any further in this direction; the whole -thing may be argued in terms of the blood stream--and the blood stream -is respectable, as the duodenum is an outcast. It is the blood and the -blood only, in fact, that the cerebrum is aware of; of what goes on -elsewhere it can learn only by hearsay. If all is well below, then the -blood that enters the brain through the internal carotid is full of the -elements necessary to bestir the brain-cells to their highest activity; -if, on the contrary, anabolism and katabolism are going on ineptly, if -the blood is not getting the supplies that it needs and not getting -rid of the wastes that burden it, then the brain-cells will be both -starved and poisoned, and not all the king's horses and all the king's -men can make them do their work with any show of ease and efficiency. -In the first case the man whose psyche dwells in the cells will have -a moment of inspiration--that is, he will find it a strangely simple -and facile matter to write his poem, or iron out his syllogism, or -make his bold modulation from F sharp minor to C major, or get his -flesh-tone, or maybe only perfect his swindle. But in the second case -he will be stumped and helpless. The more he tries, the more vividly -he will be conscious of his impotence. Sweat will stand out in beads -upon his brow, he will fish patiently for the elusive thought, he will -try coaxing and subterfuge, he will retire to his ivory tower, he -will tempt the invisible powers with black coffee, tea, alcohol and -the alkaloids, he may even curse God and invite death--but he will -not write his poem, or iron out his syllogism, or find his way into C -major, or get his flesh-tone, or perfect his swindle. - -Fix your eye upon this hypothesis of metabolic inspiration, and at once -you will find the key to many a correlative mystery. For one thing, -it quickly explains the observed hopelessness of trying to pump up -inspiration by mere hard industry--the essential imbecility of the -I,000 words a day formula. Let there be stenosis below, and not all -the industry of a Hercules will suffice to awaken the lethargic brain. -Here, indeed, the harder the striving, the worse the stagnation--as -every artist knows only too well. And why not? Striving in the face -of such an interior obstacle is the most cruel of enterprises--a -business more nerve-wracking and exhausting than reading a newspaper -or watching a bad play. The pain thus produced, the emotions thus -engendered, react upon the liver in a manner scientifically displayed -by Dr. George W. Crile in his "Man: An Adaptive Mechanism," and the -result is a steady increase in the intestinal demoralization, and a -like increase in the pollution of the blood. In the end the poor victim -comes to a familiar pass; beset on the one hand by impotence and on -the other hand by an impatience grown pathological, he gets into a -state indistinguishable from the frantic. It is at such times that -creative artists suffer most atrociously. It is then that they writhe -upon the sharp spears and red-hot hooks of a jealous and unjust Creator -for their invasion of His monopoly. It is then that they pay a grisly -super-tax upon their superiority to the great herd of law-abiding and -undistinguished men. The men of this herd never undergo any comparable -torture; the agony of the artist is quite beyond their experience and -even beyond their imagination. No catastrophe that could conceivably -overtake a lime and cement dealer, a curb broker, a lawyer, a plumber -or a Presbyterian is to be mentioned in the same breath with the -torments that, to the most minor of poets, are familiar incidents of -his professional life, and, to such a man as Poe, or Beethoven, or -Brahms, are the commonplaces of every day. Beethoven suffered more -during the composition of the Fifth symphony than all the judges on -the supreme benches of the world have suffered jointly since the time -of the Gerousia. - -Again, my hypothesis explains the fact that inspiration, save under -extraordinary circumstances, is never continuous for more than a -relatively short period. A banker, a barber or a manufacturer of patent -medicines does his work day after day without any noticeable rise or -fall of efficiency; save when he is drunk, jailed or ill in bed the -curve of his achievement is flattened out until it becomes almost a -straight line. But the curve of an artist, even of the greatest of -artists, is frightfully zig-zagged. There are moments when it sinks -below the bottom of the chart, and immediately following there may -be moments when it threatens to run off the top. Some of the noblest -passages written by Shakespeare are in his worst plays, cheek by jowl -with padding and banality; some of the worst music of Wagner is in his -finest music dramas. There is, indeed, no such thing as a flawless -masterpiece. Long labored, it may be gradually enriched with purple -passages--the high inspirations of widely separated times crowded -together--, but even so it will remain spotty, for those purple -passages will be clumsily joined, and their joints will remain as -apparent as so many false teeth. Only the most elementary knowledge -of psychology is needed to show the cause of the zig-zagging that -I have mentioned. It lies in the elemental fact that the chemical -constitution of the blood changes every hour, almost every minute. -What it is at the beginning of digestion is not what it is at the end -of digestion, and in both cases it is enormously affected by the nature -of the substances digested. No man, within twenty-four hours after -eating a meal in a Pennsylvania Railroad dining-car, could conceivably -write anything worth reading. A tough beefsteak, I daresay, has ditched -many a promising sonnet, and bad beer, as every one knows, has spoiled -hundreds of sonatas. Thus inspiration rises and falls, and even when -it rises twice to the same height it usually shows some qualitative -difference--there is the inspiration, say, of Spring vegetables and -there is the inspiration of Autumn fruits. In a long work the products -of greatly differing inspirations, of greatly differing streams of -blood, are hideously intermingled, and the result is the inevitable -spottiness that I have mentioned. No one but a maniac argues that "Die -Meistersinger" is _all_ good. One detects in it days when Wagner felt, -as the saying goes, like a fighting cock, but one also detects days -when he arose in the morning full of acidosis and despair--days when he -turned heavily from the Pierian spring to castor oil. - -Moreover, it must be obvious that the very conditions under which works -of art are produced tend to cause great aberrations in metabolism. The -artist is forced by his calling to be a sedentary man. Even a poet, -perhaps the freest of artists, must spend a good deal of time bending -over a desk. He may conceive his poems in the open air, as Beethoven -conceived his music, but the work of reducing them to actual words -requires diligent effort in camera. Here it is a sheer impossibility -for him to enjoy the ideal hygienic conditions which surround the -farmhand, the curb-broker and the sailor. His! viscera are congested; -his eyes are astrain; his muscles are without necessary exercise. -Furthermore, he probably breathes bad air and goes without needed -sleep. The result is inevitably some disturbance of metabolism, with a -vitiated blood supply and a starved cerebrum. One is always surprised -to encounter a poet who is ruddy and stout; the standard model is a -pale and flabby stenotic, kept alive by patent medicines. So with the -painter, the musical composer, the sculptor, the artist in prose. -There is no more confining work known to man than instrumentation. -The composer who has spent a day at it is invariably nervous and ill. -For hours his body is bent over his music-paper, the while his pen -engrosses little dots upon thin lines. I have known composers, after a -week or so of such labor, to come down with auto-intoxication in its -most virulent forms. Perhaps the notorious ill health of Beethoven, -and the mental break-downs of Schumann, Tschaikowsky and Hugo Wolf had -their origin in this direction. It is difficult, going through the -history of music, to find a single composer in the grand manner who was -physically and mentally up to par. - -I do not advance it as a formal corollary, but no doubt this stenosis -hypothesis also throws some light upon two other immemorial mysteries, -the first being the relative æsthetic sterility of women, and the other -being the low æsthetic development of certain whole classes, and even -races of men, _e. g._, the Puritans, the Welsh and the Confederate -Americans. That women suffer from stenosis far more than men is a -commonplace of internal medicine; the weakness is chiefly to blame, -rather than the functional peculiarities that they accuse, for their -liability to headache. A good many of them, in fact, are habitually -in the state of health which, in the artist, is accompanied by an -utter inability to work. This state of health, as I have said, does -not inhibit _all_ mental activity. It leaves the powers of observation -but little impaired; it does not corrupt common sense; it is not -incompatible with an intelligent discharge of the ordinary duties of -life. Thus a lime and cement dealer, in the midst of it, may function -almost as well as when his metabolic processes are perfectly normal, -and by the same token a woman chronically a victim to it may yet show -all the sharp mental competence which characterizes her sex. But here -the thing stops. To go beyond--to enter the realm of constructive -thinking, to abandon the mere application of old ideas and essay to -invent new ideas, to precipitate novel and intellectual concepts out -of the chaos of memory and perception--this is quite impossible to the -stenotic. _Ergo,_ it is unheard of among classes and races of men who -feed grossly and neglect personal hygiene; the pill-swallower is the -only artist in such groups. One may thus argue that the elder Beecham -saved poetry in England, as the younger Beecham saved music.... But, as -I say, I do not stand behind the hypothesis in this department, save, -perhaps, in the matter of women. I could amass enormous evidences in -favor of it, but against them there would always loom the disconcerting -contrary evidence of the Bulgarians. Among them, I suppose, stenosis -must be unknown--but so are all the fine arts. - -"La force et la foiblesse de l'esprit," said Rochefoucauld, "sont -mal nommées; elles ne sont, en effect, que la bonne ou la mauvaise -des organes du corps." Science wastes itself hunting in the other -direction. We are flooded with evidences of the effects of the mind -on the body, and so our attention is diverted from the enormously -greater effects of the body on the mind. It is rather astonishing that -the Wassermann reaction has not caused the latter to be investigated -more thoroughly. The first result of the general employment of that -great diagnostic device was the discovery that thousands of cases of -so-called mental disease were really purely physical in origin--that -thousands of patients long supposed to have been crazed by seeing -ghosts, by love, by grief, or by reverses in the stock-market were -actually victims of the small but extremely enterprising _spirochæte -pallida._ The news heaved a bomb into psychiatry, but it has so far -failed to provoke a study of the effects of other such physical -agents. Even the effects of this one agent remain to be inquired into -at length. One now knows that it may cause insanity, but what of the -lesser mental aberrations that it produces? Some of these aberrations -may be actually beneficial. That is to say, the mild toxemia -accompanying the less virulent forms of infection may stimulate the -brain to its highest functioning, and so give birth to what is called -genius--a state of mind long recognized, by popular empiricism, as a -sort of half-way station on the road to insanity. Beethoven, Nietzsche -and Schopenhauer suffered from such mild toxemias, and there is not -the slightest doubt that their extraordinary mental activity was at -least partly due to the fact. That tuberculosis, in its early stages, -is capable of the same stimulation is a commonplace of observation. -The consumptive may be weak physically, but he is usually very alert -mentally. The history of the arts, in fact, shows the names of hundreds -of inspired consumptives. - -Here a physical infirmity produces a result that is beneficial, just -as another physical infirmity, the stenosis aforesaid, produces a -result that is baleful. The artist often oscillates horribly between -the two effects; he is normally anything but a healthy animal. -Perfect health, indeed, is a boon that very few men above the rank of -clodhoppers ever enjoy. What health means is a degree of adaptation -to the organism's environment so nearly complete that there is no -irritation. Such a state, it must be obvious, is not often to be -observed in organisms of the highest complexity. It is common, -perhaps, in the earthworm. This elemental beast makes few demands -upon its environment, and is thus subject to few diseases. It seldom -gets out of order until the sands of its life are run, and then it -suffers one grand illness and dies forthwith. But man is forever -getting out of order, for he is enormously complicated--and the higher -he rises in complexity, the more numerous and the more serious are -his derangements. There are whole categories of diseases, _e. g.,_ -neurasthenia and hay-fever, that afflict chiefly the more civilized -and delicate ranks of men, leaving the inferior orders unscathed. Good -health in man, indeed, is almost invariably a function of inferiority. -A professionally healthy man, e. g., an acrobat, an osteopath or an -ice-wagon driver, is always stupid. In the Greece of the great days -the athletes we hear so much about were mainly slaves. Not one of -the eminent philosophers, poets or statesmen of Greece was a good -high-jumper. Nearly all of them, in fact, suffered from the same -malaises which afflict their successors of to-day, as you will quickly -discern by examining their compositions. The æsthetic impulse, like the -thirst for truth, might almost be called a disease. It seldom if ever -appears in a perfectly healthy man. - -But we must take the aloes with the honey. The artist suffers damnably, -but there is compensation in his dreams. Some of his characteristic -diseases cripple him and make his whole life a misery, but there are -others that seem to help him. Of the latter, the two that I have -mentioned carry with them concepts of extreme obnoxiousness. Both are -infections, and one is associated in the popular mind with notions or -gross immorality. But these concepts of obnoxiousness should not blind -us to the benefits that apparently go with the maladies. There are, -in fact, maladies much more obnoxious, and they carry no compensating -benefits. Cancer is an example. Perhaps the time will come when the -precise effects of these diseases will be worked out accurately, and -it will be possible to gauge in advance their probable influence upon -this or that individual. If that time ever comes the manufacture of -artists will become a feasible procedure, like the present manufacture -of soldiers, capons, right-thinkers and doctors of philosophy. In those -days the promising young men of the race, instead of being protected -from such diseases at all hazards, will be deliberately infected with -them, as soils are now inoculated with nitrogen-liberating bacteria.... -At the same time, let us hope, some progress will be made against -stenosis. It is, after all, simply a question of technique, like the -artificial propagation of the race by the device of Dr. Jacques Loeb. -The poet of the future, come upon a period of doldrums, will not tear -his hair in futile agony. Instead, he will go to the nearest clinic, -and there get his rasher of Bulgarian bacilli, or an injection of some -complex organic compound out of a ductless gland, or an order on a -masseur, or a diet list, or perchance a barrel of Russian oil. - - - - -V. SCIENTIFIC EXAMINATION OF A POPULAR VIRTUE - - -An old _Corpsbruder,_ assaulting my ear lately with an abstruse tale of -his sister's husband's brother's ingratitude, ended by driving me quite -out of his house, firmly resolved to be his acquaintance no longer. -The exact offense I heard inattentively, and have already partly -forgotten--an obscure tort arising out of a lawsuit. My ex-friend, -it appears, was appealed to for help in a bad case by his grapevine -relative, and so went on the stand for him and swore gallantly to -some complex and unintelligible lie. Later on, essaying to cash in -on the perjury, he asked the fellow to aid him in some domestic -unpleasantness, and was refused on grounds of morals. Hence his -indignation--and my spoiled evening.... - -What is one to think of a man so asinine that he looks for gratitude in -this world, or so puerilely egotistical that he enjoys it when found? -The truth is that the sentiment itself is not human but doggish, and -that the man who demands it in payment for his doings is precisely the -sort of man who feels noble and distinguished when a dog licks his -hand. What a man says when he expresses gratitude is simply this: -"You did something for me that I could not have done myself. _Ergo,_ -you are my superior. Hail, _Durchlaucht!"_ Such a confession, whether -true or not, is degrading to the confessor, and so it is very hard to -make, at all events for a man of self-respect. That is why such a man -always makes it clumsily and with many blushes and hesitations. It -is hard for him to put so embarrassing a doctrine into plain words. -And that is why the business is equally uncomfortable to the party -of the other part. It distresses him to see a human being of decent -instincts standing before him in so ignominious a position. He is as -flustered as if the fellow came in handcuffs, or in rags, or wearing -the stripes of a felon. Moreover, his confusion is helped out by his -inward knowledge--very clear if he is introspective, and plain enough -even if he is not--that he really deserves no such tribute to his high -mightiness; that the altruism for which he is being praised was really -bogus; that he did the thing behind the gratitude which now assails -him, not for any grand and lofty reason, but for a purely selfish and -inferior reason, to wit, for the reason that it pleases all of us to -show what we can do when an appreciative audience is present; that we -delight to exercise our will to power when it is safe and profitable. -This is the primary cause of the benefits which inspire gratitude, -real and pretended. This is the fact at the bottom of altruism. Find -me a man who is always doing favors for people and I will show you a -man of petty vanity, forever trying to get fuel for it in the cheapest -way. And find me a man who is notoriously grateful in habit and I'll -show you a man who is essentially third rate and who is conscious of -it at the bottom of his heart. The man of genuine self-respect--which -means the man who is more or less accurately aware, not only of his own -value, but also and more importantly, of his own limitations--tries -to avoid entering either class. He hesitates to demonstrate his -superiority by such banal means, and he shrinks from confessing an -inferiority that he doesn't believe in. - -Nevertheless, the popular morality of the world, which is the creation, -not of its superior men but of its botches and half-men--in brief, -of its majorities--puts a high value on gratitude and denounces the -with-holding of it as an offense against the proprieties. To be -noticeably ungrateful for benefits--that is, for the by-products of the -egotism of others--is to be disliked. To tell a tale of ingratitude -is to take on the aspect of a martyr to the defects of others, to get -sympathy in an affliction. All of us are responsive to such ideas, -however much we may resent them logically. One may no more live in the -world without picking up the moral prejudices of the world than one -will be able to go to hell without perspiring.... - -Let me recall a case within my own recent experience. One day I -received a letter from a young woman I had never heard of before, -asking me to read the manuscripts of two novels that she had written. -She represented that she had venerated my critical parts for a long -while, and that her whole future career in letters would be determined -by my decision as to her talents. The daughter of a man apparently of -some consequence in some sordid business or other, she asked me to -meet her at her father's office, and there to impart to her, under -socially aseptic conditions, my advice. Having a standing rule against -meeting women authors, even in their fathers' banks and soap factories, -I pleaded various imaginary engagements, but finally agreed, after a -telephone debate, to read her manuscripts. They arrived promptly and I -found them to be wholly without merit--in fact, the veriest twaddle. -Nevertheless I plowed through them diligently, wasted half an hour at -the job, wrote a polite letter of counsel and returned the manuscripts -to her house, paying a blackamoor 50 cents to haul them. - -By all ordinary standards, an altruistic service and well deserving -some show of gratitude. Had she knitted me a pair of pulse-warmers it -would have seemed meet and proper. Even a copy of the poems of Alfred -Noyes would not have been too much. At the very least I expected a note -of thanks. Well, not a word has ever reached me. For all my laborious -politeness and disagreeable labor my reward is exactly nil. The lady is -improved by my counsel--and I am shocked by her gross ingratitude.... -That is, conventionally, superficially, as a member of society in -good standing. But when on sour afternoons I roll the affair in my -mind, examining, not the mere surface of it but the inner workings and -anatomy of it, my sense of outrage gradually melts and fades away--the -inevitable recompense of skepticism. What I see clearly is that I was -an ass to succumb to the blandishments of this discourteous miss, -and that she was quite right in estimating my service trivially, and -out of that clear seeing comes consolation, and amusement, and, in -the end, even satisfaction. I got exactly what I deserved. And she, -whether consciously or merely instinctively, measured out the dose with -excellent accuracy. - -Let us go back. Why did I waste two hours, or maybe three, reading -those idiotic manuscripts? Why, in the first place, did I answer her -opening request--the request, so inherently absurd, that I meet her -in her father's office? For a very plain reason: she accompanied it -with flattery. What she said, in effect, was that she regarded me as a -critic of the highest talents, and this ludicrous cajolery--sound, I -dare say, in substance, but reduced to naught by her obvious obscurity -and stupidity--was quite enough to fetch me. In brief, she assumed -that, being a man, I was vain to the point of imbecility, and this -assumption was correct, as it always is. To help out, there was the -concept of romantic adventure vaguely floating in my mind. Her voice, -as I heard it by telephone, was agreeable; her appearance, since she -seemed eager to show herself, I probably judged (subconsciously) to -be at least not revolting. Thus curiosity got on its legs, and vanity -in another form. Am I fat and half decrepit, a man seldom noticed by -cuties? Then so much the more reason why I should respond. The novelty -of an apparently comely and respectable woman desiring to witness me -finished what the primary (and very crude) appeal to my vanity had -begun. I was, in brief, not only the literary popinjay but also the -eternal male--and hard at the immemorial folly of the order. - -Now turn to the gal and her ingratitude. The more I inspect it the more -I became convinced that it is not discreditable to her, but highly -creditable--that she demonstrates a certain human dignity, despite her -imbecile writings, by exhibiting it. Would a show of gratitude put -her in a better light? I doubt it. That gratitude, considering the -unfavorable report I made on her manuscripts, would be doubly invasive -of her _amour propre._ On the one hand it would involve a confession -that my opinion of her literary gifts was better than her own, and -that I was thus her superior. And on the other hand it would involve -a confession that my own actual writings (being got into print without -aid) were better than hers, and that I was thus her superior again. -Each confession would bring her into an attitude of abasement, and -the two together would make her position intolerable. Moreover, both -would be dishonest: she would privately believe in neither doctrine. -As for my opinion, its hostility to her aspiration is obviously enough -to make her ego dismiss it as false, for no organism acquiesces in its -own destruction. And as for my relative worth as a literary artist, -she must inevitably put it very low, for it depends, in the last -analysis, upon my dignity and sagacity as a man, and she has proved -by experiment, and quite easily, that I am almost as susceptible to -flattery as a moving picture actor, and hence surely no great shakes. - -Thus there is not the slightest reason in the world why the fair -creature should knit me a pair of pulse-warmers or send me the poems -of Noyes, or even write me a polite note. If she did any of these -things, she would feel herself a hypocrite and hence stand embarrassed -before the mirror of her own thoughts. Confronted by a choice between -this sort of shame and the incomparably less uncomfortable shame -of violating a social convention and an article of popular morals, -secretly and without danger of exposure, she very sensibly chooses -the more innocuous of the two. At the very start, indeed, she set -up barriers against gratitude, for her decision to ask a favor of me -was, in a subtle sense, a judgment of my inferiority. One does not ask -favors, if it can be avoided, of persons one genuinely respects; one -puts such burdens upon the naïve and colorless, upon what are called -the good natured; in brief, upon one's inferiors. When that girl first -thought of me as a possible aid to her literary aspiration she thought -of me (perhaps vaguely, but none the less certainly) as an inferior -fortuitously outfitted with a body of puerile technical information -and competence, of probable use to her. This unfavorable view was -immediately reënforced by her discovery of my vanity. - -In brief, she showed and still shows the great instinctive sapience of -her sex. She is female, and hence far above the nonsensical delusions, -vanities, conventions and moralities of men. - - - - -VI. EXEUNT OMNES - - -One of the hardest jobs that faces an American magazine editor in -this, the one-hundred-and forty-fifth year of the Republic, is that -of keeping the minnesingers of the land from filling his magazine -with lugubrious dithyrambs to, on and against somatic death. Of -spiritual death, of course, not many of them ever sing. Most of them, -in fact, deny its existence in plain terms; they are all sure of the -immortality of the soul, and in particular they are absolutely sure of -the immortality of their own souls, and of those of their best girls. -In this department the most they ever allow to the materialism of the -herds that lie bogged in prose is such a benefit of the half doubt as -one finds in Christina Rossetti's "When I am Dead." But when it comes -to somatic death, the plain brutal death of coroners' inquests and -vital statistics, their optimism vanishes, and, try as they may, they -can't get around the harsh fact that on such and such a day, often -appallingly near, each and every one of us will heave a last sigh, roll -his eyes despairingly, turn his face to the wall and then suddenly -change from a proud and highly complex mammal, made in the image of -God, to a mere inert aggregate of disintegrating colloids, made in the -image of a stale cabbage. - -The inevitability of it seems to fascinate them. They write about -it more than they write about anything else save love. Every day my -editorial desk is burdened with their manuscripts--poems in which the -poet serves notice that, when his time comes, he will die bravely -and even a bit insolently; poems in which he warns his mistress that -he will wait for her on the roof of the cosmos and keep his harp in -tune; poems in which he asks her grandly to forget him, and, above -all, to avoid torturing herself by vain repining at his grave; poems -in which he directs his heirs and assigns to bury him in some lonely, -romantic spot, where the whippoorwills sing; poems in which he hints -that he will not rest easily if Philistines are permitted to begaud his -last anchorage with _couronnes des perles;_ poems in which he speaks -jauntily of making a rendez-vous with death, as if death were a wench; -poems in which-- - -But there is no need to rehearse the varieties. If you read the -strophes that are strung along the bottoms of magazine pages you are -familiar with all of them; even in the great moral periodical that I -help to edit, despite my own excessive watchfulness and Dr. Nathan's -general theory that both death and poetry are nuisances and in bad -taste, they have appeared multitudinously, no doubt to the disgust of -the _intelligentsia._ As I say, it is almost impossible to keep the -minnesingers off the subject. When my negro flops the morning bale -of poetry manuscripts upon my desk and I pull up my chair to have at -them, I always make a bet with myself that, of the first dozen, at -least seven will deal with death--and it is so long since I lost that -I don't remember it. Periodically I send out a circular to all the -recognized poets of the land, begging them in the name of God to be -less mortuary, but it never does any good. More, I doubt that it ever -will--or any other sort of appeal. Take away death and love and you -would rob poets of both their liver and their lights; what would remain -would be little more than a feeble gurgle in an illimitable void. For -the business of poetry, remember, is to set up a sweet denial of the -harsh facts that confront all of us--to soothe us in our agonies with -emollient words--in brief, to lie sonorously and reassuringly. Well, -what is the worst curse of life? Answer: the abominable magnetism -that draws unlikes and incompatibles into delirious and intolerable -conjunction--the kinetic over-stimulation called love. And what is the -next worst? Answer: the fear of death. No wonder the poets give so -much attention to both! No other foe of human peace and happiness is -one-half so potent, and hence none other offers such opportunities to -poetry, and, in fact, to all art. A sonnet designed to ease the dread -of bankruptcy, even if done by a great master, would be banal, for -that dread is itself banal, and so is bankruptcy. The same may be said -of the old fear of hell, now no more. There was a day when this latter -raged in the breast of nearly every man--and in that day the poets -produced antidotes that were very fine poems. But to-day only the elect -and anointed of God fear hell, and so there is no more production of -sound poetry in that department. - -As I have hinted, I tire of reading so much necrotic verse in -manuscript, and wish heartily that the poets would cease to assault -me with it. In prose, curiously enough, one observes a corresponding -shortage. True enough, the short story of commerce shows a good -many murders and suicides, and not less than eight times a day I am -made privy to the agonies of a widower or widow who, on searching -the papers of his wife or her husband immediately after her or his -death, discovers that she or he had a lover or a mistress. But I -speak of serious prose: not of trade balderdash. Go to any public -library and look under "Death: Human" in the card index, and you will -be surprised to find how few books there are on the subject. Worse, -nearly all the few are by psychical researchers who regard death as -a mere removal from one world to another or by New Thoughters who -appear to believe that it is little more than a sort of illusion. -Once, seeking to find out what death was physiologically--that is, -to find out just what happened when a man died--I put in a solid -week without result. There seemed to be nothing whatever on the -subject even in the medical libraries. Finally, after much weariness, -I found what I was looking for in Dr. George W. Crile's "Man: An -Adaptive Mechanism"--incidentally, a very solid and original work, -much less heard of than it ought to be. Crile said that death was -acidosis--that it was caused by the failure of the organism to maintain -the alkalinity necessary to its normal functioning--and in the absence -of any proofs or even arguments to the contrary I accepted his notion -forthwith and have held to it ever since. I thus think of death as -a sort of deleterious fermentation, like that which goes on in a -bottle of Château Margaux when it becomes corked. Life is a struggle, -not against sin, not against the Money Power, not against malicious -animal magnetism, but against hydrogen ions. The healthy man is one -in whom those ions, as they are dissociated by cellular activity, are -immediately fixed by alkaline bases. The sick man is one in whom the -process has begun to lag, with the hydrogen ions getting ahead. The -dying man is one in whom it is all over save the charges of fraud. - -But here I get into chemical physics, and not only run afoul of -revelation but also reveal, perhaps, a degree of ignorance verging -upon intellectual coma. The thing I started out to do was to call -attention to the only full-length and first-rate treatise on death that -I have ever encountered or heard of, to wit, "Aspects of Death and -Correlated Aspects of Life," by Dr. F. Parkes Weber, a fat, hefty and -extremely interesting tome, the fruit of truly stupendous erudition. -What Dr. Weber has attempted is to bring together in one volume all -that has been said or thought about death since the time of the first -human records, not only by poets, priests and philosophers, but also -by painters, engravers, soldiers, monarchs and the populace generally. -The author, I take it, is primarily a numismatist, and he apparently -began his work with a collection of inscriptions on coins and medals. -But as it stands it covers a vastly wider area. One traces, in chapter -after chapter, the ebb and flow of human ideas upon the subject, of -the human attitude to the last and greatest mystery of them all--the -notion of it as a mere transition to a higher plane of life, the notion -of it as a benign panacea for all human suffering, the notion of it -as an incentive to this or that way of living, the notion of it as -an impenetrable enigma, inevitable and inexplicable. Few of us quite -realize how much the contemplation of death has colored human thought -throughout the ages. There have been times when it almost shut out all -other concerns; there has never been a time when it has not bulked -enormously in the racial consciousness. Well, what Dr. Weber does in -his book is to detach and set forth the salient ideas that have emerged -from all that consideration and discussion--to isolate the chief -theories of death, ancient and modern, pagan and Christian, scientific -and mystical, sound and absurd. - -The material thus digested is appallingly copious. If the learned -author had confined himself to printed books alone, he would have faced -a labor fit for a new Hercules. But in addition to books he has given -his attention to prints, to medals, to paintings, to engraved gems -and to monumental inscriptions. His authorities range from St. John -on what is to happen at the Day of Judgment to Sir William Osier on -what happens upon the normal human death-bed, and from Socrates on the -relation of death to philosophy to Havelock Ellis on the effects of -Christian ideas of death upon the mediæval temperament. The one field -that Dr. Weber has overlooked is that of music, a somewhat serious -omission. It is hard to think of a great composer who never wrote a -funeral march, or a requiem, or at least a sad song to some departed -love. Even old Papa Haydn had moments when he ceased to be merry, and -let his thought turn stealthily upon the doom ahead. To me, at all -events, the slow movement of the Military Symphony is the saddest of -music--an elegy, I take it, on some young fellow who went out in the -incomprehensible wars of those times and got himself horribly killed -in a far place. The trumpet blasts towards the end fling themselves -over his hasty grave in a remote cabbage field; one hears, before and -after them, the honest weeping of his comrades into their wine-pots. In -truth, the shadow of death hangs over all the music of Haydn, despite -its lightheartedness. Life was gay in those last days of the Holy -Roman Empire, but it was also precarious. If the Turks were not at the -gate, then there was a peasant rising somewhere in the hinterland, or -a pestilence swept the land. Beethoven, a generation later, growled -at death surlily, but Haydn faced it like a gentleman. The romantic -movement brought a sentimentalization of the tragedy; it became a sort -of orgy. Whenever Wagner dealt with death he treated it as if it were -some sort of gaudy tournament--a thing less dreadful than ecstatic. -Consider, for example, the _Char-Freitag_ music in "Parsifal"--death -music for the most memorable death in the history of the world. Surely -no one hearing it for the first time, without previous warning, would -guess that it had to do with anything so gruesome as a crucifixion. -On the contrary, I have a notion that the average auditor would guess -that it was a musical setting for some lamentable fornication between a -Bayreuth baritone seven feet in height and a German soprano weighing at -least three hundred pounds. - -But if Dr. Weber thus neglects music, he at least gives full measure -in all other departments. His book, in fact, is encyclopædic; he -almost exhausts the subject. One idea, however, I do not find in it: -the conception of death as the last and worst of all the practical -jokes played upon poor mortals by the gods. That idea apparently -never occurred to the Greeks, who thought of almost everything, but -nevertheless it has an ingratiating plausibility. The hardest thing -about death is not that men die tragically, but that most of them die -ridiculously. If it were possible for all of us to make our exits at -great moments, swiftly, cleanly, decorously, and in fine attitudes, -then the experience would be something to face heroically and with -high and beautiful words. But we commonly go off in no such gorgeous, -poetical way. Instead, we die in raucous prose--of arterio-sclerosis, -of diabetes, of toxemia, of a noisome perforation in the ileo-caecal -region, of carcinoma of the liver. The abominable acidosis of Dr. Crile -sneaks upon us, gradually paralyzing the adrenals, flabbergasting the -thyroid, crippling the poor old liver, and throwing its fog upon the -brain. Thus the ontogenetic process is recapitulated in reverse order, -and we pass into the mental obscurity of infancy, and then into the -blank unconsciousness of the prenatal state, and finally into the -condition of undifferentiated protoplasm. A man does not die quickly -and brilliantly, like a lightning stroke; he passes out by inches, -hesitatingly and, one may almost add, gingerly. It is hard to say just -when he is fully dead. Long after his heart has ceased to beat and -his lungs have ceased to swell him up with the vanity of his species, -there are remote and obscure parts of him that still live on, quite -unconcerned about the central catastrophe. Dr. Alexis Carrel has cut -them out and kept them alive for months. The hair keeps on growing -for a long while. Every time another one of the corpses of Barbarossa -or King James I is examined it is found that the hair is longer than -it was the last time. No doubt there are many parts of the body, and -perhaps even whole organs, which wonder what it is all about when they -find that they are on the way to the crematory. Burn a man's mortal -remains, and you inevitably burn a good portion of him alive, and no -doubt that portion sends alarmed messages to the unconscious brain, -like dissected tissue under anæsthesia, and the resultant shock brings -the deceased before the hierarchy of heaven in a state of collapse, -with his face white, sweat bespangling his forehead and a great thirst -upon him. It would not be pulling the nose of reason to argue that many -a cremated Sunday-school super-intendent thus confronting the ultimate -tribunal in the aspect of a man taken with the goods, has been put down -as suffering from an uneasy conscience when what actually ailed him -was simply surgical shock. The cosmic process is not only incurably -idiotic; it is also indecently unjust. - -But here I become medico-legal. What I had in mind when I began was -this: that the human tendency to make death dramatic and heroic has -little excuse in the facts. No doubt you remember the scene in the -last act of "Hedda Gabler," in which Dr. Brack comes in with the -news of Lövborg's suicide. Hedda immediately thinks of him putting -the pistol to his temple and dying instantly and magnificently. The -picture fills her with romantic delight. When Brack tells her that the -shot was actually through the breast she is disappointed, but soon -begins to romanticise even _that._ "The breast," she says, "is also a -good place.... There is something beautiful in this!" A bit later she -recurs to the charming theme, "In the breast--ah!" Then Brack tells -her the plain truth--in the original, thus: _"Nej,--det traf ham i -underlivet!"..._ Edmund Gosse, in his first English translation of the -play, made the sentence: "No--it struck him in the abdomen." In the -last edition William Archer makes it "No--in the bowels!" Abdomen is -nearer to _underlivet_ than bowels, but belly would probably render the -meaning better than either. What Brack wants to convey to Hedda is the -news that Lövborg's death was not romantic in the least--that he went -to a brothel, shot himself, not through the cerebrum or the heart, but -through the duodenum or perhaps the jejunum, and is at the moment of -report awaiting autopsy at the Christiania _Allgemeine-krankenhaus._ -The shock floors her, but it is a shock that all of us must learn -to bear. Men upon whom we lavish our veneration reduce it to an -absurdity at the end by dying of chronic cystitis, or by choking upon -marshmallows or dill pickles, or as the result of getting cut by dirty -barbers. Women whom we place upon pedestals worthy of the holy saints -come down at last with mastoid abscesses or die obscenely of hiccoughs. -And we ourselves? Let us not have too much hope. The chances are that, -if we go to war, eager to leap superbly at the cannon's mouth, we'll be -finished on the way by an ingrowing toenail or by being run over by an -army truck driven by a former Greek bus-boy and loaded with imitation -Swiss cheeses made in Oneida, N. Y. And that if we die in our beds, it -will be of measles or albuminuria. - -The aforesaid Crile, in one of his smaller books, "A Mechanistic View -of War and Peace," has a good deal to say about death in war, and in -particular, about the disparity between the glorious and inspiring -passing imagined by the young soldier and the messy finish that is -normally in store for him. He shows two pictures of war, the one ideal -and the other real. The former is the familiar print, "The Spirit of -'76," with the three patriots springing grandly to the attack, one of -them with a neat and romantic bandage around his head--apparently, -to judge by his liveliness, to cover a wound no worse than an average -bee-sting. The latter picture is what the movie folks call a close-up -of a French soldier who was struck just below the mouth by a German -one-pounder shell--a soldier suddenly converted into the hideous -simulacrum of a cruller. What one notices especially is the curious -expression upon what remains of his face--an expression of the utmost -surprise and indignation. No doubt he marched off to the front firmly -convinced that, if he died at all, it would be at the climax of some -heroic charge, up to his knees in blood and with his bayonet run clear -through a Bavarian at least four feet in diameter. He imagined the -clean bullet through the heart, the stately last gesture, the final -words: "Thérèse! Sophie! Olympe! Marie! Suzette! Odette! Denise! -Julie!... France!" Go to the book and see what he got.... Dr. Crile, -whose experience of war has soured him against it, argues that the best -way to abolish it would be to prohibit such romantic prints as "The -Spirit of '76" and substitute therefor a series of actual photographs -of dead and wounded men. The plan is plainly of merit. But it would -be expensive. Imagine a war getting on its legs before the conversion -of the populace had become complete.. Think of the huge herds of -spy-chasers, letter-openers, pacifist-hounds, burlesons and other such -operators that it would take to track down and confiscate all those -pictures!... - -Even so, the vulgar horror of death would remain, for, as Ellen La -Motte well says in her little book, "The Backwash of War," the finish -of a civilian in a luxurious hospital, with trained nurses fluttering -over him and his pastor whooping and heaving for him at the foot of his -bed, is often quite as terrible as any form of exitus witnessed in war. -It is, in fact, always an unpleasant business. Let the poets disguise -it all they may and the theologians obscure the issue with promises of -post-mortem felicity, the plain truth remains that it gives one pause -to reflect that, on some day not far away, one must yield supinely to -acidosis, sink into the mental darkness of an idiot, and so suffer a -withdrawal from these engaging scenes. "No. 8," says the nurse in faded -pink, tripping down the corridor with a hooch of rye for the diabetic -in No. 2, "has just passed out." "Which is No. 8?" asks the new nurse. -"The one whose wife wore that awful hat this afternoon?" ... But all -the authorities, it is pleasant to know, report that the final scene -is placid enough. Dr. Weber quotes many of them. The dying man doesn't -struggle much and he isn't much afraid. As his alkalies give out he -succumbs to a blest stupidity. His mind fogs. His will power vanishes. -He submits decently. He scarcely gives a damn. - - - - -VII. THE ALLIED ARTS - - - - -I - - -_On Music-Lovers_ - - -Of all forms of the uplift, perhaps the most futile is that which -addresses itself to educating the proletariat in music. The theory -behind it is that a taste for music is an elevating passion, and that -if the great masses of the plain people could be inoculated with it -they would cease to herd into the moving-picture theaters, or to -listen to Socialists, or to beat their wives and children. The defect -in this theory lies in the fact that such a taste, granting it to be -elevating, simply cannot be implanted. Either it is born in a man or -it is not born in him. If it is, then he will get gratification for it -at whatever cost--he will hear music if hell freezes over. But if it -isn't, then no amount of education will ever change him--he will remain -stone deaf until the last sad scene on the gallows. - -No child who has this congenital taste ever has to be urged or tempted -or taught to love music. It takes to tone inevitably and irresistibly; -nothing can restrain it. What is more, it always tries to _make_ music, -for the delight in sounds is invariably accompanied by a great desire -to make them. I have never encountered an exception to this rule. All -genuine music-lovers try to make music. They may do it badly, and -even absurdly, but nevertheless they do it. Any man who pretends to -a delight in the tone-art and yet has never learned the scale of G -major--any and every such man is a fraud. The opera-houses of the world -are crowded with such liars. You will even find hundreds of them in the -concert-halls, though here the suffering they have to undergo to keep -up their pretense is almost too much for them to bear. Many of them, -true enough, deceive themselves. They are honest in the sense that they -credit their own buncombe. But it is buncombe none the less. - -Music, of course, has room for philanthropy. The cost of giving an -orchestral concert is so great that ordinary music-lovers could not -often pay for it. Here the way is open for rich backers, most of whom -have no more ear for music than so many Chinamen. Nearly all the opera -of the world is so supported. A few rich cads pay the bills, their -wives posture obscenely in the boxes, and the genuine music-lovers -upstairs and down enjoy the more or less harmonious flow of sound. But -this business doesn't _make_ music-lovers. It merely gives pleasure to -music-lovers who already exist. In twenty-five years, I am sure, the -Metropolitan Opera Company hasn't converted a single music-lover. On -the contrary, it has probably disgusted and alienated many thousands of -faint-hearted quasi-music-lovers, _i. e.,_ persons with no more than -the most nebulous taste for music--so nebulous that one or two evenings -of tremendous gargling by fat tenors was enough to kill it altogether. - -In the United States the number of genuine music-lovers is probably -very low. There are whole states, _e. g.,_ Alabama, Arkansas and Idaho, -in which it would be difficult to muster a hundred. In New York, I -venture, not more than one person in every thousand of the population -deserves to be counted. The rest are, to all intents and purposes, -tone-deaf. They can not only sit through the infernal din made by the -current jazz-bands; they actually like it. This is precisely as if they -preferred the works of The Duchess to those of Thomas Hardy, or the -paintings of the men who make covers for popular novels to those of El -Greco. Such persons inhabit the sewers of the bozart. No conceivable -education could rid them of their native ignobility of soul. They are -born unspeakable and incurable. - - - - -2. - - -Opera - - -Opera, to a person genuinely fond of aural beauty, must inevitably -appear tawdry and obnoxious, if only because it presents aural beauty -in a frame of purely visual gaudiness, with overtones of the grossest -sexual provocation. The most successful opera singers of the female -sex, at least in America, are not those whom the majority of auditors -admire most as singers but those whom the majority of male spectators -desire most as mistresses. Opera is chiefly supported in all countries -by the same sort of wealthy sensualists who also support musical -comedy. One finds in the directors' room the traditional stock company -of the stage-door alley. Such vermin, of course, pose in the newspapers -as devout and almost fanatical partisans of art; they exhibit -themselves at every performance; one hears of their grand doings, -through their press agents, almost every day. But one has merely to -observe the sort of opera they think is good to get the measure of -their actual artistic discrimination. - -The genuine music-lover may accept the carnal husk of opera to get at -the kernel of actual music within, but that is no sign that he approves -the carnal husk or enjoys gnawing through it. Most musicians, indeed, -prefer to hear operatic music outside the opera house; that is why -one so often hears such things as "The Ride of the Valkyrie" in the -concert hall. "The Ride of the Valkyrie" has a certain intrinsic value -as pure music; played by a competent orchestra it may give civilized -pleasure. But as it is commonly performed in an opera house, with a -posse of flat bel-dames throwing themselves about the stage, it can -only produce the effect of a dose of ipecacuanha. The sort of person -who actually delights in such spectacles is the sort of person who -delights in plush furniture. Such half-wits are in a majority in every -opera house west of the Rhine. They go to the opera, not to hear music, -not even to hear bad music, but merely to see a more or less obscene -circus. A few, perhaps, have a further purpose; they desire to assist -in that circus, to show themselves in the capacity of fashionables, -to enchant the yokelry with their splendor. But the majority must be -content with the more lowly aim. What they get for the outrageous -prices they pay for seats is a chance to feast their eyes upon -glittering members of the superior _demi-monde,_ and to abase their -groveling souls before magnificoes on their own side of the footlights. -They esteem a performance, not in proportion as true music is on tap, -but in proportion as the display of notorious characters on the stage -is copious, and the exhibition of wealth in the boxes is lavish. A -soprano who can gargle her way up to G sharp in alto is more to such -simple souls than a whole drove of Johann Sebastian Bachs; her one -real rival, in the entire domain of art, is the contralto who has a -pension from a grand duke and is reported to be _enceinte_ by several -profiteers. Heaven visualizes itself as an opera house with forty-eight -Carusos, each with forty-eight press agents.... On the Continent, -where frankness is unashamed, the opera audience often reveals its -passion for tone very naively. That is to say, it arises on its hind -legs, turns its back upon the stage and gapes at the boxes in charming -innocence. - -That such ignobles applaud is usually quite as shoddy as they are -themselves. To write a successful opera a knowledge of harmony and -counterpoint is not enough; one must also be a sort of Barnum. All -the first-rate musicians who have triumphed in the opera house have -been skillful mountebanks as well. I need cite only Richard Wagner and -Richard Strauss. The business, indeed, has almost nothing to do with -music. All the actual music one finds in many a popular opera--for -example, "Thaïs"--mounts up to less than one may find in a pair of -Gung'l waltzes. It is not this mild flavor of tone that fetches the -crowd; it is the tinpot show that goes with it. An opera may have -plenty of good music in it and fail, but if it has a good enough show -it will succeed. - -Such a composer as Wagner, of course, could not write even an opera -without getting some music into it. In nearly all of his works, -even including "Parsifal," there are magnificent passages, and some -of them are very long. Here his natural genius overcame him, and he -forgot temporarily what he was about. But these magnificent passages -pass unnoticed by the average opera audience. What it esteems in his -music dramas is precisely what is cheapest and most mountebankish--for -example, the more lascivious parts of "Tristan und Isolde." The sound -music it dismisses as tedious. The Wagner it venerates is not the -musician, but the showman. That he had a king for a backer and was -seduced by Liszt's daughter--these facts, and not the fact of his -stupendous talent, are the foundation stones of his fame in the opera -house. - -Greater men, lacking his touch of the quack, have failed where he -succeeded--Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Bach, Haydn, Haendel. -Not one of them produced a genuinely successful opera; most of them -didn't even try. Imagine Brahms writing for the diamond horseshoe! -Or Bach! Or Haydn! Beethoven attempted it, but made a mess of it; -"Fidelio" survives to-day chiefly as a set of concert overtures. -Schubert wrote more actual music every morning between 10 o'clock and -lunch time than the average opera composer produces in 250 years, and -yet he always came a cropper in the opera house. - - - - -3 - - -_The Music of To-morrow_ - - -Viewing the current musical scene, Carl Van Vechten finds it full of -sadness. Even Debussy bores him; he heard nothing interesting from that -quarter for a long while before the final scene. As for Germany, he -finds it a desert, with Arnold Schoenberg behind the bar of its only -inviting _Gasthaus._ Richard Strauss? Pooh! Strauss is an exploded -torpedo, a Zeppelin brought to earth; "he has nothing more to say." -(Even the opening of the Alpine symphony, it would appear, is more -stick-candy.) England? Go to! Italy? Back to the barrel-organ! Where, -then, is the tone poetry of to-morrow to come from? According to Van -Vechten, from Russia. It is the steppes that will produce it--or, more -specifically, Prof. Igor Strawinsky, author of "The Nightingale" and -of various revolutionary ballets. In the scores of Strawinsky, says -Van Vechten, music takes a vast leap forward. Here, at last, we are -definitely set free from melody and harmony; the thing becomes an -ineffable complex of rhythms; "all rhythms are beaten into the ears." - -New? Of the future? I have not heard all of the powerful shiverings -and tremblings of M. Strawinsky, but I presume to doubt it none the -less. "The ancient Greeks," says Van Vechten, "accorded rhythm a -higher place than either melody or harmony." Well, what of it? So did -the ancient Goths and Huns. So do the modern Zulus and New Yorkers. -The simple truth is that the accentuation of mere rhythm is a proof, -not of progress in music, but of a reversion to barbarism. Rhythm is -the earliest, the underlying element. The African savage, beating his -tom-tom, is content to go no further; the American composer of fox -trots is with him. But music had scarcely any existence as an art-form -until melody came to rhythm's aid, and its fruits were little save -dullness until harmony began to support melody. To argue that mere -rhythm, unsupported by anything save tone-color, may now take their -place is to argue something so absurd that its mere statement is a -sufficient answer to it. - -The rise of harmony, true enough, laid open a dangerous field. Its -exploration attracted meticulous minds; it was rigidly mapped in hard, -geometrical forms; in the end, it became almost unnavigable to the -man of ideas. But no melodramatic rejection of all harmony is needed -to work a reform. The business, indeed, is already gloriously under -way. The dullest conservatory pupil has learned how to pull the noses -of the old-time schoolmasters. No one cares a hoot any more about the -ancient laws of preparation and resolution. (The rules grow so loose, -indeed, that I may soon be tempted to write a tone-poem myself). But -out of this chaos new laws will inevitably arise, and though they -will not be as rigid as the old ones, they will still be coherent and -logical and intelligible. Already, in fact, gentlemen of professorial -mind are mapping them out; one needs but a glance at such a book as -René Lenormand's to see that there is a certain order hidden in even -the wildest vagaries of the moment. And when the boiling in the pot -dies down, the truly great musicians will be found to be, not those -who have been most daring, but those who have been most discreet and -intelligent--those who have most skillfully engrafted what is good -in the new upon what was sound in the old. Such a discreet fellow is -Richard Strauss. His music is modern enough--but not too much. One is -thrilled by its experiments and novelties, but at the same time one can -enjoy the thing as music. - -Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Wagner belonged to the same lodge. They -were by no means the wildest revolutionaries of their days, but they -were the best musicians. They didn't try to improve music by purging -it of any of the elements that made it music; they tried, and with -success, to give each element a new force and a new significance. -Berlioz, I dare say, knew more about the orchestra than Wagner; he -surely went further than Wagner in reaching out for new orchestral -effects. But nothing he ever wrote has a fourth of the stability and -value of "Die Meistersinger." He was so intrigued by his tone-colors -that he forgot his music. - - - - - -4 - - -_Tempo di Valse_ - - -Those Puritans who snort against the current dances are quite -right when they argue that the tango and the shimmie are violently -aphrodisiacal, but what they overlook is the fact that the abolition -of such provocative wriggles would probably revive something worse, to -wit, the Viennese waltz. The waltz never quite goes out of fashion; -it is always just around the corner; every now and then it comes back -with a bang. And to the sore harassment and corruption, I suspect, of -chemical purity, the ideal of all right-thinkers. The shimmie and the -tango are too gross to be very dangerous to civilized human beings; -they suggest drinking beer out of buckets; the most elemental good -taste is proof enough against them. But the waltz! Ah, the waltz, -indeed! It is sneaking, insidious, disarming, lovely. It does its work, -not like a college-yell or an explosion in a munitions plant, but -like the rustle of the trees, the murmur of the illimitable sea, the -sweet gurgle of a pretty girl. The jazz-band fetches only vulgarians, -barbarians, idiots, pigs. But there is a mystical something in "Weiner -Blut" or "Künstler Leben" that fetches even philosophers. - -The waltz, in fact, is magnificently improper--the art of tone turned -bawdy. I venture to say that the compositions of one man alone, -Johann Strauss II, have lured more fair young creatures to lamentable -complaisance than all the hyperdermic syringes of all the white slave -scouts since the fall of the Western Empire. There is something -about a waltz that is simply irresistible. Try it on the fattest and -sedatest or even upon the thinnest and most acidulous of women, and -she will be ready, in ten minutes, for a stealthy kiss behind the -door--nay, she will forthwith impart the embarrassing news that her -husband misunderstands her, and drinks too much, and cannot appreciate -Maeterlinck, and is going to Cleveland, O., on business to-morrow.... - -I often wonder that the Comstocks have not undertaken a crusade against -the waltz. If they suppress "The 'Genius'" and "Jurgen," then why do -they overlook "Rosen aus dem Süden"? If they are so hot against "Madame -Bovary" and the Decameron, then why the immunity of "Wein, Weib und -Gesang"? I throw out the suggestion and pass on. Nearly all the -great waltzes of the world, incidently, were written by Germans--or -Austrians. A waltz-pogrom would thus enlist the American Legion and -the Daughters of the Revolution. Moreover, there is the Public Health -Service: it is already engaged upon a campaign to enforce virginity in -both sexes by statute and artillery. Imagine such an enterprise with -every band free to play "Wiener Mäd'l"! - - - - - -5 - - -_The Puritan as Artist_ - - -The saddest thing that I have ever heard in the concert hall is Herbert -K. Hadley's overture, "In Bohemia." The title is a magnificent piece of -profound, if unconscious irony. One looks, at least, for a leg flung -in the air, a girl kissed, a cork popped, a flash of drawer-ruffles. -What one encounters is a meeting of the Lake Mohonk Conference. Such -prosy correctness and hollowness, in music, is almost inconceivable. -It is as if the most voluptuous of the arts were suddenly converted -into an abstract and austere science, like comparative grammar or -astro-physics. "Who's Who in America" says that Hadley was born in -Somerville, Mass., and "studied violin and other branches in Vienna." A -prodigy thus unfolds itself: here is a man who lived in Vienna, and yet -never heard a Strauss waltz! This, indeed, is an even greater feat than -being born an artist in Somerville. - - - - - -6 - - -_The Human Face_ - - -Probably the best portrait that I have ever seen in America is one of -Theodore Dreiser by Bror Nordfeldt. Who this Bror Nordfeldt may be I -haven't the slightest notion--a Scandinavian, perhaps. Maybe I have got -his name wrong; I can't find any Nordfeldt in "Who's Who in America." -But whatever his name, he has painted Dreiser in a capital manner. The -portrait not only shows the outward shell of the man; it also conveys -something of his inner spirit--his simple-minded wonder at the mystery -of existence, his constant effort to argue himself out of a despairing -pessimism, his genuine amazement before life as a spectacle. The thing -is worth a hundred Sargents, with their slick lying, their childish -facility, their general hollowness and tackiness. Sargent should have -been a designer of candy-box tops. The notion that he is a great artist -is one of the astounding delusions of Anglo-Saxondom. What keeps it -going is the patent fact that he is a very dexterous craftsman--one -who understands thoroughly how to paint, just as a good plumber knows -how to plumb. But of genuine æsthetic feeling the man is almost as -destitute as the plumber. His portrait of the four Johns Hopkins -professors is probably the worst botch ever palmed off on a helpless -committee of intellectual hay and feed dealers. But Nordfeldt, in his -view of Dreiser, somehow gets the right effect. It is rough painting, -but real painting. There is a knock-kneed vase in the foreground, and a -bunch of flowers apparently painted with a shaving-brush--but Dreiser -himself is genuine. More, he is made interesting. One sees at once -that he is no common man. - -The artist himself seems to hold the portrait in low esteem. Having -finished it, he reversed the canvas and used the back for painting a -vapid snow scenes--a thing almost bad enough to go into a Fifth Avenue -show-window. Then he abandoned both pictures. I discovered the portrait -by accidentally knocking the snow scene off a wall. It has never been -framed. Drieser himself has probably forgotten it. ... No, I do _not_ -predict that it will be sold to some Pittsburgh nail manufacturer, in -1950, for $100,000. If it lasts two or three more years, unframed and -disesteemed, it will be running in luck. When Dreiser is hanged, I -suppose, relic-hunters will make a search for it. But by that time it -will have died as a door-mat. - - - - - -7 - - -_The Cerebral Mime_ - - -Of all actors, the most offensive to the higher cerebral centers is -the one who pretends to intellectuality. His alleged intelligence, -of course, is always purely imaginary: no man of genuinely superior -intelligence has ever been an actor. Even supposing a young man of -appreciable mental powers to be lured upon the stage, as philosophers -are occasionally lured into bordellos, his mind would be inevitably -and almost immediately destroyed by the gaudy nonsense issuing from -his mouth every night. That nonsense enters into the very fiber of the -actor. He becomes a grotesque boiling down of all the preposterous -characters that he has ever impersonated. Their characteristics are -seen in his manner, in his reactions to stimuli, in his point of view. -He becomes a walking artificiality, a strutting dummy, a thematic -catalogue of imbecilities. - -There are, of course, plays that are not wholly nonsense, and now -and then one encounters an actor who aspires to appear in them. This -aspiration almost always overtakes the so-called actor-manager--that -is to say, the actor who has got rich and is thus ambitious to appear -as a gentleman. Such aspirants commonly tackle Shakespeare, and if -not Shakespeare, then Shaw, or Hauptmann, or Rostand, or some other -apparently intellectual dramatist. But this is seldom more than a -passing madness. The actor-manager may do that sort of thing once in a -while, but in the main he sticks to his garbage. Consider, for example, -the late Henry Irving. He posed as an intellectual and was forever -gabbling about his high services to the stage, and yet he appeared -constantly in such puerile things as "The Bells," beside which the -average newspaper editorial or college yell was literature. So with -the late Mansfield. His pretension, deftly circulated by press-agents, -was that he was a man of brilliant and polished mind. Nevertheless, -he spent two-thirds of his life in the theater playing such abominable -drival as "A Parisian Romance" and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." - -It is commonly urged in defense of certain actors that they are forced -to appear in that sort of stuff by the public demand for it--that -appearing in it painfully violates their secret pruderies. This defense -is unsound and dishonest. An actor never disdains anything that gets -him applause and money; he is almost completely devoid of that æsthetic -conscience which is the chief mark of the genuine artist. If there -were a large public willing to pay handsomely to hear him recite -limericks, or to blow a cornet, or to strip off his underwear and -dance a polonaise stark naked, he would do it without hesitation--and -then convince himself that such buffooning constituted a difficult and -elevated art, fully comparable to Wagner's or Dante's. In brief, the -one essential, in his sight, is the chance to shine, the fat part, -the applause. Who ever heard of an actor declining a fat part on the -ground that it invaded his intellectual integrity? The thing is simply -unimaginable. - - - - -VIII. THE CULT OF HOPE - - -Of all the sentimental errors which reign and rage in this incomparable -republic, the worst, I often suspect, is that which confuses the -function of criticism, whether æsthetic, political or social, with the -function of reform. Almost invariably it takes the form of a protest: -"The fellow condems without offering anything better. Why tear down -without building up?" So coo and snivel the sweet ones: so wags the -national tongue. The messianic delusion becomes a sort of universal -murrain. It is impossible to get an audience for an idea that is not -"constructive"--_i. e.,_ that is not glib, and uplifting, and full -of hope, and hence capable of tickling the emotions by leaping the -intermediate barrier of the intelligence. - -In this protest and demand, of course, there is nothing but a hollow -sound of words--the empty babbling of men who constantly mistake their -mere feelings for thoughts. The truth is that criticism, if it were -thus confined to the proposing of alternative schemes, would quickly -cease to have any force or utility at all, for in the overwhelming -majority of instances no alternative scheme of any intelligibility -is imaginable, and the whole object of the critical process is to -demonstrate it. The poet, if the victim is a poet, is simply one as -bare of gifts as a herring is of fur: no conceivable suggestion will -ever make him write actual poetry. The cancer cure, if one turns to -popular swindles, is wholly and absolutely without merit--and the fact -that medicine offers us no better cure does not dilute its bogusness -in the slightest. And the plan of reform, in politics, sociology or -what not, is simply beyond the pale of reason; no change in it or -improvement of it will ever make it achieve the downright impossible. -Here, precisely, is what is the matter with most of the notions that go -floating about the country, particularly in the field of governmental -reform. The trouble with them is not only that they won't and don't -work; the trouble with them, more importantly, is that the thing they -propose to accomplish is intrinsically, or at all events most probably, -beyond accomplishment. That is to say, the problem they are ostensibly -designed to solve is a problem that is insoluble. To tackle them with -a proof of that insolubility, or even with a colorable argument of it, -is sound criticism; to tackle them with another solution that is quite -as bad, or even worse, is to pick the pocket of one knocked down by an -automobile. - -Unluckily, it is difficult for a certain type of mind to grasp the -concept of insolubility. Thousands of poor dolts keep on trying to -square the circle; other thousands keep pegging away at perpetual -motion. The number of persons so afflicted is far greater than the -records of the Patent Office show, for beyond the circle of frankly -insane enterprise there lie circles of more and more plausible -enterprise, and finally we come to a circle which embraces the great -majority of human beings. These are the optimists and chronic hopers -of the world, the believers in men, ideas and things. These are the -advocates of leagues of nations, wars to make the world safe for -democracy, political mountebanks, "clean-up" campaigns, laws, raids, -Men and Religion Forward Movements, eugenics, sex hygiene, education, -newspapers. It is the settled habit of such credulous folk to give ear -to whatever is comforting; it is their settled faith that whatever -is desirable will come to pass. A caressing confidence--but one, -unfortunately, that is not borne out by human experience. The fact is -that some of the things that men and women have desired most ardently -for thousands of years are not nearer realization to-day than they were -in the time of Rameses, and that there is not the slightest reason for -believing that they will lose their coyness on any near to-morrow. -Plans for hurrying them on have been tried since the beginning; plans -for forcing them overnight are in copious and antagonistic operation -to-day; and yet they continue to hold off and elude us, and the -chances are that they will keep on holding off and eluding us until -the angels get tired of the show, and the whole earth is set off like a -gigantic bomb, or drowned, like a sick cat, between two buckets. - -But let us avoid the grand and chronic dreams of the race and get -down to some of the concrete problems of life under the Christian -enlightenment. Let us take a look, say, at the so-called drink problem, -a small sub-division of the larger problem of saving men from their -inherent and incurable hoggishness. What is the salient feature of the -discussion of the drink problem, as one observes it going on eternally -in These States? The salient feature of it is that very few honest and -intelligent men ever take a hand in the business--that the best men of -the nation, distinguished for their sound sense in other fields, seldom -show any interest in it. On the one hand it is labored by a horde of -obvious jackasses, each confident that he can dispose of it overnight. -And on the other hand it is sophisticated and obscured by a crowd of -oblique fellows, hired by interested parties, whose secret desire is -that it be kept unsolved. To one side, the professional gladiators -of Prohibition; to the other side, the agents of the brewers and -distillers. But why do all neutral and clear-headed men avoid it? Why -does one hear so little about it from those who have no personal stake -in it, and can thus view it fairly and accurately? Is it because they -are afraid? Is it because they are not intrigued by it? I doubt that -it would be just to accuse them in either way. The real reason why they -steer clear of the gabble is simpler and more creditable. It is this: -that none of them--that no genuinely thoughtful and prudent man--can -imagine any solution which meets the tests of his own criticism--that -no genuinely intelligent man believes the thing is soluble at all. - -Here, of course, I generalize a bit heavily. Honest and intelligent -men, though surely not many of them, occasionally come forward with -suggestions. In the midst of so much debate it is inevitable that -even a man of critical mind should sometimes lean to one side or the -other--that some salient imbecility should make him react toward its -rough opposite. But the fact still remains that not a single complete -and comprehensive scheme has ever come from such a man, that no such -man has ever said, in so many words, that he thought the problem could -be solved, simply and effectively. All such schemes come from idiots -or from sharpers disguised as idiots to win the public confidence. The -whole discussion is based upon assumptions that even the most casual -reflection must reject as empty balderdash. - -And as with the drink problem, so with most of the other great -questions that harass and dismay the helpless human race. Turn, for -example, to the sex problem. There is no half-baked ecclesiastic, -bawling in his galvanized-iron temple on a suburban lot, who doesn't -know precisely how it ought to be dealt with. There is no fantoddish -old suffragette, sworn to get her revenge on man, who hasn't a -sovereign remedy for it. There is not a shyster of a district attorney, -ambitious for higher office, who doesn't offer to dispose of it in -a few weeks, given only enough help from the city editors. And yet, -by the same token, there is not a man who has honestly studied it -and pondered it, bringing sound information to the business, and -understanding of its inner difficulties and a clean and analytical -mind, who doesn't believe and hasn't stated publicly that it is -intrinsically and eternally insoluble. I can't think of an exception, -nor does a fresh glance through the literature suggest one. The latest -expert to tell the disconcerting truth is Dr. Maurice Parmelee, the -criminologist. His book, "Personality and Conduct," is largely devoted -to demonstrating that the popular solutions, for all the support they -get from vice crusaders, complaisant legislators and sensational -newspapers, are unanimously imbecile and pernicious--that their only -effect in practice is to make what was bad a good deal worse. His -remedy is--what? An alternative solution? Not at all. His remedy, in -brief, is to abandon all attempts at a solution, to let the whole thing -go, to cork up all the reformers and try to forget it. - -And in this proposal he merely echoes Havelock Ellis, undoubtedly -the most diligent and scientific student of the sex problem that the -world has yet seen--in fact, the one man who, above all others, has -made a decorous and intelligent examination of it possible. Ellis' -remedy is simply a denial of all remedies. He admits that the disease -is bad, but he shows that the medicine is infinitely worse, and so he -proposes going back to the plain disease, and advocates bearing it -with philosophy, as we bear colds in the head, marriage, the noises of -the city, bad cooking and the certainty of death. Man is inherently -vile--but he is never so vile as when he is trying to disguise and -deny his vileness. No prostitute was ever so costly to a community as -a prowling and obscene vice crusader, or as the dubious legislator or -prosecuting officer who jumps as he pipes. - -Ellis, in all this, falls under the excommunication of the -sentimentalists. He demolishes one scheme without offering an -alternative scheme. He tears down without making any effort to build -up. This explains, no doubt, his general unpopularity; into mouths -agape for peruna, he projects only paralyzing streams of ice-water. And -it explains, too, the curious fact that his books, the most competent -and illuminating upon the subject that they discuss, are under the -ban of the Comstocks in both England and America, whereas the hollow -treatises of ignorant clerics and smutty old maids are merchanted with -impunity, and even commended from the sacred desk. The trouble with -Ellis is that he tells the truth, which is the unsafest of all things -to tell. His crime is that he is a man who prefers facts to illusions, -and knows what he is talking about. Such men are never popular. The -public taste is for merchandise of a precisely opposite character. The -way to please is to proclaim in a confident manner, not what is true, -but what is merely comforting. This is what is called building up. This -is constructive criticism. - - - - -IX. THE DRY MILLENNIUM - - - - -1 - - -_The Holy War_ - - -The fact that the enforcement of Prohibition entails a host of -oppressions and injustices--that it puts a premium upon the lowest -sort of spying, affords an easy livelihood to hordes of professional -scoundrels, subjects thousands of decent men to the worst sort of -blackmail, violates the theoretical sanctity of domicile, and makes -for bitter and relentless enmities,--this fact is now adduced by its -ever-hopeful foes as an argument for the abandonment of the whole -disgusting crusade. By it they expect to convert even a large minority -of the drys, apparently on the theory that the latter got converted -emotionally and hastily, and that an appeal to their sense of justice -and fair-dealing will debamboozle them. - -No hope could be more vain. What all the current optimists overlook -is that the illogical and indefensible persecutions certain to occur -in increasing number under the Prohibition Amendment constitute the -chief cause of its popularity among the sort of men who are in favor -of it. The typical Prohibitionist, in other words, is a man full of -religious excitement, with the usual sadistic overtones. He delights -in persecution for its own sake. He likes to see the other fellow -jump and to hear him yell. This thirst is horribly visible in all -the salient mad mullahs of the land--that is, in all the genuine -leaders of American culture. Such skillful boob-bumpers as the Rev. -Dr. Billy Sunday know what that culture is; they know what the crowd -wants. Thus they convert the preaching of the alleged Word of God -into a rough-and-tumble pursuit of definite sinners--saloon-keepers, -prostitutes, Sabbath-breakers, believers in the Darwinian -hypothesis, German exegetes, hand-books, poker-players, adulterers, -cigarette-smokers, users of profanity. It is the chase that heats up -the great mob of Methodists, not the Word. And the fact that the chase -is unjust only tickles them the more, for to do injustice with impunity -is a sign of power, and power is the thing that the inferior man always -craves most violently. - -Every time the papers print another account of a Prohibionist agent -murdering a man who resists him, or searching some woman's underwear, -or raiding a Vanderbilt yacht, or blackmailing a Legislature, or -committing some other such inordinate and anti-social act, they simply -make a thousand more votes for Prohibition. It is precisely that sort -of entertainment that makes Prohibition popular with the boobery. It -is precisely because it is unjust, imbecile, arbitrary and tyrannical -that they are so hot for it. The incidental violation of even the -inferior man's liberty is not sufficient to empty him of delight in -the chase. The victims reported in the newspapers are commonly his -superiors; he thus gets the immemorial democratic satisfaction out of -their discomfiture. Besides, he has no great rage for liberty himself. -He is always willing to surrender it at demand. The most popular man -under a democracy is not the most democratic man, but the most despotic -man. The common folk delight in the exactions of such a man. They like -him to boss them. Their natural gait is the goose-step. - -It was predicted by romantics that the arrival of Prohibition would see -the American workingman in revolt against its tyranny, with mills idle -and industry paralyzed. Certain boozy labor leaders even went so far as -to threaten a general strike. No such strike, of course, materialized. -Not a single American workingman uttered a sound. The only protests -heard of came from a few barbarous foreigners, and these malcontents -were quickly beaten into submission by the _Polizei._ In a week or -two all the reserve stocks of beer were exhausted, and every jug of -authentic hard liquor was emptied. Since then, save for the ghastly -messes that he has brewed behind locked doors, the American workingman -has been dry. Worse, he has also been silent. Not a sound has come out -of him.... But his liver is full of bile? He nourishes an intolerable -grievance? He will get his revenge, soon or late, at the polls? All -moonshine! He will do nothing of the sort. He will actually do what -he always does--that is, he will make a virtue of his necessity, and -straightway begin believing that he _likes_ Prohibition, that it is -doing him a lot of good, that he wouldn't be without it if he could. -This is the habitual process of thought of inferior men, at all times -and everywhere. This is the sturdy common sense of the plain people. - - - - -2 - - -_The Lure of Babylon_ - - -One of the ultimate by-products of Prohibition and the allied -Puritanical barbarities will probably be an appreciable slackening in -the present movement of yokels toward the large cities. The thing that -attracted the peasant youth to our gaudy Sodoms and Ninevehs, in the -past, was not, as sociologists have always assumed, the prospect of -less work and more money. The country boy, in point of fact--that is, -the average country boy, the normal country boy--had to work quite as -hard in the city as he ever worked in the country, and his wages were -anything but princely. Unequipped with a city trade, unprotected by a -union, and so forced into competition with the lowest types of foreign -labor, he had to be content with monotonous, uninspiring and badly-paid -jobs. He did not become a stock-broker, or even a plumber; until the -war gave him a temporary chance at its gigantic swag, he became a car -conductor, a porter or a wagon-driver. And it took him many years to -escape from that sordid fate, for the city boy, with a better education -and better connections, was always a lap or two ahead of him. The -notion that yokels always succeed in the cities is a great delusion. -The overwhelming majority of our rich men are city-born and city-bred. -And the overwhelming majority of our elderly motormen, forlorn corner -grocerymen, neighborhood carpenters and other such blank cartridges are -country-bred. - -No, it was not money that lured the adolescent husbandman to the -cities, but the gay life. What he dreamed of was a more spacious and -stimulating existence than the farm could offer--an existence crowded -with intriguing and usually unlawful recreations. A few old farmers may -have come in now and then to buy gold bricks or to hear the current -Henry Ward Beechers, but these oldsters were mere trippers--they never -thought of settling down--the very notion of it would have appalled -them. The actual settlers were all young, and what brought them on was -less an economic impulse than an æsthetic one. They wanted to live -magnificently, to taste the sweets that drummers talked of, to sample -the refined divertisements described in such works as "The Confessions -of an Actress," "Night Life in Chicago" and "What Every Young Husband -Should Know." Specifically, they yearned for a semester or two in the -theaters, the saloons and the bordellos--particularly, the saloons and -bordellos. It was this gorgeous bait that dragged them out of their -barn-yards. It was this bait that landed a select few in Wall street -and the United States Senate--and millions on the front seats of -trolley-cars, delivery-wagons and ash-carts. - -But now Puritanism eats the bait. In all our great cities the public -stews are closed, and the lamentable irregularities they catered to are -thrown upon an individual initiative that is quite beyond the talents -and enterprise of a plow-hand. Now the saloons are closed too, and the -blind-pigs begin to charge such prices that no peasant can hope to pay -them. Only the theater remains--and already the theater loses its old -lavish devilishness. True enough, it still deals in pornography, but -that pornography becomes exclusive and even esoteric: a yokel could -not understand the higher farce, nor could he afford to pay for a -seat at a modern leg-show. The cheap burlesque house of other days is -now incurably moral; I saw a burlesque show lately which was almost a -dramatization of a wall-card by Dr. Frank Crane. There remains the -movie, but the peasant needn't come to the city to see movies--there is -one in every village. What remains, then, of the old lure? What sane -youth, comfortably housed on a farm, with Theda Bara performing at the -nearest cross-roads, wheat at $2.25 a bushel and milkers getting $75 a -month and board--what jejune rustic, not downright imbecile, itches for -the city to-day? - - - - -3 - - -_Cupid and Well-Water_ - - -In the department of amour, I daresay, the first effect of Prohibition -will be to raise up impediments to marriage. It was alcohol, in the -past, that was the primary cause of perhaps a majority of alliances -among civilized folk. The man, priming himself with cocktails to -achieve boldness, found himself suddenly bogged in sentimentality, and -so yielded to the ancient tricks of the lady. Absolutely sober men will -be harder to snare. Coffee will never mellow them sufficiently. Thus I -look for a fall in the marriage rate. - -But only temporarily. In the long run, Prohibition will make marriage -more popular, at least among the upper classes, than it has ever -been in the past, and for the plain reason that, once it is in full -effect, the life of a civilized bachelor will become intolerable. In -the past he went to his club. But a club without a bar is as hideously -unattractive as a beautiful girl without hair or teeth. No sane man -will go into it. In two years, in fact, nine out of ten clubs will be -closed. The only survivors will be a few bleak rookeries for senile -widowers. The bachelor of less years, unable to put up with the society -of such infernos, will inevitably decide that if he must keep sober he -might just as well have a charming girl to ease his agonies, and so he -will expose himself in society, and some fair one or other will nab -him. At the moment, observing only the first effect of Prohibition, the -great majority of intelligent women are opposed to it. But when the -secondary effect begins to appear they will become in favor of it. They -now have the vote. I see no hope. - - - - -4 - - -_The Triumph of Idealism_ - - -Another effect of Prohibition will be that it will gradually empty -the United States of its present small minority of civilized men. -Almost every man that one respects is now casting longing eyes across -the ocean. Some of them talk frankly of emigrating, once Europe pulls -itself together. Others merely propose to go abroad every year and to -stay there as long as possible, visiting the United States only at -intervals, as a Russian nobleman, say, used to visit his estates in -the Ukraine. Worse, Prohibition will scare off all the better sort -of immigrants from the other side. The lower order of laborers may -continue to come in small numbers--each planning to get all the money -he can and then escape, as the Italians are even now escaping. But no -first-rate man will ever come--no Stephen Girard, or William Osier, -or Carl Schurz, or Theodore Thomas, or Louis Agassiz, or Edwin Klebs, -or Albert Gallatin, or Alexander Hamilton. It is not Prohibition -_per se_ that will keep them away; it is the whole complex of social -and political attitudes underlying Prohibition--the whole clinical -picture of Puritanism rampant. The United States will become a sort -of huge Holland--fat and contented, but essentially undistinguished. -Its superior men will leave it automatically, as nine-tenths of all -superior Hollanders leave Holland. - -But all this, from the standpoint of Prohibitionists, is no argument -against Prohibition. On the contrary, it is an argument in favor of -Prohibition. For the men the Prohibitionist--_i. e.,_ the inferior sort -of Puritan--distrusts and dislikes most intensely is precisely what -the rest of humanity regards as the superior man. You will go wrong if -you imagine that the honest yeomen of, say, Mississippi deplore the -fact that in the whole state there is not a single distinguished man. -They actually delight in it. It is a source of genuine pride to them -that no such irreligious scoundrel as Balzac lives there, and no such -scandalous adulterer as Wagner, and no scoundrelly atheist as Huxley, -and no such rambunctious piano-thumper as Beethoven, and no such German -spy as Nietzsche. Such men, settling there, would be visited by a -Vigilance Committee and sharply questioned. The Puritan Commonwealth, -now as always, has no traffic with heretics. - - - - -X. APPENDIX ON A TENDER THEME - - -1 - - -_The Nature of Love_ - - -Whatever the origin (in the soul, the ductless glands or the -convolutions of the cerebrum) of the thing called romantic love, its -mere phenomenal nature may be very simply described. It is, in brief, a -wholesale diminishing of disgusts, primarily based on observation, but -often, in its later stages, taking on an hallucinatory and pathological -character. Friendship has precisely the same constitution, but the -pathological factor is usually absent. When we are attracted to a -person and find his or her proximity agreeable, it means that he or she -disgusts us less than the average human being disgusts us--which, if we -have delicate sensibilities, is a good deal more than is comfortable. -The elemental man is not much oppressed by this capacity for disgust; -in consequence, he is capable of falling in love with almost any woman -who seems sexually normal. But the man of a higher type is vastly more -sniffish, and so the majority of women whom he meets are quite unable -to interest him, and when he succumbs at last it is always to a woman -of special character, and often she is also one of uncommon shrewdness -and enterprise. - -Because human contacts are chiefly superficial, most of the disgusts -that we are conscious of are physical. We are never honestly friendly -with a man who is dirtier than we are ourselves, or who has table -manners that are cruder than our own (or merely noticeably different), -or who laughs in a way that strikes us as gross, or who radiates some -odor that we do not like. We never conceive a romantic passion for a -woman who employs a toothpick in public, or who suffers from acne, or -who offers the subtle but often quite unescapable suggestion that she -has on soiled underwear. But there are also psychical disgusts. Our -friends, in the main, must be persons who think substantially as we -do, at least about all things that actively concern us, and who have -the same general tastes. It is impossible to imagine a Brahmsianer -being honestly fond of a man who enjoys jazz, or a man who admires -Joseph Conrad falling in love with a woman who reads Rex Beach. By the -same token, it is impossible to imagine a woman of genuine refinement -falling in love with a Knight of Pythias, a Methodist or even a -chauffeur; either the chauffeur is a Harvard aviator in disguise or the -lady herself is a charwoman in disguise. Here, however, the force of -aversion may be greatly diminished by contrary physical attractions; -the body, as usual, is enormously more potent than the so-called mind. -In the midst of the bitterest wars, with every man of the enemy held -to be a fiend in human form, women constantly fall in love with enemy -soldiers who are of pleasant person and wear attractive uniforms. And -many a fair agnostic, as every one knows, is on good terms with a -handsome priest.... - -Imagine a young man in good health and easy circumstances, entirely -ripe for love. The prompting to mate and beget arises within his -interstitial depths, traverses his lymphatic system, lifts his blood -pressure, and goes whooping through his _meatus auditorium externus_ -like a fanfare of slide trombones. The impulse is very powerful. It -staggers and dismays him. He trembles like a stag at bay. Why, then, -doesn't he fall head over heels in love with the first eligible woman -that he meets? For the plain reason that the majority of women that he -meets offend him, repel him, disgust him. Often it is in some small, -inconspicuous and, at first glance, unanalyzable way. She is, in -general, a very pretty girl--but her ears stand out too much. Or her -hair reminds him of oakum. Or her mouth looks like his aunt's. Or she -has beer-keg ankles. Here very impalpable things, such as bodily odors, -play a capital part; their importance is always much underestimated. -Many a girl has lost a husband by using the wrong perfume, or by -neglecting to have her hair washed. Many another has come to grief by -powdering her nose too much or too little, or by shrinking from the -paltry pain of having some of her eyebrows pulled, or by employing a -lip-salve with too much purple in it, or by patronizing a bad dentist, -or by speaking incautiously of chilblains.... - -But eventually the youth finds his love--soon or late the angel -foreordained comes along. Who is this prodigy? Simply the _first_ girl -to sneak over what may be called the threshold of his disgusts--simply -the _first_ to disgust him so little, at first glance, that the loud, -insistent promptings of the Divine Schadchen have a chance to be -heard. If he muffs this first, another will come along, maybe soon, -maybe late. For every normal man there are hundreds of thousands in -Christendom, thousands in his own town, scores within his own circle -of acquaintance. This normal man is not too delicate. His fixed foci -of disgust are neither very numerous nor very sensitive. For the rest, -he is swayed by fashion, by suggestion, by transient moods. Anon a -mood of cynicism is upon him and he is hard to please, but anon he -succumbs to sentimentality and is blind to everything save the grossest -offendings. It is only the man of extraordinary sensitiveness, the man -of hypertrophied delicacy, who must search the world for his elective -affinity. - -Once the threshold is crossed emotion comes to the aid of perception. -That is to say, the blind, almost irresistible mating impulse, now -fortuitously relieved from the contrary pressure of active disgusts, -fortifies itself by manufacturing illusions. The lover sees with an -eye that is both opaque and out of focus. Thus he begins the familiar -process of editing and improving his girl. Features and characteristics -that, observed in cold blood, might have quickly aroused his most -active disgust are now seen through a rose-tinted fog, like drabs in a -musical comedy. The lover ends by being almost anæsthetic to disgust. -While the spell lasts his lady could shave her head or take to rubbing -snuff, or scratch her leg at a communion service, or smear her hair -with bear's grease, and yet not disgust him. Here the paralysis of the -faculties is again chiefly physical--a matter of obscure secretions, of -shifting pressure, of metabolism. Nature is at her tricks. The fever -of love is upon its victim. His guard down, he is little more than a -pathetic automaton. The shrewd observer of gaucheries, the sensitive -sniffer, the erstwhile cynic, has become a mere potential papa. - -This spell, of course, doesn't last forever. Marriage cools the fever -and lowers the threshold of disgust. The husband begins to observe -what the lover was blind to, and often his discoveries affect him as -unpleasantly as the treason of a trusted friend. And not only is the -fever cooled: the opportunities for exact observation are enormously -increased. It is a commonplace of juridical science that the great -majority of divorces have their origin in the connubial chamber. Here -intimacy is so extreme that it is fatal to illusion. Both parties, -thrown into the closest human contact that either has suffered since -their unconscious days _in utero,_ find their old capacity for disgust -reviving, and then suddenly flaming. The girl who was perfect in her -wedding gown becomes a ghastly caricature in her _robe de nuit;_ -the man who was a Chevalier Bayard as a wooer becomes a snuffling, -shambling, driveling nuisance as a husband--a fellow offensive to -eyes, ears, nose, touch and immortal soul. A learned judge of my -acquaintance, constantly hearing divorce actions and as constantly -striving to reconcile the parties, always tries to induce plaintiff -and defendant to live apart for a while, or, failing that, to occupy -separate rooms, or, failing that, to at least dress in separate -rooms. According to this jurist, a husband who shaves in his wife's -presence is either an idiot or a scoundrel. The spectacle, he argues, -is intrinsically disgusting, and to force it upon a refined woman is -either to subject her to the most exquisite torture or to degrade her -gradually to the insensate level of an _Abortfrau._ The day is saved, -as every one knows, by the powerful effects of habit. The acquisition -of habit is the process whereby disgust is overcome in daily life--the -process whereby one may cease to be disgusted by a persistent noise or -odor. One suffers horribly at first, but after a bit one suffers less, -and in the course of time one scarcely suffers at all. Thus a man, when -his marriage enters upon the stage of regularity and safety, gets used -to his wife as he might get used to a tannery next door, and _vice -versa._ I think that women, in this direction, have the harder row to -hoe, for they are more observant than men, and vastly more sensitive in -small ways. But even women succumb to habit with humane rapidity, else -every marriage would end in divorce. Disgusts pale into mere dislikes, -disrelishes, distastes. They cease to gag and torture. But though they -thus shrink into the shadow, they are by no means disposed of. Deep -down in the subconscious they continue to lurk, and some accident may -cause them to flare up at any time, and so work havoc. This flaring -up accounts for a familiar and yet usually very mystifying phenomenon ---the sudden collapse of a marriage, a friendship or a business -association after years of apparent prosperity. - - - - -2 - - -_The Incomparable Buzzsaw_ - - -The chief (and perhaps the only genuine) charm of women is seldom -mentioned by the orthodox professors of the sex. I refer to the charm -that lies in the dangers they present. The allurement that they hold -out to men is precisely the allurement that Cape Hatteras holds -out to sailors: they are enormously dangerous and hence enormously -fascinating. To the average man, doomed to some banal and sordid -drudgery all his life long, they offer the only grand hazard that he -ever encounters. Take them away and his existence would be as flat and -secure as that of a milch-cow. Even to the unusual man, the adventurous -man, the imaginative and romantic man, they offer the adventure of -adventures. Civilization tends to dilute and cheapen all other hazards. -War itself, once an enterprise stupendously thrilling, has been reduced -to mere caution and calculation; already, indeed, it employs as many -press-agents, letter-openers, and chautauqua orators as soldiers. On -some not distant to-morrow its salient personality may be Potash, and -if not Potash, then Perlmutter. But the duel of sex continues to be -fought in the Berserker manner. Whoso approaches women still faces the -immemorial dangers. Civilization has not made them a bit more safe than -they were in Solomon's time; they are still inordinately barbarous and -menacing, and hence inordinately provocative, and hence inordinately -charming and romantic.... - -The most disgusting cad in the world is the man who, on grounds of -decorum and morality, avoids the game of love. He is one who puts -his own ease and security above the most laudable of philanthropies. -Women have a hard time of it in this world. They are oppressed by -man-made laws, man-made social customs, masculine egoism, the delusion -of masculine superiority. Their one comfort is the assurance that, -even though it may be impossible to prevail against man, it is always -possible to enslave and torture a man. This feeling is fostered when -one makes love to them. One need not be a great beau, a seductive -catch, to do it effectively. Any man is better than none. No woman -is ever offended by admiration. The wife of a millionaire notes the -reverent glance of a head-waiter. To withhold that devotion, to shrink -poltroonishly from giving so much happiness at such small expense, to -evade the business on the ground that it has hazards--this is the act -of a puling and tacky fellow. - - - - -3 - - -_Women as Spectacles_ - - -Women, when it comes to snaring men, through the eye, bait a great many -hooks that fail to fluster the fish. Nine-tenths of their primping and -decorating of their persons not only doesn't please men; it actually -repels men. I often pass two days running without encountering a single -woman who is charmingly dressed. Nearly all of them run to painful -color schemes, absurd designs and excessive over-ornamentation. One -seldom observes a man who looks an absolute guy, whereas such women -are very numerous; in the average theater audience they constitute a -majority of at least nine-tenths. The reason is not far to seek. The -clothes of men are plain in design and neutral in hue. The only touch -of genuine color is in the florid blob of the face, the center of -interest--exactly where it ought to be. If there is any other color at -all, it is a faint suggestion in the cravat--adjacent to the face, and -so leading the eye toward it. It is color that kills the clothes of the -average woman. She runs to bright spots that take the eye away from her -face and hair. She ceases to be woman clothed and becomes a mere piece -of clothing womaned. - -Even at the basic feminine art of pigmenting their faces very few women -excel. The average woman seems to think that she is most lovely when -her sophistication of her complexion is most adroitly concealed--when -the _poudre de riz_ is rubbed in so hard that it is almost invisible, -and the penciling of eyes and lips is perfectly realistic. This is -a false notion. Most men of appreciative eye have no objection to -artificiality _per se,_ so long as it is intrinsically sightly. The -marks made by a lip-stick may be very beautiful; there are many lovely -shades of scarlet, crimson and vermilion. A man with eyes in his head -admires them for themselves; he doesn't have to be first convinced that -they are non-existent, that what he sees is not the mark of a lip-stick -at all, but an authentic lip. So with the eyes. Nothing could be more -charming than an eye properly reënforced; the naked organ is not to be -compared to it; nature is an idiot when it comes to shadows. But it -must be admired as a work of art, not as a miraculous and incredible -eye. ... Women, in this important and venerable art, stick too closely -to crude representation. They forget that men do not admire the -technique, but the result. What they should do is to forget realism for -a while, and concentrate their attention upon composition, chiaroscuro -and color. - - - - -4 - - -_Woman and the Artist_ - - -Much gabble is to be found in the literature of the world upon -the function of woman as inspiration, stimulant and _agente -provocateuse_ to the creative artist. The subject is a favorite one -with sentimentalists, most of whom are quite beyond anything properly -describable as inspiration, either with or without feminine aid. I -incline to think, as I hint, that there is little if any basis of fact -beneath the theory. Women not only do not inspire creative artists to -high endeavor; they actually stand firmly against every high endeavor -that a creative artist initiates spontaneously. What a man's women -folks almost invariable ask of him is that he be respectable--that he -do something generally approved--that he avoid yielding to his aberrant -fancies--in brief, that he sedulously eschew showing any sign of -genuine genius. Their interest is not primarily in the self-expression -of the individual, but in the well-being of the family organization, -which means the safety of themselves. No sane woman would want to be -the wife of such a man, say, as Nietzsche or Chopin. His mistress -perhaps, yes--for a mistress can always move on when the weather gets -too warm. But not a wife. I here speak by the book. Both Nietzsche and -Chopin had plenty of mistresses, but neither was ever able to get a -wife. - -Shakespeare and Ann Hathaway, Wagner and Minna Planer, Molière and -Armande Béjart--one might multiply instances almost endlessly. Minna, -at least in theory, knew something of music; she was thus what romance -regards as an ideal wife for Wagner. But instead of helping him to -manufacture his incomparable masterpieces, she was for twenty-five -years the chief impediment to their manufacture. "Lohengrin" gave her -the horrors; she begged Richard to give up his lunacies and return -to the composition of respectable cornet music. In the end he had to -get rid of her in sheer self-defense. Once free, with nothing worse -on his hands than the illicit affection of Cosima Liszt von Bülow, -he produced music drama after music drama in rapid succession. Then, -married to Cosima, he descended to the anticlimax of "Parsifal," a -truly tragic mixture of the stupendous and the banal, of work of genius -and _sinfonia domestica_--a great man dying by inches, smothered by the -smoke of French fried potatoes, deafened by the wailing of children, -murdered in his own house by the holiest of passions. - -Sentimentalists always bring up the case of Schumann and his Clara -in rebuttal. But does it actually rebut? I doubt it. Clara, too, -perpetrated her _attentat_ against art. Her fair white arms, lifting -from the keyboard to encircle Robert's neck, squeezed more out of -him than mere fatuous smirks. He had the best head on him that music -had seen since Beethoven's day; he was, on the cerebral side, a -colossus; he might have written music of the very first order. Well, -what he _did_ write was piano music--some of it imperfectly arranged -for orchestra. The sad eyes of Clara were always upon him. He kept -within the limits of her intelligence, her prejudices, her wifely -love. No grand experiments with the orchestra. No superb leapings and -cavortings. No rubbing of sand-paper over critical ears. Robert lived -and died a respectable musical _Hausvater._ He was a man of genuine -genius--but he didn't leave ten lines that might not have been passed -by old Prof. Jadassohn. - -The truth is that, no matter how great the domestic concord and how -lavish the sacrifices a man makes for his women-folk, they almost -always regard him secretly as a silly and selfish fellow, and cherish -the theory that it would be easily possible to improve him. This -is because the essential interests of men and women are eternally -antithetical. A man may yield over and over again, but in the long run -he must occasionally look out for himself--and it is these occasions -that his women-folk remember. The typical domestic situation shows -a woman trying to induce a man to do something that he doesn't want -to do, or to refrain from something that he does want to do. This -is true in his bachelor days, when his mother or his sister is his -antagonist. It is preëminently true just before his marriage, when -the girl who has marked him down is hard at the colossal job of -overcoming his reluctance. And after marriage it is so true that there -is hardly need to state it. One of the things every man discovers to -his disquiet is that his wife, after the first play-acting is over, -regards him essentially as his mother used to regard him--that is, as -a self-worshiper who needs to be policed and an idiot who needs to -be protected. The notion that women _admire_ their men-folks is pure -moonshine. The most they ever achieve in that direction is to pity -them. When a woman genuinely loves a man it is a sign that she regards -him much as a healthy man regards a one-armed and epileptic soldier. - - - - -5 - - -_Martyrs_ - - -Nearly the whole case of the birth-controllers who now roar in -Christendom is grounded upon the doctrine that it is an intolerable -outrage for a woman to have to submit to motherhood when her private -fancies may rather incline to automobiling, shopping or going to the -movies. For this curse the husband is blamed; the whole crime is laid -to his swinish lasciviousness. With the highest respect, nonsense! My -private suspicion, supported by long observation, copious prayer and -the most laborious cogitation, is that no woman delights in motherhood -so vastly as this woman who theoretically abhors it. She experiences, -in fact, a double delight. On the one hand, there is the caressing -of her vanity--a thing enjoyed by every woman when she achieves the -banality of viable offspring. And on the other hand, there is the fine -chance it gives her to play the martyr--a chance that every woman -seeks as diligently as a man seeks ease. All these so-called unwilling -mothers wallow in their martyrdom. They revel in the opportunity to be -pitied, made much over and envied by other women. - - - - -6 - - -_The Burnt Child_ - - -The fundamental trouble with marriage is that it shakes a man's -confidence in himself, and so greatly diminishes his general competence -and effectiveness. His habit of mind becomes that of a commander who -has lost a decisive and calamitous battle. He never quite trusts -himself thereafter. - - - - -7 - - -_The Supreme Comedy_ Marriage, at Best, is full of a sour and -inescapable comedy, but it never reaches the highest peaks of the -ludicrous save when efforts are made to escape its terms--that is, when -efforts are made to loosen its bonds, and so ameliorate and denaturize -it. All projects to reform it by converting it into a free union of -free individuals are inherently absurd. The thing is, at bottom, the -most rigid of existing conventionalities, and the only way to conceal -the fact and so make it bearable is to submit to it docilely. The -effect of every revolt is merely to make the bonds galling, and, what -is worse, poignantly obvious. Who are happy in marriage? Those with so -little imagination that they cannot picture a better state, and those -so shrewd that they prefer quiet slavery to hopeless rebellion. - - - - -8 - - -_A Hidden Cause_ - - -Many a woman, in order to bring the man of her choice to the altar of -God, has to fight him with such relentless vigilance and ferocity that -she comes to hate him. This, perhaps, explains the unhappiness of many -marriages. In particular, it explains the unhappiness of many marriages -based upon what is called "love." - - - - -9 - - -_Bad Workmanship_ - - -The essential slackness and incompetence of women, their congenital -incapacity for small expertness, already descanted upon at length in -my psychological work, "In Defense of Women," is never more plainly -revealed than in their manhandling of the primary business of their -sex. If the average woman were as competent at her trade of getting a -husband as the average car conductor is at his trade of robbing the -fare-box, then a bachelor beyond the age of twenty-five would be so -rare in the world that yokels would pay ten cents to gape at him. But -women, in this fundamental industry, pursue a faulty technique and -permit themselves to be led astray by unsound principles. The axioms -into which they have precipitated their wisdom are nearly all untrue. -For example, the axiom that the way to capture a man is through his -stomach--which is to say, by feeding him lavishly. Nothing could be -more absurd. The average man, at least in England and America, has such -rudimentary tastes in victualry that he doesn't know good food from -bad. He will eat anything set before him by a cook that he likes. The -true way to fetch him is with drinks. A single bottle of drinkable wine -will fill more men with the passion of love than ten sides of beef or -a ton of potatoes. Even a _Seidel_ of beer, deftly applied, is enough -to mellow the hardest bachelor. If women really knew their business, -they would have abandoned cooking centuries ago, and devoted themselves -to brewing, distilling and bartending. It is a rare man who will walk -five blocks for a first-rate meal. But it is equally a rare man who, -even in the old days of freedom, would _not_ walk five blocks for a -first-rate cocktail. To-day he would walk five miles. - -Another unsound feminine axiom is the one to the effect that the way -to capture a man is to be distant--to throw all the burden of the -courtship upon him. This is precisely the way to lose him. A man face -to face with a girl who seems reserved and unapproachable is not -inspired thereby to drag her off in the manner of a caveman; on the -contrary, he is inspired to thank God that here, at last, is a girl -with whom it is possible to have friendly doings without getting into -trouble--that here is one not likely to grow mushy and make a mess. The -average man does not marry because some marble fair one challenges his -enterprise. He marries because chance throws into his way a fair one -who repels him less actively than most, and because his delight in what -he thus calls her charm is reënforced by a growing suspicion that she -has fallen in love with him. In brief, it is chivalry that undoes him. -The girl who infallibly gets a husband--in fact, _any_ husband that she -wants--is the one who tracks him boldly, fastens him with sad eyes, and -then, when his conscience has begun to torture him, throws her arms -around his neck, bursts into maidenly tears on his shoulder, and tells -him that she fears her forwardness will destroy his respect for her. -It is only a colossus who can resist such strategy. But it takes only a -man of the intellectual grade of a Y. M. C. A. secretary to elude the -girl who is afraid to take the offensive. - -A third bogus axiom I have already discussed, to wit, the axiom that a -man is repelled by palpable cosmetics--that the wise girl is the one -who effectively conceals her sophistication of her complexion. What -could be more untrue? The fact is that very few men are competent to -distinguish between a layer of talc and the authentic epidermis, and -that the few who have the gift are quite free from any notion that the -latter is superior to the former. What a man seeks when he enters the -society of women is something pleasing to the eye. That is all he asks. -He does not waste any time upon a chemical or spectroscopic examination -of the object observed; he simply determines whether it is beautiful or -not beautiful. Has it so long escaped women that their husbands, when -led astray, are usually led astray by women so vastly besmeared with -cosmetics that they resemble barber-poles more than human beings? Are -they yet blind to the superior pull of a French maid, a chorus girl, -a stenographer begauded like a painter's palette? ... And still they -go on rubbing off their varnish, brushing the lampblack from their -eyelashes, seeking eternally the lip-stick that is so depressingly -purple that it will deceive! Alas, what folly! - - - - - - INDEX - - - Abbott, Lawrence - Abbott, Lyman - Akins, Zoë - Alcott, A. B. - Allen, James Lane - _Also sprach Zarathustra_ - _American Painting and Its Tradition_ - _American Scholar, The_ - Amherst College - Anderson, Sherwood - Archer, William - _Aspects of Death and Correlated Aspects of Life_ - _Atlantic Monthly_ - _Authors' League Bulletin_ - - Babbitt, Irving - _Backward Glance Along My Own Road, A_ - _Backwash of War, The_ - Baker, George P. - Bancroft, George - Barton, Wm. E. - Baudelaire, Charles - Beach, Rex - Beethoven, Ludwig - Bennett, Arnold - Benson, E. F. - Bierce, Ambrose - Billroth, Theodor - Blasco, Ibáñez, V. - _Blue Hotel, The_ - Böhme, Jakob - Bonaparte, Charles J. - _Bookman_ - Boynton, P. H. - Brady, Cyrus Townsend - Brahms, Johannes - Brainard, J. G. C. - Bright, John - Bronson-Howard, George - Brooks, Van Wyck - Brown, Alice - Browne, Porter Emerson - Brownell, W. C. - Bruce, Philip Alexander - Bryant, Wm. Cullen - Burroughs, John - Burton, Richard - Butler, Fanny Kemble - Bynner, Witter - - Cabell, James Branch - Cahan, Abraham - Caine, Hall - Candler, Asa G. - Carlyle, Thomas - Carnegie, Andrew - Carrel, Alexis - Cather, Willa Sibert - Chambers, Robert W. - Channing, Wm. Ellery - Chesterton, G. K. - Churchill, Winston - Clemens, S. L. - Cobb, Irvin - Cobden, Richard - Comfort, Will Levington - Comstockery - _Confessions of an Actress, The_ - Conrad, Joseph - Coogler, J. Gordon - Cooper, J. Fenimore - Corelli, Marie - _Cosmopolitan_ - Crane, Frank - Crane, Stephen - Crile, George W. - Crothers, Samuel MCC - - D'Annunzio, Gabriel - Dawson, Coningsby - Davis, Richard Harding - Debussy, Claude - Deland, Margaret - _Democratic Vistas_ - Dickens, Charlesx - _Die Meistersinger_ - _Dissertations on the English Language_ - Doyle, A. Conan - Dreiser Protest - Dreiser, Theodore - - Eliot, T. S. - Ellis, Havelock - Emerson, Ralph Waldo - _Ethan Frome_ - Evans, Caradoc - - Fernald, Chester Bailey - Flexner, Simon - Frank, Waldo - Freneau, Philip - Freytag-Loringhoven, Elsa von - Fuller, Henry B. - - Gale, Zona - Garland, Hamlin - Geddes, Auckland - _"Genius;" The_ - Georgia - Gilman, Daniel Coit - Glasgow, Ellen - Glass, Montague - Glyn, Elinor - _Good Girl, A_ - Gorky, Maxim - Gosse, Edmund - Grant, Robert - Graves, John Temple - Greenwich Village - Griswold, Rufus W. - Grote, George - - Hadley, Herbert K. - Hamilton, Clayton - Harris, Corra - Harris, Frank - Harrison, Henry Sydnor - Harte, Bret - Haweis, H. R. - Hawthorne, Hildegarde - Hawthorne, Julian - Hawthorne, Nathaniel - Hay, Ian - Haydn, Josef - _Heart of Darkness_ - _Hearst's_ - Hecht, Ben - _Hedda Gabler_190 - Henry, O. - Hergesheimer, Joseph - Hillis, Newell Dwight - Holmes, Oliver Wendell - Hooker, Brian - Hopper, James - Hough, Emerson - Howe, E. W. - Howells, Wm. Dean - Hubbard, Elbert - Huneker, James - - _Impressions of Theodore Roosevelt_ - _In Defense of Women_ - _Industrial History of Virginia in the Seventeenth Century_ - Irving, Henry - Irving, Washington - Iveagh, Lord - - James, Henry - - _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_ - Johns Hopkins University - Johnson, Owen - Johnson, Robert U. - Johnston, Mary - - Kellner, Leon - Kilmer, Joyce - Kipling, Rudyard - Knapp, Samuel Lorenzo - - La Motte, Ellen - Lardner, Ring W. - _Last of the Mohicans, The_ - _Lay Anthony, The_ - _Leaves of Grass_ - _Lectures on American Literature_ - Lee, Gerald Stanley - Le Quex, William - _Letters and Leadership_ - Lincoln, Abraham - Lindsay, Vachel - _Little Review_ - Loeb, Jacques - London, Jack - Longfellow, H. W. - Lowell, Amy - Lowell, James Russell - Loveman, Robert - - Mabie, Hamilton Wright - McClure, John - _McClure's_ - MacGrath, Harold - Maeterlinck, Maurice - Mallarmé, Stephen - _Man: An Adaptive Mechanism_ - Mansfield, Richard - Marden, Orison Swett - Markham, Edwin - Martin, E. S. - Mason, Walt - Matthews, Brander - _Mechanistic View of War and Peace, A_ - Merrill, Stuart - _Metropolitan_ - Mitchell, Donald G. - Moore, George - More, Paul Elmer - Morris, Gouverneur - _My Antonia_ - _My Book and I_ - _My Neighbors_ - _Mysterious Stranger, The_ - - _Nation_ - Nietzsche, F. W. - _Night Life in Chicago_ - Nordfeldt, Bror - Norris, Charles G. - Norris, Frank - Norris, Kathleen - Northcliffe, Lord - Noyes, Alfred - - O'Brien, Edward J. - O'Neill, Eugene - Oppenheim, E. Phillips - Oppenheim, James - O'Sullivan, Vincent - - Parmelee, Maurice - _Parsifal_ - Perry, Bliss - _Personality and Conduct_ - Phelps, Wm. Lyon - Phillips, David Graham - Poe, Edgar Allan - _Poetic Principle, The_ - _Poetry: a Magazine of Verse_ - Porter, Eleanor H. - Pound, Ezra - Prescott, W. H. - Puritanism - - Ransome, Arthur - Rathenau, Walther von - Reading, Lordx - Reese, Lizette Woodworth - Repplier, Agnes - Ricardo, David - _Ride of the Valkyrie, The_ - Rideout, Henry Milner - Riley, James Whitcomb - Rinehart, Mary Roberts - Rockefeller, John D. - Rolland, Romain - Roosevelt, Theodore - Rossetti, Christina - - Saintsbury, George - Sandburg, Carl - Sargent, John - _Saturday Evening Post_ - Scheffauer, Herman George - Schubert, Franz - Schumann, Robert - Shakespeare, Wm. - Shaw, George Bernard - _Shelburne Essays_ - Sherman, S. P. - Sisson documents - Spingarn, J. E. - Stanton, Frank L. - Stearns, Harold - _Sterbelied, Das_ - Sterling, George - Stratton-Porter, Gene - Strauss, Johann - Strauss, Richard - Strawinsky, Igor - Sudermann, Hermann - Sumner, William Graham - Sunday, Billy - - Tarkington, Booth - Teasdale, Sara - _Tendencies in Modern American Poetry_ - Thayer, William Roscoe - _Theodore Roosevelt_ - Thomas, Augustus - Thoreau, Henry David - _Times Book Review,_ New York - Townsend, E. W. - - Vance, Louis Joseph - _Vandover and the Brute_ - Van Dyke, Henry - van Dyke, John C. - Van Vechten, Carl - Veblen, Thorstein - Virginiax - - Wagner, Richard - Walpole, Hugh - Weber, F. Parkes - Webster, Noah - Wellman, Rita - Wells, H. G. - Wendell, Barrett - Wharton, Edith - _What Every Young Husband Should Know_ - _What is Man?_ - Whitman, Stephen French - Whitman, Walt - Whittier, J. G. - Wilcox, Ella Wheeler - Willis, N. P. - Wilson, Harry Leon - Wilson, Woodrow - Wister, Owen - Woodberry, George, E. - Wright, Harold Bell - - Zangwill, Israel - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PREJUDICES, SECOND SERIES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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L. Mencken</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Prejudices, Second Series</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. L. Mencken</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 7, 2016 [eBook #53467]<br /> -[Most recently updated: December 26, 2021]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Marc D’Hooghe</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PREJUDICES, SECOND SERIES ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h1>PREJUDICES</h1> - -<h2>SECOND SERIES</h2> - -<h3>By</h3> - -<h2>H. L. MENCKEN</h2> - - - -<h5>JONATHAN CAPE</h5> - -<h5>11 GOWER STREET</h5> - -<h5>LONDON</h5> - -<h5>1921</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -CONTENTS<br /> -<br /> -I <span class="smcap">The National Letters,</span> <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_9">9</a></span><br /> -<br /> -1. Prophets and Their Visions, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_9">9</a></span><br /> -2. The Answering Fact, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_14">14</a></span><br /> -3. The Ashes of New England, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_18">18</a></span><br /> -4. The Ferment Underground, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_25">25</a></span><br /> -5. In the Literary Abattoir, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_32">32</a></span><br /> -6. Underlying Causes, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_39">39</a></span><br /> -7. The Lonesome Artist, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_54">54</a></span><br /> -8. The Cultural Background, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_65">65</a></span><br /> -9. Under the Campus Pump, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_78">78</a></span><br /> -10. The Intolerable Burden, <span class="tabnum"> 87</span><br /> -11. Epilogue, <span class="tabnum"> <a href="#Page_98">98</a></span><br /> -<br /> -II <span class="smcap">Roosevelt: an Autopsy,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></span><br /> -<br /> -III <span class="smcap">The Sahara of the Bozart,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></span><br /> -<br /> -IV <span class="smcap">The Divine Afflatus,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></span><br /> -<br /> -V <span class="smcap">Scientific Examination of a Popular Virtue,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></span><br /> -<br /> -VI <span class="smcap">Exeunt Omnes,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></span><br /> -<br /> -VII <span class="smcap">The Allied Arts,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></span><br /> -<br /> -1. On Music-Lovers, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_194">194</a></span><br /> -2. Opera, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></span><br /> -3. The Music of To-morrow, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></span><br /> -4. Tempo di Valse, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></span><br /> -5. The Puritan as Artist, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></span><br /> -6. The Human Face, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_206">206</a></span><br /> -7. The Cerebral Mime, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></span><br /> -<br /> -VIII <span class="smcap">The Cult of Hope,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></span><br /> -<br /> -IX <span class="smcap">The Dry Millennium,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></span><br /> -<br /> -1. The Holy War, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></span><br /> -2. The Lure of Babylon, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></span><br /> -3. Cupid and Well-Water, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></span><br /> -4. The Triumph of Idealism, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></span><br /> -<br /> -X <span class="smcap">Appendix on a Tender Theme,</span> <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></span><br /> -<br /> -1. The Nature of Love, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></span><br /> -2. The Incomparable Buzzsaw, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></span><br /> -3. Women as Spectacles, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_238">238</a></span><br /> -4. Woman and the Artist, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></span><br /> -5. Martyrs, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></span><br /> -6. The Burnt Child, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></span><br /> -7. The Supreme Comedy, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></span><br /> -8. A Hidden Cause, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></span><br /> -9. Bad Workmanship, <span class="tabnum"><a href="#Page_245">245</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3>PREJUDICES: SECOND SERIES</h3> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4><a name="I_THE_NATIONAL_LETTERS" id="I_THE_NATIONAL_LETTERS">I. THE NATIONAL LETTERS</a></h4> - - - - -<h4>1</h4> - - -<h4><i>Prophets and Their Visions</i></h4> - - -<p>It is convenient to begin, like the gentlemen of God, with a glance at -a text or two. The first, a short one, is from Ralph Waldo Emerson's -celebrated oration, "The American Scholar," delivered before the Phi -Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge on August 31st, 1837. Emerson was then -thirty-four years old and almost unknown in his own country:, though -he had already published "Nature" and established his first contacts -with Landor and Carlyle. But "The American Scholar" brought him into -instant notice at home, partly as man of letters but more importantly -as seer and prophet, and the fame thus founded has endured without much -diminution, at all events in New England, to this day. Oliver Wendell -Holmes, giving words to what was undoubtedly the common feeling, -hailed the address as the intellectual declaration of independence of -the American people, and that judgment, amiably passed on by three -generations of pedagogues, still survives in the literature books. I -quote from the first paragraph:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Our day of dependence, our long apprenticeship to the -learning of other lands, draws to a close.... Events, -actions arise, that must be sung, that will sing themselves. -Who can doubt that poetry will revive and lead in a new age, -as the star in the constellation Harp, which now flames -in our zenith, astronomers announce, shall one day be the -pole-star for a thousand years?</p></blockquote> - -<p>This, as I say, was in 1837. Thirty-three years later, in 1870, Walt -Whitman echoed the prophecy in his even more famous "Democratic -Vistas." What he saw in his vision and put into his gnarled and gasping -prose was</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>a class of native authors, literatuses, far different, far -higher in grade, than any yet known, sacerdotal, modern, -fit to cope with our occasions, lands, permeating the whole -mass of American morality, taste, belief, breathing into -it a new breath of life, giving it decision, affecting -politics far more than the popular superficial suffrage, -with results inside and underneath the elections of -Presidents or Congress—radiating, begetting appropriate -teachers, schools, manners, and, as its grandest result, -accomplishing, (what neither the schools nor the churches -and their clergy have hitherto accomplished, and without -which this nation will no more stand, permanently, soundly, -than a house will stand without a substratum,) a religious -and moral character beneath the political and productive and -intellectual bases of the States.</p></blockquote> - -<p>And out of the vision straightway came the prognostication:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The promulgation and belief in such a class or order—a -new and greater literatus order—its possibility, (nay, -certainty,) underlies these entire speculations.... Above -all previous lands, a great original literature is sure to -become the justification and reliance, (in some respects the -sole reliance,) of American democracy.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Thus Whitman in 1870, the time of the first draft of "Democratic -Vistas." He was of the same mind, and said so, in 1888, four years -before his death. I could bring up texts of like tenor in great number, -from the years before 1837, from those after 1888, and from every -decade between. The dream of Emerson, though the eloquence of its -statement was new and arresting, embodied no novel projection of the -fancy; it merely gave a sonorous <i>Wald-horn</i> tone to what had been -dreamed and said before. You will find almost the same high hope, the -same exuberant confidence in the essays of the elder Channing and -in the "Lectures on American Literature" of Samuel Lorenzo Knapp, -LL.D., the first native critic of beautiful letters—the primordial -tadpole of all our later Mores, Brownells, Phelpses, Mabies, Brander -Matthewses and other such grave and glittering fish. Knapp believed, -like Whitman long after him, that the sheer physical grandeur of the -New World would inflame a race of bards to unprecedented utterance. -"What are the Tibers and Scamanders," he demanded, "measured by the -Missouri and the Amazon? Or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> what the loveliness of Illysus or Avon by -the Connecticut or the Potomack? Whenever a nation wills it, prodigies -are born." That is to say, prodigies literary and ineffable as well as -purely material—prodigies aimed, in his own words, at "the olympick -crown" as well as at mere railroads, ships, wheatfields, droves of -hogs, factories and money. Nor were Channing and Knapp the first of -the haruspices. Noah Webster, the lexicographer, who "taught millions -to spell but not one to sin," had seen the early starlight of the same -Golden Age so early as 1789, as the curious will find by examining -his "Dissertations on the English Language," a work fallen long since -into undeserved oblivion. Nor was Whitman, taking sober second thought -exactly a century later, the last of them. Out of many brethren of our -own day, extravagantly articulate in print and among the chautauquas, -I choose one—not because his hope is of purest water, but precisely -because, like Emerson, he dilutes it with various discreet where-ases. -He is Van Wyck Brooks, a young man far more intelligent, penetrating -and hospitable to fact than any of the reigning professors—a critic -who is sharply differentiated from them, indeed, by the simple -circumstance that he has information and sense. Yet this extraordinary -Mr. Brooks, in his "Letters and Leadership," published in 1918, -rewrites "The American Scholar" in terms borrowed almost bodily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> -from "Democratic Vistas"—that is to say, he prophesies with Emerson -and exults with Whitman. First there is the Emersonian doctrine of -the soaring individual made articulate by freedom and realizing "the -responsibility that lies upon us, each in the measure of his own gift." -And then there is Whitman's vision of a self-interpretative democracy, -forced into high literary adventures by Joseph Conrad's "obscure inner -necessity," and so achieving a "new synthesis adaptable to the unique -conditions of our life." And finally there is the specific prediction, -the grandiose, Adam Forepaugh mirage: "We shall become a luminous -people, dwelling in the light and sharing our light." ...</p> - -<p>As I say, the roll of such soothsayers might be almost endlessly -lengthened. There is, in truth, scarcely a formal discourse upon the -national letters (forgetting, perhaps, Barrett Wendell's sour threnody -upon the New England <i>Aufklärung)</i> that is without some touch of this -previsional exultation, this confident hymning of glories to come, -this fine assurance that American literature, in some future always -ready to dawn, will burst into so grand a flowering that history will -cherish its loveliest blooms even above such salient American gifts to -culture as the moving-picture, the phonograph, the New Thought and the -bi-chloride tablet. If there was ever a dissenter from the national -optimism, in this as in other departments,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> it was surely Edgar Allan -Poe—without question the bravest and most original, if perhaps also -the least orderly and judicious, of all the critics that we have -produced. And yet even Poe, despite his general habit of disgust and -dismay, caught a flash or two of that engaging picture—even Poe, for -an instant, in 1846, thought that he saw the beginnings of a solid -and autonomous native literature, its roots deep in the soil of the -republic—as you will discover by turning to his forgotten essay on J. -G. C. Brainard, a thrice-forgotten doggereleer of Jackson's time. Poe, -of course, was too cautious to let his imagination proceed to details; -one feels that a certain doubt, a saving peradventure or two, played -about the unaccustomed vision as he beheld it. But, nevertheless, he -unquestionably beheld it....</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4>2</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Answering Fact</i></h4> - - -<p>Now for the answering fact. How has the issue replied to these -visionaries? It has replied in a way that is manifestly to the -discomfiture of Emerson as a prophet, to the dismay of Poe as a -pessimist disarmed by transient optimism, and to the utter collapse -of Whitman. We have, as every one knows, produced no such "new and -greater literatus order" as that announced by old Walt. We have given -a gaping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> world no books that "radiate," and surely none intelligibly -comparable to stars and constellations. We have achieved no prodigies -of the first class, and very few of the second class, and not many of -the third and fourth classes. Our literature, despite several false -starts that promised much, is chiefly remarkable, now as always, for -its respectable mediocrity. Its typical great man, in our own time, has -been Howells, as its typical great man a generation ago was Lowell, -and two generations ago, Irving. Viewed largely, its salient character -appears as a sort of timorous flaccidity, an amiable hollowness. -In bulk it grows more and more formidable, in ease and decorum it -makes undoubted progress, and on the side of mere technic, of the -bald capacity to write, it shows an ever-widening competence. But -when one proceeds from such agencies and externals to the intrinsic -substance, to the creative passion within, that substance quickly -reveals itself as thin and watery, and that passion fades to something -almost puerile. In all that mass of suave and often highly diverting -writing there is no visible movement toward a distinguished and -singular excellence, a signal national quality, a ripe and stimulating -flavor, or, indeed, toward any other describable goal. <i>What</i> one -sees is simply a general irresolution, a pervasive superficiality. -There is no sober grappling with fundamentals, but only a shy sporting -on the surface; there is not even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> any serious approach, such as -Whitman dreamed of, to the special experiences and emergencies of the -American people. When one turns to any other national literature—to -Russian literature, say, or French, or German or Scandinavian—one -is conscious immediately of a definite attitude toward the primary -mysteries of existence, the unsolved and ever-fascinating problems -at the bottom of human life, and of a definite preoccupation with -some of them, and a definite way of translating their challenge into -drama. These attitudes and preoccupations raise a literature above -mere poetizing and tale-telling; they give it dignity and importance; -above all, they give it national character. But it is precisely here -that the literature of America, and especially the later literature, -is most colorless and inconsequential. As if paralyzed by the national -fear of ideas, the democratic distrust of whatever strikes beneath -the prevailing platitudes, it evades all resolute and honest dealing -with what, after all, must be every healthy literature's elementary -materials. One is conscious of no brave and noble earnestness in it, of -no generalized passion for intellectual and spiritual adventure, of no -organized determination to think things out. What is there is a highly -self-conscious and insipid correctness, a bloodless respectability, a -submergence of matter in manner—in brief, what is there is the feeble, -uninspiring quality of German painting and English music.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was so in the great days and it is so to-day. There has always -been hope and there has always been failure. Even the most optimistic -prophets of future glories have been united, at all times, in their -discontent with the here and now. "The mind of this country," said -Emerson, speaking of what was currently visible in 1837, "is taught -to aim at low objects.... There is no work for any but the decorous -and the complaisant.... Books are written ... by men of talent ... who -start wrong, who set out from accepted dogmas, not from their own sight -of principles." And then, turning to the way out: "The office of the -scholar (<i>i.e.,</i> of Whitman's 'literatus') is to cheer, to raise and to -guide men by showing them <i>facts amid appearances.</i>" Whitman himself, -a full generation later, found that office still unfilled. "Our -fundamental want to-day in the United States," he said, "with closest, -amplest reference to present conditions, and to the future, is of a -class, and the clear idea of a class, of native authors, literatuses, -far different, far higher in grade, than any yet known"—and so on, as -I have already quoted him. And finally, to make an end of the prophets, -there is Brooks, with nine-tenths of his book given over, not to his -prophecy—it is crowded, indeed, into the last few pages—but to a -somewhat heavy mourning over the actual scene before him. On the side -of letters, the æsthetic side, the side of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> ideas, we present to the -world at large, he says, "the spectacle of a vast, undifferentiated -herd of good-humored animals"—Knights of Pythias, Presbyterians, -standard model Ph.D.'s, readers of the <i>Saturday Evening Post,</i> -admirers of Richard Harding Davis and O. Henry, devotees of Hamilton -Wright Mabie's "white list" of books, members of the Y. M. C. A. or the -Drama League, weepers at chautauquas, wearers of badges, 100 per cent. -patriots, children of God. Poe I pass over; I shall turn to him again -later on. Nor shall I repeat the parrotings of Emerson and Whitman in -the jeremiads of their innumerable heirs and assigns. What they all -establish is what is already obvious: that American thinking, when -it concerns itself with beautiful letters as when it concerns itself -with religious dogma or political theory, is extraordinarily timid and -superficial—that it evades the genuinely serious problems of life and -art as if they were stringently taboo—that the outward virtues it -undoubtedly shows are always the virtues, not of profundity, not of -courage, not of originality, but merely those of an emasculated and -often very trashy dilettantism.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>3</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Ashes of New England</i></h4> - - -<p>The current scene is surely depressing enough. What one observes -is a literature in three layers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> and each inordinately doughy and -uninspiring—each almost without flavor or savor. It is hard to say, -with much critical plausibility, which layer deserves to be called -the upper, but for decorum's sake the choice may be fixed upon that -which meets with the approval of the reigning Lessings. This is the -layer of the novels of the late Howells, Judge Grant, Alice Brown and -the rest of the dwindling survivors of New England <i>Kultur,</i> of the -brittle, academic poetry of Woodberry and the elder Johnson, of the -tea-party essays of Crothers, Miss Repplier and company, and of the -solemn, highly judicial, coroner's inquest criticism of More, Brownell, -Babbitt and their imitators. Here we have manner, undoubtedly. The -thing is correctly done; it is never crude or gross; there is in -it a faint perfume of college-town society. But when this highly -refined and attenuated manner is allowed for what remains is next to -nothing. One never remembers a character in the novels of these aloof -and de-Americanized Americans; one never encounters an idea in their -essays; one never carries away a line out of their poetry. It is -literature as an academic exercise for talented grammarians, almost as -a genteel recreation for ladies and gentlemen of fashion—the exact -equivalent, in the field of letters, of eighteenth century painting and -German <i>Augenmusik.</i></p> - -<p>What ails it, intrinsically, is a dearth of intellectual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> audacity and -of æsthetic passion. Running through it, and characterizing the work -of almost every man and woman producing it, there is an unescapable -suggestion of the old Puritan suspicion of the fine arts as such—of -the doctrine that they offer fit asylum for good citizens only when -some ulterior and superior purpose is carried into them. This purpose, -naturally enough, most commonly shows a moral tinge. The aim of poetry, -it appears, is to fill the mind with lofty thoughts—not to give it -joy, but to give it a grand and somewhat gaudy sense of virtue. The -essay is a weapon against the degenerate tendencies of the age. The -novel, properly conceived, is a means of uplifting the spirit; its aim -is to inspire, not merely to satisfy the low curiosity of man in man. -The Puritan, of course, is not entirely devoid of æsthetic feeling. He -has a taste for good form; he responds to style; he is even capable -of something approaching a purely æsthetic emotion. But he fears this -æsthetic emotion as an insinuating distraction from his chief business -in life: the sober consideration of the all-important problem of -conduct. Art is a temptation, a seduction, a Lorelei, and the Good -Man may safely have traffic with it only when it is broken to moral -uses—in other words, when its innocence is pumped out of it, and it -is purged of gusto. It is precisely this gusto that one misses in all -the work of the New England school, and in all the work of the formal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> -schools that derive from it. One observes in such a fellow as Dr. Henry -Van Dyke an excellent specimen of the whole clan. He is, in his way, -a genuine artist. He has a hand for pretty verses. He wields a facile -rhetoric. He shows, in indiscreet moments, a touch of imagination. -But all the while he remains a sound Presbyterian, with one eye on -the devil. He is a Presbyterian first and an artist second, which is -just as comfortable as trying to be a Presbyterian first and a chorus -girl second. To such a man it must inevitably appear that a Molière, a -Wagner, a Goethe or a Shakespeare was more than a little bawdy.</p> - -<p>The criticism that supports this decaying caste of literary Brahmins -is grounded almost entirely upon ethical criteria. You will spend a -long while going through the works of such typical professors as More, -Phelps, Boynton, Burton, Perry, Brownell and Babbitt before ever you -encounter a purely æsthetic judgment upon an æsthetic question. It -is almost as if a man estimating daffodils should do it in terms of -artichokes. Phelps' whole body of "we church-goers" criticism—the most -catholic and tolerant, it may be said in passing, that the faculty can -show—consists chiefly of a plea for correctness, and particularly -for moral correctness; he never gets very far from "the axiom of the -moral law." Brownell argues eloquently for standards that would bind -an imaginative author as tightly as a Sunday-school<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> super-intendent -is bound by the Ten Commandments and the Mann Act. Sherman tries to -save Shakespeare for the right-thinking by proving that he was an Iowa -Methodist—a member of his local Chamber of Commerce, a contemner of -Reds, an advocate of democracy and the League of Nations, a patriotic -dollar-a-year-man during the Armada scare. Elmer More devotes himself, -year in and year out, to denouncing the Romantic movement, <i>i. e.,</i> -the effort to emancipate the artist from formulæ and categories, and -so make him free to dance with arms and legs. And Babbitt, to make -an end, gives over his days and his nights to deploring Rousseau's -anarchistic abrogation of "the veto power" over the imagination, -leading to such "wrongness" in both art and life that it threatens -"to wreck civilization." In brief, the alarms of schoolmasters. Not -many of them deal specifically with the literature that is in being. -It is too near to be quite nice. To More or Babbitt only death can -atone for the primary offense of the artist. But what they preach -nevertheless has its echoes contemporaneously, and those echoes, in the -main, are woefully falsetto. I often wonder what sort of picture of -These States is conjured up by foreigners who read, say, Crothers, Van -Dyke, Babbitt, the later Winston Churchill, and the old maids of the -Freudian suppression school. How can such a foreigner, moving in those -damp, asthmatic mists, imagine such phenomena as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> Roosevelt, Billy -Sunday, Bryan, the Becker case, the I. W. W., Newport, Palm Beach, the -University of Chicago, Chicago itself—the whole, gross, glittering, -excessively dynamic, infinitely grotesque, incredibly stupendous drama -of American life?</p> - -<p>As I have said, it is not often that the <i>ordentlichen Professoren</i> -deign to notice contemporary writers, even of their own austere kidney. -In all the Shelburne Essays there is none on Howells, or on Churchill, -or on Mrs. Wharton; More seems to think of American literature as -expiring with Longfellow and Donald G. Mitchell. He has himself hinted -that in the department of criticism of criticism there enters into -the matter something beyond mere aloof ignorance. "I soon learned (as -editor of the pre-Bolshevik <i>Nation),</i>" he says, "that it was virtually -impossible to get fair consideration for a book written by a scholar -not connected with a university from a reviewer so connected." This -class consciousness, however, should not apply to artists, who are -admittedly inferior to professors, and it surely does not show itself -in such men as Phelps and Spingarn, who seem to be very eager to prove -that they are not professorial. Yet Phelps, in the course of a long -work on the novel, pointedly omits all mention of such men as Dreiser, -and Spingarn, as the aforesaid Brooks has said, "appears to be less -inclined even than the critics with whom he is theoretically at war -to play an active,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> public part in the secular conflict of darkness -and light." When one comes to the <i>Privat-Dozenten</i> there is less -remoteness, but what takes the place of it is almost as saddening. To -Sherman and Percy Boynton the one aim of criticism seems to be the -enforcement of correctness—in Emerson's phrase, the upholding of "some -great decorum, some fetish of a government, some ephemeral trade, or -war, or man"—e. g., Puritanism, democracy, monogamy, the League of -Nations, the Wilsonian piffle. Even among the critics who escape the -worst of this schoolmastering frenzy there is some touch of the heavy -"culture" of the provincial schoolma'm. For example, consider Clayton -Hamilton, M.A., vice-president of the National Institute of Arts and -Letters. Here are the tests he proposes for dramatic critics, <i>i. -e.,</i> for gentlemen chiefly employed in reviewing such characteristic -American compositions as the Ziegfeld Follies, "Up in Mabel's Room," -"Ben-Hur" and "The Witching Hour":</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>1. Have you ever stood bareheaded in the nave of Amiens?</p> - -<p>2. Have you ever climbed to the Acropolis by moonlight?</p> - -<p>3. Have you ever walked with whispers into the hushed -presence of the Frari Madonna of Bellini?</p></blockquote> - -<p>What could more brilliantly evoke an image of the eternal Miss Birch, -blue veil flying and Baedeker in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> hand, plodding along faithfully -through the interminable corridors and catacombs of the Louvre, -the while bands are playing across the river, and young bucks in -three-gallon hats are sparking the gals, and the Jews and harlots -uphold the traditions of French <i>hig leef</i> at Longchamps, and American -deacons are frisked and debauched up on martyrs' hill? The banality of -it is really too exquisite to be borne; the lack of humor is almost -that of a Fifth avenue divine. One seldom finds in the pronunciamentoes -of these dogged professors, indeed, any trace of either Attic or Gallic -salt. When they essay to be jocose, the result is usually simply an -elephantine whimsicality, by the chautauqua out of the <i>Atlantic -Monthly.</i> Their satire is mere ill-nature. One finds it difficult to -believe that they have ever read Lewes, or Hazlitt, or, above all, -Saintsbury. I often wonder, in fact, how Saintsbury would fare, an -unknown man, at the hands of, say, Brownell or More. What of his -iconoclastic gayety, his boyish weakness for tweaking noses and pulling -whiskers, his obscene delight in slang?...</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>4</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Ferment Underground</i></h4> - - -<p>So much for the top layer. The bottom layer is given over to the -literature of Greenwich Village, and by Greenwich Village, of course, -I mean the whole of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> the advanced wing in letters, whatever the scene -of its solemn declarations of independence and forlorn hopes. Miss Amy -Lowell is herself a fully-equipped and automobile Greenwich Village, -domiciled in Boston amid the crumbling gravestones of the New England -<i>intelligentsia,</i> but often in waspish joy-ride through the hinterland. -Vachel Lindsay, with his pilgrim's staff, is another. There is a third -in Chicago, with <i>Poetry: A Magazine of Verse</i> as its Exhibit A; it -is, in fact, the senior of the Village fornenst Washington Square. -Others you will find in far-flung factory towns, wherever there is a -Little Theater, and a couple of local Synges and Chekovs to supply its -stage. St. Louis, before Zoë Akins took flight, had the busiest of -all these Greenwiches, and the most interesting. What lies under the -whole movement is the natural revolt of youth against the pedagogical -Prussianism of the professors. The oppression is extreme, and so the -rebellion is extreme. Imagine a sentimental young man of the provinces, -awaking one morning to the somewhat startling discovery that he is -full of the divine afflatus, and nominated by the hierarchy of hell -to enrich the literature of his fatherland. He seeks counsel and aid. -He finds, on consulting the official treatises on that literature, -that its greatest poet was Longfellow. He is warned, reading More and -Babbitt, that the literatus who lets feeling get into his compositions -is a psychic fornicator, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> under German influences. He has formal -notice from Sherman that Puritanism is the lawful philosophy of the -country, and that any dissent from it is treason. He gets the news, -plowing through the New York <i>Times Book Review,</i> the <i>Nation</i> (so far -to the left in its politics, but hugging the right so desperately in -letters!) the <i>Bookman,</i> the <i>Atlantic</i> and the rest, that the salient -artists of the living generation are such masters as Robert Underwood -Johnson, Owen Wister, James Lane Allen, George E. Woodberry, Hamlin -Garland, William Roscoe Thayer and Augustus Thomas, with polite bows -to Margaret Deland, Mary Johnston and Ellen Glasgow. It slowly dawns -upon him that Robert W. Chambers is an academician and Theodore Dreiser -isn't, that Brian Hooker is and George Sterling isn't, that Henry -Sydnor Harrison is and James Branch Cabell isn't, that "Chimmie Fadden" -Townsend is and Sherwood Anderson isn't.</p> - -<p>Is it any wonder that such a young fellow, after one or two sniffs -of that prep-school fog, swings so vastly backward that one finds -him presently in corduroy trousers and a velvet jacket, hammering -furiously upon a pine table in a Macdougal street cellar, his mind -full of malicious animal magnetism against even so amiable an old -maid as Howells, and his discourse full of insane hair-splittings -about <i>vers libre,</i> futurism, spectrism, vorticism, <i>Expressionismus, -héliogabalisme?</i> The thing, in truth, is in the course of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> nature. -The Spaniards who were outraged by the Palmerism of Torquemada did -not become members of the Church of England; they became atheists. -The American colonists, in revolt against a bad king, did not set up -a good king; they set up a democracy, and so gave every honest man a -chance to become a rogue on his own account. Thus the young literatus, -emerging from the vacuum of Ohio or Arkansas. An early success, as we -shall see, tends to halt and moderate him. He finds that, after all, -there is still a place for him, a sort of asylum for such as he, not -over-populated or very warmly-heated, but nevertheless quite real. But -if his sledding at the start is hard, if the corrective birch finds him -while he is still tender, then he goes, as Andrew Jackson would say, -the whole hog, and another voice is added to the raucous bellowing of -the literary Reds.</p> - -<p>I confess that the spectacle gives me some joy, despite the fact -that the actual output of the Village is seldom worth noticing. What -commonly engulfs and spoils the Villagers is their concern with mere -technique. Among them, it goes without saying, are a great many -frauds—poets whose yearning to write is unaccompanied by anything -properly describable as capacity, dramatists whose dramas are simply -Schnitzler and well-water, workers in prose fiction who gravitate -swiftly and inevitably to the machine-made merchandise of the cheap -magazines—in brief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> American equivalents of the bogus painters of the -Boul' Mich'. These pretenders, having no ideas, naturally try to make -the most of forms. Half the wars in the Village are over form; content -is taken for granted, or forgotten altogether. The extreme leftists, -in fact, descend to a meaningless gibberish, both in prose and in -verse; it is their last defiance to intellectualism. This childish -concentration upon externals unfortunately tends to debauch the small -minority that is of more or less genuine parts; the good are pulled in -by the bad. As a result, the Village produces nothing that justifies -all the noise it makes. I have yet to hear of a first-rate book coming -out of it, or a short story of arresting quality, or even a poem of -any solid distinction. As one of the editors of a magazine which -specializes in the work of new authors I am in an exceptional position -to report. Probably nine-tenths of the stuff written in the dark dens -and alleys south of the arch comes to my desk soon or late, and I go -through all of it faithfully. It is, in the overwhelming main, jejune -and imitative. The prose is quite without distinction, either in matter -or in manner. The verse seldom gets beyond a hollow audaciousness, not -unlike that of cubist painting. It is not often, indeed, that even -personality is in it; all of the Villagers seem to write alike. "Unless -one is an expert in some detective method," said a recent writer in -<i>Poetry,</i> "one is at a loss to assign<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> correctly the ownership of -much free verse—that is, if one plays fairly and refuses to look at -the signature until one has ventured a guess. It is difficult, for -instance, to know whether Miss Lowell is writing Mr. Bynner's verse, or -whether he is writing hers." Moreover, this monotony keeps to a very -low level. There is no poet in the movement who has produced anything -even remotely approaching the fine lyrics of Miss Reese, Miss Teasdale -and John McClure, and for all its war upon the <i>cliché</i> it can show -nothing to equal the <i>cliché-free</i> beauty of Robert Loveman's "Rain -Song." In the drama the Village has gone further. In Eugene O'Neill, -Rita Wellman and Zoë Akins it offers dramatists who are obviously many -cuts above the well-professored mechanicians who pour out of Prof. Dr. -Baker's <i>Ibsenfabrik</i> at Cambridge. But here we must probably give -the credit, not to any influence residing within the movement itself, -but to mere acts of God. Such pieces as O'Neill's one-acters, Miss -Wellman's "The Gentile Wife" and Miss Akins' extraordinary "Papa" lie -quite outside the Village scheme of things. There is no sign of formal -revolt in them. They are simply first-rate work, done miraculously in a -third-rate land.</p> - -<p>But if the rebellion is thus sterile of direct results, and, in more -than one aspect, fraudulent and ridiculous, it is at all events an -evidence of something not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> be disregarded, and that something is -the gradual formulation of a challenge to the accepted canons in -letters and to the accepted canon lawyers. The first hoots come from -a tatterdemalion horde of rogues and vagabonds without the gates, -but soon or late, let us hope, they will be echoed in more decorous -quarters, and with much greater effect. The Village, in brief, is an -earnest that somewhere or other new seeds are germinating. Between the -young tutor who launches into letters with imitations of his seminary -chief's imitations of Agnes Repplier's imitations of Charles Lamb, and -the young peasant who tries to get his honest exultations into free -verse there can be no hesitant choice: the peasant is, by long odds, -the sounder artist, and, what is more, the sounder American artist. -Even the shy and somewhat stagey carnality that characterizes the -Village has its high symbolism and its profound uses. It proves that, -despite repressions unmatched in civilization in modern times, there is -still a sturdy animality in American youth, and hence good health. The -poet hugging his Sonia in a Washington square beanery, and so giving -notice to all his world that he is a devil of a fellow, is at least a -better man than the emasculated stripling in a Y. M. C. A. gospel-mill, -pumped dry of all his natural appetites and the vacuum filled with -double-entry book-keeping, business economics and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> auto-erotism. In -so foul a nest of imprisoned and fermenting sex as the United States, -plain fornication becomes a mark of relative decency.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>5</h4> - - -<h4><i>In the Literary Abattoir</i></h4> - - -<p>But the theme is letters, not wickedness. The upper and lower layers -have been surveyed. There remains the middle layer, the thickest and -perhaps the most significant of the three. By the middle layer I mean -the literature that fills the magazines and burdens the book-counters -in the department-stores—the literature adorned by such artists as -Richard Harding Davis, Rex Beach, Emerson Hough, O. Henry, James -Whitcomb Riley, Augustus Thomas, Robert W. Chambers, Henry Sydnor -Harrison, Owen Johnson, Cyrus Townsend Brady, Irvin Cobb and Mary -Roberts Rinehart—in brief, the literature that pays like a bucket-shop -or a soap-factory, and is thus thoroughly American. At the bottom this -literature touches such depths of banality that it would be difficult -to match it in any other country. The "inspirational" and patriotic -essays of Dr. Frank Crane, Orison Sweet Marden, Porter Emerson Browne, -Gerald Stanley Lee, E. S. Martin, Ella Wheeler Wilcox and the Rev. Dr. -Newell Dwight Hillis, the novels of Harold Bell Wright, Eleanor H.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> -Porter and Gene Stratton-Porter, and the mechanical sentimentalities -in prose and verse that fill the cheap fiction magazines—this stuff -has a native quality that is as unmistakable as that of Mother's Day, -Billy-Sundayism or the Junior Order of United American Mechanics. It -is the natural outpouring of a naïve and yet half barbarous people, -full of delight in a few childish and inaccurate ideas. But it would -be a grave error to assume that the whole of the literature of the -middle layer is of the same infantile quality. On the contrary, a -great deal of it—for example, the work of Mrs. Rinehart, and that -of Corra Harris, Gouverneur Morris, Harold MacGrath and the late O. -Henry—shows an unmistakably technical excellence, and even a certain -civilized sophistication in point of view. Moreover, this literature is -constantly graduating adept professors into something finer, as witness -Booth Tarkington, Zona Gale, Ring W. Lardner and Montague Glass. S. L. -Clemens came out of forty years ago. Nevertheless, its general tendency -is distinctly in the other direction. It seduces by the power of money, -and by the power of great acclaim no less. One constantly observes -the collapse and surrender of writers who started out with aims far -above that of the magazine nabob. I could draw up a long, long list of -such victims: Henry Milner Rideout, Jack London, Owen Johnson, Chester -Bailey Fernald, Hamlin Garland, Will Levington<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> Comfort, Stephen French -Whitman, James Hopper, Harry Leon Wilson, and so on. They had their -fore-runner, in the last generation, in Bret Harte. It is, indeed, -a characteristic American phenomenon for a young writer to score a -success with novel and meritorious work, and then to yield himself to -the best-seller fever, and so disappear down the sewers. Even the man -who struggles to emerge again is commonly hauled back. For example, -Louis Joseph Vance, Rupert Hughes, George Bronson-Howard, and, to -go back a few years, David Graham Phillips and Elbert Hubbard—all -men flustered by high aspiration, and yet all pulled down by the -temptations below. Even Frank Norris showed signs of yielding. The -pull is genuinely powerful. Above lies not only isolation, but also a -dogged and malignant sort of opposition. Below, as Morris has frankly -admitted, there is the place at Aiken, the motor-car, babies, money in -the bank, and the dignity of an important man.</p> - -<p>It is a commonplace of the envious to put all the blame upon the -<i>Saturday Evening Post,</i> for in its pages many of the Magdalens of -letters are to be found, and out of its bulging coffers comes much -of the lure. But this is simply blaming the bull for the sins of all -the cows. The <i>Post,</i> as a matter of fact, is a good deal less guilty -than such magazines as the <i>Cosmopolitan, Hearst's, McClure's</i> and -the <i>Metropolitan,</i> not to mention the larger women's magazines. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> -the <i>Post</i> one often discerns an effort to rise above the level of -shoe-drummer fiction. It is edited by a man who, almost alone among -editors of the great periodicals of the country, is himself a writer -of respectable skill. It has brought out (after lesser publications -unearthed them) a member of authors of very solid talents, notably -Glass, Lardner and E. W. Howe. It has been extremely hospitable to men -not immediately comprehensible to the mob, for example, Dreiser and -Hergesheimer. Most of all, it has avoided the Barnum-like exploitation -of such native bosh-mongers as Crane, Hillis and Ella Wheeler -Wilcox, and of such exotic mountebanks as D'Annunzio, Hall Caine and -Maeterlinck. In brief, the <i>Post</i> is a great deal better than ever -Greenwich Village and the Cambridge campus are disposed to admit. It -is the largest of all the literary Hog Islands, but it is by no means -the worst. Appealing primarily to the great masses of right-thinking -and unintelligent Americans, it must necessarily print a great deal -of preposterous tosh, but it flavors the mess with not a few things -of a far higher quality, and at its worst it is seldom downright -idiotic. In many of the other great magazines one finds stuff that -it would be difficult to describe in any other words. It is gaudily -romantic, furtively sexual, and full of rubber-stamp situations and -personages—a sort of amalgam of the worst drivel of Marie Corelli, -Elinor Glyn, E. Phillips Oppenheim, William Le<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> Quex and Hall Caine. -This is the literature of the middle layer—the product of the national -Rockefellers and Duponts of letters. This is the sort of thing that the -young author of facile pen is encouraged to manufacture. This is the -material of the best sellers and the movies.</p> - -<p>Of late it is the movies that have chiefly provoked its composition: -the rewards they offer are even greater than those held out by the -commercial book-publishers and the train-boy magazines. The point of -view of an author responsive to such rewards was recently set forth -very naively in the <i>Authors' League Bulletin.</i> This author undertook, -in a short article, to refute the fallacies of an unknown who ventured -to protest against the movies on the ground that they called only for -bald plots, elementary and generally absurd, and that all the rest of a -sound writer's equipment—"the artistry of his style, the felicity of -his apt expression, his subtlety and thoroughness of observation and -comprehension and sympathy, the illuminating quality of his analysis -of motive and character, even the fundamental skillful development of -the bare plot"—was disdained by the Selznicks, Goldfishes, Zukors and -other such <i>entrepreneurs,</i> and by the overwhelming majority of their -customers. I quote from the reply:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><blockquote> - -<p>There are some conspicuous word merchants who deal in the -English language, but the general public doesn't clamor -for their wares. They write for the "thinking class." -The élite, the discriminating. As a rule, they scorn the -crass commercialism of the magazines and movies and such -catch-penny devices. However, literary masterpieces live -because they have been and will be read, not by the few, but -by the many. That was true in the time of Homer, and even -to-day the first move made by an editor when he receives a -manuscript, or a gentle reader when he buys a book, or a -T. B. M. when he sinks into an orchestra chair is to look -around for John Henry Plot. If Mr. Plot is too long delayed -in arriving or doesn't come at all, the editor usually sends -regrets, the reader yawns and the tired business man falls -asleep. It's a sad state of affairs and awful tough on art, -but it can't be helped.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Observe the lofty scorn of mere literature—the superior irony at the -expense of everything beyond the bumping of boobs. Note the sound -judgment as to the function and fate of literary masterpieces, e. g., -"Endymion," "The Canterbury Tales," "Faust," "Typhoon." Give your -eye to the chaste diction—"John Henry Plot," "T. B. M.," "awful -tough," and so on. No doubt you will at once assume that this curious -counterblast to literature was written by some former bartender now -engaged in composing scenarios for Pearl White and Theda Bara. But it -was not. It was written and signed by the president of the Authors' -League of America.</p> - -<p>Here we have, unconsciously revealed, the secret<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> of the depressing -badness of what may be called the staple fiction of the country—the -sort of stuff that is done by the Richard Harding Davises, Rex Beaches, -Houghs, McCutcheons, and their like, male and female. The worse of it -is not that it is addressed primarily to shoe-drummers and shop-girls; -the worst of it is that it is written by authors who <i>are,</i> to all -intellectual intents and purposes, shoe-drummers and shop-girls. -American literature, even on its higher levels, seldom comes out of -the small and lonesome upper classes of the people. An American author -with traditions behind him and an environment about him comparable to -those, say, of George Moore, or Hugh Walpole, or E. F. Benson is and -always has been relatively rare. On this side of the water the arts, -like politics and religion, are chiefly in the keeping of persons of -obscure origin, defective education and elemental tastes. Even some -of the most violent upholders of the New England superstition are -aliens to the actual New England heritage; one discovers, searching -"Who's Who in America," that they are recent fugitives from the six-day -sock and saleratus <i>Kultur</i> of the cow and hog States. The artistic -merchandise produced by liberated yokels of that sort is bound to show -its intellectual newness, which is to say, its deficiency in civilized -culture and sophistication. It is, on the plane of letters, precisely -what evangelical Christianity is on the plane of religion, to wit, -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> product of ill-informed, emotional and more or less pushing and -oafish folk. Life, to such Harvardized peasants, is not a mystery; it -is something absurdly simple, to be described with surety and in a -few words. If they set up as critics their criticism is all a matter -of facile labeling, chiefly ethical; find the pigeon-hole, and the -rest is easy. If they presume to discuss the great problems of human -society, they are equally ready with their answers: draw up and pass -a harsh enough statute, and the corruptible will straightway put on -incorruption. And if, fanned by the soft breath of beauty, they go into -practice as creative artists, as poets, as dramatists, as novelists, -then one learns from them that we inhabit a country that is the model -and despair of other states, that its culture is coextensive with human -culture and enlightenment, and that every failure to find happiness -under that culture, is the result of sin.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>6</h4> - - -<h4><i>Underlying Causes</i></h4> - - -<p>Here is one of the fundamental defects of American fiction—perhaps -the one character that sets it off sharply from all other known kinds -of contemporary fiction. It habitually exhibits, not a man of delicate -organization in revolt against the inexplicable tragedy of existence, -but a man of low sensibilities and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> elemental desires yielding himself -gladly to his environment, and so achieving what, under a third-rate -civilization, passes for success. To get on: this is the aim. To weigh -and reflect, to doubt and rebel: this is the thing to be avoided. -I describe the optimistic, the inspirational, the Authors' League, -the popular magazine, the peculiarly American school. In character -creation its masterpiece is the advertising agent who, by devising -some new and super-imbecile boob-trap, puts his hook-and-eye factory -"on the map," ruins all other factories, marries the daughter of his -boss, and so ends as an eminent man. Obviously, the drama underlying -such fiction—what Mr. Beach would call its John Henry Plot—is false -drama, Sunday-school drama, puerile and disgusting drama. It is the -sort of thing that awakens a response only in men who are essentially -unimaginative, timorous and degraded—in brief, in democrats, bagmen, -yahoos. The man of reflective habit cannot conceivably take any -passionate interest in the conflicts it deals with. He doesn't want -to marry the daughter of the owner of the hook-and-eye factory; he -would probably burn down the factory itself if it ever came into his -hands. What interests this man is the far more poignant and significant -conflict between a salient individual and the harsh and meaningless -fiats of destiny, the unintelligible mandates and vagaries of God. His -hero<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> is not one who yields and wins, but one who resists and fails.</p> - -<p>Most of these conflicts, of course, are internal, and hence do not -make themselves visible in the overt melodrama of the Beaches, Davises -and Chamberses. A superior man's struggle in the world is not with -exterior lions, trusts, margraves, policemen, rivals in love, German -spies, radicals and tornadoes, but with the obscure, atavistic impulses -within him—the impulses, weaknesses and limitations that war with his -notion of what life should be. Nine times out of ten he succumbs. Nine -times out of ten he must yield to the dead hand. Nine times out of ten -his aspiration is almost infinitely above his achievement. The result -is that we see him sliding downhill—his ideals breaking up, his hope -petering out, his character in decay. Character in decay is thus the -theme of the great bulk of superior fiction. One has it in Dostoievsky, -in Balzac, in Hardy, in Conrad, in Flaubert, in Zola, in Turgenieff, -in Goethe, in Sudermann, in Bennett, and, to come home, in Dreiser. -In nearly all first-rate novels the hero is defeated. In perhaps a -majority he is completely destroyed. The hero of the inferior—<i>i. e.,</i> -the typically American—novel engages in no such doomed and fateful -combat. His conflict is not with the inexplicable ukases of destiny, -the limitations of his own strength, the dead hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> upon him, but -simply with the superficial desires of his elemental fellow men. He -thus has a fair chance of winning—and in bad fiction that chance is -always converted into a certainty. So he marries the daughter of the -owner of the factory and eventually gobbles the factory itself. His -success gives thrills to persons who can imagine no higher aspiration. -He embodies their optimism, as the other hero embodies the pessimism of -more introspective and idealistic men. He is the protagonist of that -great majority which is so inferior that it is quite unconscious of its -inferiority.</p> - -<p>It is this superficiality of the inferior man, it seems to me, that -is the chief hallmark of the American novel. Whenever one encounters -a novel that rises superior to it the thing takes on a subtle but -unmistakable air of foreignness—for example, Frank Norris' "Vandover -and the Brute," Hergesheimer's "The Lay Anthony" and Miss Cather's -"My Antonia," or, to drop to short stories, Stephen Crane's "The Blue -Hotel" and Mrs. Wharton's "Ethan Frome." The short story is commonly -regarded, at least by American critics, as a preëminently American -form; there are even patriots who argue that Bret Harte invented it. -It meets very accurately, in fact, certain characteristic demands of -the American temperament: it is simple, economical and brilliantly -effective. Yet the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> same hollowness that marks the American novel also -marks the American short story. Its great masters, in late years, have -been such cheese-mongers as Davis, with his servant-girl romanticism, -and O. Henry, with his smoke-room and variety show smartness. In the -whole canon of O. Henry's work you will not find a single recognizable -human character; his people are unanimously marionettes; he makes -Mexican brigands, Texas cowmen and New York cracksmen talk the same -highly ornate Broadwayese. The successive volumes of Edward J. -O'Brien's "Best Short-Story" series throw a vivid light upon the -feeble estate of the art in the land. O'Brien, though his æsthetic -judgments are ludicrous, at least selects stories that are thoroughly -representative; his books are trade successes because the crowd is -undoubtedly with him. He has yet to discover a single story that even -the most naïve professor would venture to mention in the same breath -with Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness," or Andrieff's "Silence," or -Sudermann's "Das Sterbelied," or the least considerable tale by Anatole -France. In many of the current American makers of magazine short -stories—for example, Gouverneur Morris—one observes, as I have said, -a truly admirable technical skill. They have mastered the externals of -the form. They know how to get their effects. But in content their work -is as hollow as a jug. Such stuff<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> has no imaginable relation to life -as men live it in the world. It is as artificial as the heroic strut -and romantic eyes of a moving-picture actor.</p> - -<p>I have spoken of the air of foreignness that clings to certain -exceptional American compositions. In part it is based upon a -psychological trick—upon the surprise which must inevitably seize upon -any one who encounters a decent piece of writing in so vast a desert -of mere literacy. But in part it is grounded soundly enough on the -facts. The native author of any genuine force and originality is almost -invariably found to be under strong foreign influences, either English -or Continental. It was so in the earliest days. Freneau, the poet of -the Revolution, was thoroughly French in blood and traditions. Irving, -as H. R. Haweis has said, "took to England as a duck takes to water," -and was in exile seventeen years. Cooper, with the great success of -"The Last of the Mohicans" behind him, left the country in disgust -and was gone for seven years. Emerson, Bryant, Lowell, Hawthorne and -even Longfellow kept their eyes turned across the water; Emerson, in -fact, was little more than an importer and popularizer of German and -French ideas. Bancroft studied in Germany; Prescott, like Irving, -was enchanted by Spain. Poe, unable to follow the fashion, invented -mythical travels to save his face—to France, to Germany, to the Greek -isles. The Civil War revived the national consciousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> enormously, -but it did not halt the movement of <i>émigrés.</i> Henry James, in the -seventies, went to England, Bierce and Bret Harte followed him, and -even Mark Twain, absolutely American though he was, was forever pulling -up stakes and setting out for Vienna, Florence or London. Only poverty -tied Whitman to the soil; his audience, for many years, was chiefly -beyond the water, and there, too, he often longed to be. This distaste -for the national scene is often based upon a genuine alienness. The -more, indeed, one investigates the ancestry of Americans who have won -distinction in the fine arts, the more one discovers tempting game for -the critical Know Nothings. Whitman was half Dutch, Harte was half -Jew, Poe was partly German, James had an Irish grand-father, Howells -was largely Irish and German, Dreiser is German and Hergesheimer is -Pennsylvania Dutch. Fully a half of the painters discussed in John G. -van Dyke's "American Painting and Its Tradition" were of mixed blood, -with the Anglo-Saxon plainly recessive. And of the five poets singled -out for encomium by Miss Lowell in "Tendencies in Modern American -Poetry" one is a Swede, two are partly German, one was educated in the -German language, and three of the five exiled themselves to England -as soon as they got out of their nonage. The exiles are of all sorts: -Frank Harris, Vincent O'Sullivan, Ezra Pound, Herman Scheffauer, T. -S. Eliot, Henry B.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> Fuller, Stuart Merrill, Edith Wharton. They go to -England, France, Germany, Italy—anywhere to escape. Even at home the -literatus is perceptibly foreign in his mien. If he lies under the -New England tradition he is furiously colonial—more English than the -English. If he turns to revolt, he is apt to put on a French hat and a -Russion red blouse. <i>The Little Review,</i> the organ of the extreme wing -of <i>révoltés,</i> is so violently exotic that several years ago, during -the plupatriotic days of the war, some of its readers protested. With -characteristic lack of humor it replied with an American number—and -two of the stars of that number bore the fine old Anglo-Saxon names of -Ben Hecht and Eisa von Freytag-Loringhoven.</p> - -<p>This tendency of American literature, the moment it begins to show -enterprise, novelty and significance, to radiate an alien smell is not -an isolated phenomenon. The same smell accompanies practically all -other sorts of intellectual activity in the republic. Whenever one -hears that a new political theory is in circulation, or a scientific -heresy, or a movement toward rationalism in religion, it is always -safe to guess that some discontented stranger or other has a hand in -it. In the newspapers and on the floor of Congress a new heterodoxy is -always denounced forthwith as a product of foreign plotting, and here -public opinion undoubtedly supports both the press and the politicians, -and with good reason. The native culture<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> of the country—that is, -the culture of the low caste Anglo-Saxons who preserve the national -tradition—is almost completely incapable of producing ideas. It is -a culture that roughly corresponds to what the culture of England -would be if there were no universities over there, and no caste of -intellectual individualists and no landed aristocracy—in other words, -if the tone of the national thinking were set by the non-conformist -industrials, the camorra of Welsh and Scotch political scoundrels, -and the town and country mobs. As we shall see, the United States has -not yet produced anything properly describable as an aristocracy, and -so there is no impediment to the domination of the inferior orders. -Worse, the Anglo-Saxon strain, second-rate at the start, has tended to -degenerate steadily to lower levels—in New England, very markedly. -The result is that there is not only a great dearth of ideas in the -land, but also an active and relentless hostility to ideas. The chronic -suspiciousness of the inferior man here has full play; never in modern -history has there been another civilization showing so vast a body of -prohibitions and repressions, in both conduct and thought. The second -result is that intellectual experimentation is chiefly left to the -immigrants of the later migrations, and to the small sections of the -native population that have been enriched with their blood. For such a -pure Anglo-Saxon as Cabell to disport himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> in the field of ideas is -a rarity in the United States—and no exception to the rule that I have -just mentioned, for Cabell belongs to an aristocracy that is now almost -extinct, and has no more in common with the general population than -a Baltic baron has with the indigenous herd of Letts and Esthonians. -All the arts in America are thoroughly exotic. Music is almost wholly -German or Italian, painting is French, literature may be anything from -English to Russian, architecture (save when it becomes a mere branch -of engineering) is a maddening phantasmagoria of borrowings. Even -so elemental an art as that of cookery shows no native development, -and is greatly disesteemed by Americans of the Anglo-Saxon majority; -any decent restaurant that one blunders upon in the land is likely -to be French, and if not French, then Italian or German or Chinese. -So with the sciences: they have scarcely any native development. -Organized scientific research began in the country with the founding -of the Johns Hopkins University, a bald imitation of the German -universities, and long held suspect by native opinion. Even after its -great success, indeed, there was rancorous hostility to its scheme of -things on chauvinistic grounds, and some years ago efforts were begun -to Americanize it, with the result that it is now sunk to the level -of Princeton, Amherst and other such glorified high-schools, and is -dominated by native savants<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> who would be laughed at in any Continental -university. Science, oppressed by such assaults from below, moves out -of the academic grove into the freer air of the great foundations, -where the pursuit of the shy fact is uncontaminated by football and -social pushing. The greatest of these foundations is the Rockefeller -Institute. Its salient men are such investigators as Flexner, Loeb and -Carrel—all of them Continental Jews.</p> - -<p>Thus the battle of ideas in the United States is largely carried on -under strange flags, and even the stray natives on the side of free -inquiry have to sacrifice some of their nationality when they enlist. -The effects of this curious condition of affairs are both good and -evil. The good ones are easily apparent. The racial division gives the -struggle a certain desperate earnestness, and even bitterness, and so -makes it the more inviting to lively minds. It was a benefit to the -late D. C. Gilman rather than a disadvantage that national opinion -opposed his traffic with Huxley and the German professors in the early -days of the Johns Hopkins; the stupidity of the opposition stimulated -him, and made him resolute, and his resolution, in the long run, was of -inestimable cultural value. Scientific research in America, indeed, was -thus set securely upon its legs precisely because the great majority -of right-thinking Americans were violently opposed to it. In the same -way it must be obvious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> that Dreiser got something valuable out of -the grotesque war that was carried on against him during the greater -war overseas because of his German name—a <i>jehad</i> fundamentally -responsible for the suppression of "The 'Genius.'" The chief danger -that he ran six or seven years ago was the danger that he might be -accepted, explained away, and so seduced downward to the common level. -The attack of professional patriots saved him from that calamity. -More, it filled him with a keen sense of his isolation, and stirred -up the vanity that was in him as it is in all of us, and so made him -cling with new tenacity to the very peculiarities that differentiate -him from his inferiors. Finally, it is not to be forgotten that, -without this rebellion of immigrant iconoclasts, the whole body of the -national literature would tend to sink to the 100% American level of -such patriotic literary business men as the president of the Authors' -League. In other words, we must put up with the æsthetic Bolshevism of -the Europeans and Asiatics who rage in the land, for without them we -might not have any literature at all.</p> - -<p>But the evils of the situation are not to be gainsaid. One of them I -have already alluded to: the tendency of the beginning literatus, once -he becomes fully conscious of his foreign affiliations, to desert the -republic forthwith, and thereafter view it from afar, and as an actual -foreigner. More solid and various<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> cultures lure him; he finds himself -uncomfortable at home. Sometimes, as in the case of Henry James, he -becomes a downright expatriate, and a more or less active agent of -anti-American feeling; more often, he goes over to the outlanders -without yielding up his theoretical citizenship, as in the cases of -Irving, Harris, Pound and O'Sullivan. But all this, of course, works -relatively light damage, for not many native authors are footloose -enough to indulge in any such physical desertion of the soil. Of much -more evil importance is the tendency of the cultural alienism that I -have described to fortify the uncontaminated native in his bilious -suspicion of all the arts, and particularly of all artists. The news -that the latest poet to flutter the dovecotes is a Jew, or that the -last novelist mauled by comstockery has a German or Scandinavian -or Russian name, or that the critic newly taken in sacrilege is a -partisan of Viennese farce or of the French moral code or of English -literary theory—this news, among a people so ill-informed, so horribly -well-trained in flight from bugaboos, and so savagely suspicious of -the unfamiliar in ideas, has the inevitable effect of stirring up -opposition that quickly ceases to be purely æsthetic objection, and -so becomes increasingly difficult to combat. If Dreiser's name were -Tompkins or Simpson, there is no doubt whatever that he would affright -the professors a good deal less, and appear less of a hobgoblin to -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> <i>intelligentsia</i> of the women's clubs. If Oppenheim were less -palpably levantine, he would come much nearer to the popularity of -Edwin Markham and Walt Mason. And if Cabell kept to the patriotic -business of a Southern gentleman, to wit, the praise of General Robert -E. Lee, instead of prowling the strange and terrible fields of mediæval -Provence, it is a safe wager that he would be sold openly over the -counter instead of stealthily behind the door.</p> - -<p>In a previous work I have discussed this tendency in America to -estimate the artist in terms of his secular character. During the -war, when all of the national defects in intelligence were enormously -accentuated, it went to ludicrous lengths. There were then only authors -who were vociferous patriots and thus geniuses, and authors who kept -their dignity and were thus suspect and without virtue. By this gauge -Chambers became the superior of Dreiser and Cabell, and Joyce Kilmer -and Amy Lowell were set above Sandburg and Oppenheim. The test was -even extended to foreigners: by it H. G. Wells took precedence of -Shaw, and Blasco Ibáñez became a greater artist than Romain Rolland. -But the thing is not peculiar to war times; when peace is densest it -is to be observed. The man of letters, pure and simple, is a rarity -in America. Almost always he is something else—and that something -else commonly determines his public eminence. Mark Twain, with only -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> books to recommend him, would probably have passed into obscurity -in middle age; it was in the character of a public entertainer, not -unrelated to Coxey, Dr. Mary Walker and Citizen George Francis Train, -that he wooed and won his country. The official criticism of the land -denied him any solid literary virtue to the day of his death, and even -to-day the campus critics and their journalistic valets stand aghast -before "The Mysterious Stranger" and "What is Man?" Emerson passed -through almost the same experience. It was not as a man of letters that -he was chiefly thought of in his time, but as the prophet of a new -cult, half religious, half philosophical, and wholly unintelligible to -nine-tenths of those who discussed it. The first author of a handbook -of American literature to sweep away the codfish Moses and expose -the literary artist was the Polish Jew, Leon Kellner, of Czernowitz. -So with Whitman and Poe—both hobgoblins far more than artists. So, -even, with Howells: it was as the exponent of a dying culture that he -was venerated, not as the practitioner of an art. Few actually read -his books. His celebrity, of course, was real enough, but it somehow -differed materially from that of a pure man of letters—say Shelley, -Conrad, Hauptmann, Hardy or Synge. That he was himself keenly aware of -the national tendency to judge an artist in terms of the citizen was -made plain at the time of the Gorky scandal, when he joined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> Clemens in -an ignominious desertion of Gorky, scared out of his wits by the danger -of being manhandled for a violation of the national pecksniffery. -Howells also refused to sign the Dreiser Protest. The case of Frank -Harris is one eloquently in point. Harris has written, among other -books, perhaps the best biography ever done by an American. Yet his -politics keep him in a sort of Coventry and the average American critic -would no more think of praising him than of granting Treitschke any -merit as an historian.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>7</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Lonesome Artist</i></h4> - - -<p>Thus falsely judged by standards that have no intelligible appositeness -when applied to an artist, however accurately they may weigh a -stock-broker or a Presbyterian elder, and forced to meet not only -the hunkerous indifference of the dominant mob but also the bitter -and disingenuous opposition of the classes to which he might look -reasonably for understanding and support, the American author is forced -into a sort of social and intellectual vacuum, and lives out his days, -as Henry James said of Hawthorne, "an alien everywhere, an æsthetic -solitary."</p> - -<p>The wonder is that, in the face of so metallic and unyielding a front, -any genuine artists in letters come to the front at all. But they -constantly emerge; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> first gestures are always on show; the prodigal -and gorgeous life of the country simply forces a sensitive minority to -make some attempt at representation and interpretation, and out of many -trying there often appears one who can. The phenomenon of Dreiser is -not unique. He had his forerunners in Fuller and Frank Norris and he -has his <i>compagnons du voyage</i> in Anderson, Charles G. Norris and more -than one other. But the fact only throws up his curious isolation in a -stronger light. It would be difficult to imagine an artist of his sober -purpose and high accomplishment, in any civilized country, standing -so neglected. The prevailing criticism, when it cannot dispose of him -by denying that he exists—in the two chief handbooks of latter-day -literature by professors he is not even mentioned!—seeks to dispose -of him by arraying the shoddy fury of the mob against him. When he -was under attack by the Comstocks, more than one American critic gave -covert aid to the common enemy, and it was with difficulty that the -weight of the Authors' League was held upon his side. More help for -him, in fact, came from England, and quite voluntarily, than could be -drummed up for him at home. No public sense of the menace that the -attack offered to free speech and free art was visible; it would have -made a nine-days' sensation for any layman of public influence to -have gone to his rescue, as would have certainly happened in France,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -England or Germany. As for the newspaper-reading mob, it probably went -unaware of the business altogether. When Arnold Bennett, landing in -New York some time previously, told the reporters that Dreiser was the -American he most desired to meet, the news was quite unintelligible to -perhaps nine readers out of ten: they had no more heard <i>of</i> Dreiser -than their fathers had heard of Whitman in 1875.</p> - -<p>So with all the rest. I have mentioned Harris. It would be difficult -to imagine Rolland meeting such a fate in France or Shaw in England as -he has met in the United States. O'Sullivan, during the war, came home -with "A Good Girl" in his pocket. The book was republished here—and -got vastly less notice than the latest piece of trade-goods by Kathleen -Norris. Fuller, early in his career, gave it up as hopeless. Norris -died vainly battling for the young Dreiser. An Abraham Cahan goes -unnoticed. Miss Cather, with four sound books behind her, lingers -in the twilight of an esoteric reputation. Cabell, comstocked, is -apprehended by his country only as a novelist to be bought by stealth -and read in private. When Hugh Walpole came to America a year or two -ago he favored the newspapers, like Bennett before him, with a piece -of critical news that must have puzzled all readers save a very small -minority. Discussing the living American novelists worth heeding, he -nominated three—and of them only one was familiar to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the general -run of novel-buyers, or had ever been mentioned by a native critic of -the apostolic succession. Only the poets of the land seem to attract -the notice of the professors, and no doubt this is largely because -most of the more salient of them—notably Miss Lowell and Lindsay—are -primarily press-agents. Even so, the attention that they get is seldom -serious. The only professor that I know of who has discussed the -matter in precise terms holds that Alfred Noyes is the superior of -all of them. Moreover, the present extraordinary interest in poetry -stops short with a few poets, and one of its conspicuous phenomena is -its lack of concern with the poets outside the movement, some of them -unquestionably superior to any within.</p> - -<p>Nor is this isolation of the artist in America new. The contemporary -view of Poe and Whitman was almost precisely like the current view of -Dreiser and Cabell. Both were neglected by the Brahmins of their time, -and both were regarded hostilely by the great body of right-thinking -citizens. Poe, indeed, was the victim of a furious attack by Rufus W. -Griswold, the Hamilton Wright Mabie of the time, and it set the tone -of native criticism for years. Whitman, living, narrowly escaped going -to jail as a public nuisance. One thinks of Hawthorne and Emerson -as writers decently appreciated by their contemporaries, but it is -not to be forgotten that the official<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> criticism of the era saw no -essential difference between Hawthorne and Cooper, and that Emerson's -reputation, to the end of his life, was far more that of a theological -prophet and ethical platitudinarian, comparable to Lyman Abbott or -Frank Crane, than that of a literary artist, comparable to Tennyson -or Matthew Arnold. Perhaps Carlyle understood him, but who in America -understood him? To this day he is the victim of gross misrepresentation -by enthusiasts who read into him all sorts of flatulent bombast, -as Puritanism is read into the New Testament by Methodists. As for -Hawthorne, his extraordinary physical isolation during his lifetime was -but the symbol of a complete isolation of the spirit, still surviving. -If his preference for the internal conflict as opposed to the external -act were not sufficient to set him off from the main stream of American -speculation, there would always be his profound ethical skepticism—a -state of mind quite impossible to the normal American, at least of -Anglo-Saxon blood. Hawthorne, so far as I know, has never had a single -professed follower in his own country. Even his son, attempting to -carry on his craft, yielded neither to his meticulous method nor to his -detached point of view. In the third generation, with infinite irony, -there is a grand-daughter who is a reviewer of books for the New York -<i>Times,</i> which is almost as if Wagner should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> have a grand-daughter -singing in the operas of Massenet.</p> - -<p>Of the four indubitable masters thus named, Hawthorne, Emerson, Whitman -and Poe, only the last two have been sufficiently taken into the -consciousness of the country to have any effect upon its literature, -and even here that influence has been exerted only at second-hand, -and against very definite adverse pressure. It would certainly seem -reasonable for a man of so forceful a habit of mind as Poe, and of such -prodigal and arresting originality, to have founded a school, but a -glance at the record shows that he did nothing of the sort. Immediately -he was dead, the shadows of the Irving tradition closed around his -tomb, and for nearly thirty years thereafter all of his chief ideas -went disregarded in his own country. If, as the literature books -argue, Poe was the father of the American short story, then it was a -posthumous child, and had step-fathers who did their best to conceal -its true parentage. When it actually entered upon the vigorous life -that we know to-day Poe had been dead for a generation. Its father, -at the time of its belated adolescence, seemed to be Bret Harte—and -Harte's debt to Dickens was vastly more apparent, first and last, than -his debt to Poe. What he got from Poe was essential; it was the inner -structure of the modern short story, the fundamental devices<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> whereby a -mere glimpse at events could be made to yield brilliant and seemingly -complete images. But he himself was probably largely unaware of this -indebtedness. A man little given to critical analysis, and incompetent -for it when his own work was under examination, he saw its externals -much more clearly than he saw its intrinsic organization, and these -externals bore the plain marks of Dickens. It remained for one of his -successors, Ambrose Bierce, to bridge belatedly the space separating -him from Poe, and so show the route that he had come. And it remained -for foreign criticism, and particularly for French criticism, to lift -Poe himself to the secure place that he now holds. It is true enough -that he enjoyed, during his lifetime, a certain popular reputation, -and that he was praised by such men as N. P. Willis and James Russell -Lowell, but that reputation was considerably less than the fame of men -who were much his inferiors, and that praise, especially in Lowell's -case, was much corrupted by reservations. Not many native critics of -respectable position, during the 50's and 60's, would have ranked him -clearly above, say, Irving or Cooper, or even above Longfellow, his old -enemy. A few partisans argued for him, but in the main, as Saintsbury -has said, he was the victim of "extreme and almost incomprehensible -injustice" at the hands of his countrymen. It is surely not without -significance that it took ten years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> to raise money enough to put a -cheap and hideous tombstone upon his neglected grave, that it was -not actually set up until he had been dead twenty-six years, that no -contemporary American writer took any part in furthering the project, -and that the only one who attended the final ceremony was Whitman.</p> - -<p>It was Baudelaire's French translation of the prose tales and -Mallarmé's translation of the poems that brought Poe to Valhalla. The -former, first printed in 1856, founded the Poe cult in France, and -during the two decades following it flourished amazingly, and gradually -extended to England and Germany. It was one of the well-springs, in -fact, of the whole so-called decadent movement. If Baudelaire, the -father of that movement, "cultivated hysteria with delight and terror," -he was simply doing what Poe had done before him. Both, reacting -against the false concept of beauty as a mere handmaiden of logical -ideas, sought its springs in those deep feelings and inner experiences -which lie beyond the range of ideas and are to be interpreted only -as intuitions. Emerson started upon the same quest, but was turned -off into mazes of contradiction and unintelligibility by his ethical -obsession—the unescapable burden of his Puritan heritage. But Poe -never wandered from the path. You will find in "The Poetic Principle" -what is perhaps the clearest statement of this new and sounder concept -of beauty that has ever been made—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>certainly it is clearer than any -ever made by a Frenchman. But it was not until Frenchmen had watered -the seed out of grotesque and vari-colored pots that it began to -sprout. The tide of Poe's ideas, set in motion in France early in -the second half of the century, did not wash England until the last -decade, and in America, save for a few dashes of spray, it has yet to -show itself. There is no American writer who displays the influence -of this most potent and original of Americans so clearly as whole -groups of Frenchmen display it, and whole groups of Germans, and -even a good many Englishmen. What we have from Poe at first hand is -simply a body of obvious yokel-shocking in the <i>Black Cat</i> manner, -with the tales of Ambrose Bierce as its finest flower—in brief, an -imitation of Poe's externals without any comprehension whatever of his -underlying aims and notions. What we have from him at second-hand is a -somewhat childish Maeterlinckism, a further dilution of Poe-and-water. -This Maeterlinckism, some time ago, got itself intermingled with the -Whitmanic stream flowing back to America through the channel of French -Imagism, with results destructive to the sanity of earnest critics -and fatal to the gravity of those less austere. It is significant -that the critical writing of Poe, in which there lies most that was -best in him, has not come back; no normal American ever thinks of -him as a critic,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> but only as a poet, as a raiser of goose-flesh, or -as an immoral fellow. The cause thereof is plain enough. The French, -instead of borrowing his critical theory directly, deduced it afresh -from his applications of it; it became criticism <i>of</i> him rather than -<i>by</i> him. Thus his own speculations have lacked the authority of -foreign approval, and have consequently made no impression. The weight -of native opinion is naturally against them, for they are at odds, -not only with its fundamental theories, but also with its practical -doctrine that no criticism can be profound and respectable which is not -also dull.</p> - -<p>"Poe," says Arthur Ransome, in his capital study of the man and the -artist, "was like a wolf chained by the leg among a lot of domestic -dogs." The simile here is somewhat startling, and Ransome, in a -footnote, tries to ameliorate it: the "domestic dogs" it refers to -were magnificoes of no less bulk than Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes and -Emerson. In the case of Whitman, the wolf was not only chained, but -also muzzled. Nothing, indeed, could be more amazing than the hostility -that surrounded him at home until the very end of his long life. True -enough, it was broken by certain feeble mitigations. Emerson, in -1855, praised him—though later very eager to forget it and desert -him, as Clemens and Howells, years afterward, deserted Gorky. Alcott, -Thoreau, Lowell and even Bryant, during his brief Bohemian days,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -were polite to him. A group of miscellaneous enthusiasts gradually -gathered about him, and out of this group emerged at least one man of -some distinction, John Burroughs. Young adventurers of letters—for -example, Huneker—went to see him and hear him, half drawn by genuine -admiration and half by mere deviltry. But the general tone of the -opinion that beat upon him, the attitude of domestic criticism, was -unbrokenly inimical; he was opposed by misrepresentation and neglect. -"The prevailing range of criticism on my book," he wrote in "A -Backward Glance on My Own Road" in 1884, "has been either mockery or -denunciation—and ... I have been the marked object of two or three -(to me pretty serious) official bufferings." "After thirty years -of trial," he wrote in "My Book and I," three years later, "public -criticism on the book and myself as author of it shows marked anger -and contempt more than anything else." That is, at home. Abroad he -was making headway all the while, and long years afterward, by way of -France and England, he began to force his way into the consciousness -of his countrymen. What could have been more ironical than the solemn -celebrations of Whitman's centenary that were carried off in various -American universities in 1919? One can picture the old boy rolling with -homeric mirth in hell. Imagine the fate of a university don of 1860, -or 1870, or 1880, or even 1890 who had ventured to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> commend "Leaves of -Grass" to the young gentlemen of his seminary! He would have come to -grief as swiftly as that Detroit pedagogue of day before yesterday who -brought down the Mothers' Legion upon him by commending "Jurgen."</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>8</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Cultural Background</i></h4> - - -<p>So far, the disease. As to the cause, I have delivered a few hints. -I now describe it particularly. It is, in brief, a defect in the -general culture of the country—one reflected, not only in the national -literature, but also in the national political theory, the national -attitude toward religion and morals, the national habit in all -departments of thinking. It is the lack of a civilized aristocracy, -secure in its position, animated by an intelligent curiosity, skeptical -of all facile generalizations, superior to the sentimentality of the -mob, and delighting in the battle of ideas for its own sake.</p> - -<p>The word I use, despite the qualifying adjective, has got itself -meanings, of course, that I by no means intend to convey. Any mention -of an aristocracy, to a public fed upon democratic fustian, is bound -to bring up images of stock-brokers' wives lolling obscenely in opera -boxes, or of haughty Englishmen slaughtering whole generations of -grouse in an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> inordinate and incomprehensible manner, or of Junkers -with tight waists elbowing American schoolmarms off the sidewalks of -German beer towns, or of perfumed Italians coming over to work their -abominable magic upon the daughters of breakfast-food and bathtub -kings. Part of this misconception, I suppose, has its roots in the -gaudy imbecilities of the yellow press, but there is also a part that -belongs to the general American tradition, along with the oppression of -minorities and the belief in political panaceas. Its depth and extent -are constantly revealed by the naïve assumption that the so-called -fashionable folk of the large cities—chiefly wealthy industrials in -the interior-decorator and country-club stage of culture—constitute an -aristocracy, and by the scarcely less remarkable assumption that the -peerage of England is identical with the gentry—that is, that such -men as Lord Northcliffe, Lord Iveagh and even Lord Reading are English -gentlemen, and of the ancient line of the Percys.</p> - -<p>Here, as always, the worshiper is the father of the gods, and no less -when they are evil than when they are benign. The inferior man must -find himself superiors, that he may marvel at his political equality -with them, and in the absence of recognizable superiors <i>de facto</i> he -creates superiors <i>de jure.</i> The sublime principle of one man, one -vote must be translated into terms of dollars, diamonds, fashionable -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>telligence; the equality of all men before the law must have clear -and dramatic proofs. Sometimes, perhaps, the thing goes further and is -more subtle. The inferior man needs an aristocracy to demonstrate, not -only his mere equality, but also his actual superiority. The society -columns in the newspapers may have some such origin: they may visualize -once more the accomplished journalist's understanding of the mob mind -that he plays upon so skillfully, as upon some immense and cacophonous -organ, always going <i>fortissimo.</i> What the inferior man and his wife -see in the sinister revels of those amazing first families, I suspect, -is often a massive witness to their own higher rectitude—to their -relative innocence of cigarette-smoking, poodle-coddling, child-farming -and the more abstruse branches of adultery—in brief, to their firmer -grasp upon the immutable axioms of Christian virtue, the one sound -boast of the nether nine-tenths of humanity in every land under the -cross.</p> - -<p>But this bugaboo aristocracy, as I hint, is actually bogus, and the -evidence of its bogusness lies in the fact that it is insecure. One -gets into it only onerously, but out of it very easily. Entrance is -effected by dint of a long and bitter straggle, and the chief incidents -of that struggle are almost intolerable humiliations. The aspirant -must school and steel himself to sniffs and sneers; he must see the -door slammed upon him a hundred times before ever it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> is thrown open -to him. To get in at all he must show a talent for abasement—and -abasement makes him timorous. Worse, that timorousness is not cured -when he succeeds at last. On the contrary, it is made even more -tremulous, for what he faces within the gates is a scheme of things -made up almost wholly of harsh and often unintelligible taboos, -and the penalty for violating even the least of them is swift and -disastrous. He must exhibit exactly the right social habits, appetites -and prejudices, public and private. He must harbor exactly the right -political enthusiasms and indignations. He must have a hearty taste -for exactly the right sports. His attitude toward the fine arts must -be properly tolerant and yet not a shade too eager. He must read and -like exactly the right books, pamphlets and public journals. He must -put up at the right hotels when he travels. His wife must patronize -the right milliners. He himself must stick to the right haberdashery. -He must live in the right neighborhood. He must even embrace the right -doctrines of religion. It would ruin him, for all opera box and society -column purposes, to set up a plea for justice to the Bolsheviki, or -even for ordinary decency. It would ruin him equally to wear celluloid -collars, or to move to Union Hill, N. J., or to serve ham and cabbage -at his table. And it would ruin him, too, to drink coffee from his -saucer, or to marry a chambermaid with a gold tooth, or to join the -Seventh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> Day Adventists. Within the boundaries of his curious order -he is worse fettered than a monk in a cell. Its obscure conception of -propriety, its nebulous notion that this or that is honorable, hampers -him in every direction, and very narrowly. What he resigns when he -enters, even when he makes his first deprecating knock at the door, is -every right to attack the ideas that happen to prevail within. Such -as they are, he must accept them without question. And as they shift -and change in response to great instinctive movements (or perhaps, -now and then, to the punished but not to be forgotten revolts of -extraordinary rebels) he must shift and change with them, silently and -quickly. To hang back, to challenge and dispute, to preach reforms and -revolutions—these are crimes against the brummagen Holy Ghost of the -order.</p> - -<p>Obviously, that order cannot constitute a genuine aristocracy, in -any rational sense. A genuine aristocracy is grounded upon very much -different principles. Its first and most salient character is its -interior security, and the chief visible evidence of that security is -the freedom that goes with it—not only freedom in act, the divine -right of the aristocrat to do what he jolly well pleases, so long as he -does not violate the primary guarantees and obligations of his class, -but also and more importantly freedom in thought, the liberty to try -and err, the right to be his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> own man. It is the instinct of a true -aristocracy, not to punish eccentricity by expulsion, but to throw a -mantle of protection about it—to safeguard it from the suspicions and -resentments of the lower orders. Those lower orders are inert, timid, -inhospitable to ideas, hostile to changes, faithful to a few maudlin -superstitions. All progress goes on on the higher levels. It is there -that salient personalities, made secure by artificial immunities, -may oscillate most widely from the normal track. It is within that -entrenched fold, out of reach of the immemorial certainties of the -mob, that extraordinary men of the lower orders may find their city -of refuge, and breathe a clear air. This, indeed, is at once the -hall-mark and the justification of an aristocracy—that it is beyond -responsibility to the general masses of men, and hence superior to both -their degraded longings and their no less degraded aversions. It is -nothing if it is not autonomous, curious, venturesome, courageous, and -everything if it is. It is the custodian of the qualities that make for -change and experiment; it is the class that organizes danger to the -service of the race; it pays for its high prerogatives by standing in -the forefront of the fray.</p> - -<p>No such aristocracy, it must be plain, is now on view in the United -States. The makings of one were visible in the Virginia of the later -eighteenth century, but with Jefferson and Washington the promise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -died. In New England, it seems to me, there was never any aristocracy, -either in being or in nascency: there was only a theocracy that -degenerated very quickly into a plutocracy on the one hand and a caste -of sterile <i>Gelehrten</i> on the other—the passion for God splitting -into a lust for dollars and a weakness for mere words. Despite the -common notion to the contrary—a notion generated by confusing -literacy with intelligence—New England has never shown the slightest -sign of a genuine enthusiasm for ideas. It began its history as a -slaughter-house of ideas, and it is to-day not easily distinguishable -from a cold-storage plant. Its celebrated adventures in mysticism, once -apparently so bold and significant, are now seen to have been little -more than an elaborate hocus-pocus—respectable Unitarians shocking the -peasantry and scaring the horned cattle in the fields by masquerading -in the robes of Rosicrucians. The ideas that it embraced in those -austere and far-off days were stale, and when it had finished with them -they were dead: to-day one hears of Jakob Böhme almost as rarely as one -hears of Allen G. Thurman. So in politics. Its glory is Abolition—an -English invention, long under the interdict of the native plutocracy. -Since the Civil War its six states have produced fewer political ideas, -as political ideas run in the Republic, than any average county in -Kansas or Nebraska. Appomattox seemed to be a victory for New England -idealism. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> was actually a victory for the New England plutocracy, -and that plutocracy has dominated thought above the Housatonic ever -since. The sect of professional idealists has so far dwindled that it -has ceased to be of any importance, even as an opposition. When the -plutocracy is challenged now, it is challenged by the proletariat.</p> - -<p>Well, what is on view in New England is on view in all other parts -of the nation, sometimes with ameliorations, but usually with the -colors merely exaggerated. What one beholds, sweeping the eye over -the land, is a culture that, like the national literature, is in -three layers—the plutocracy on top, a vast mass of undifferentiated -human blanks at the bottom, and a forlorn <i>intelligentsia</i> gasping -out a precarious life between. I need not set out at any length, I -hope, the intellectual deficiencies of the plutocracy—its utter -failure to show anything even remotely resembling the makings of -an aristocracy. It is badly educated, it is stupid, it is full of -low-caste superstitions and indignations, it is without decent -traditions or informing vision; above all, it is extraordinarily -lacking in the most elemental independence and courage. Out of this -class comes the grotesque fashionable society of our big towns, -already described. Imagine a horde of peasants incredibly enriched -and with almost infinite power thrust into their hands, and you will -have a fair picture of its habitual state of mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> It shows all -the stigmata of inferiority—moral certainty, cruelty, suspicion -of ideas, fear. Never did it function more revealingly than in the -late <i>pogrom</i> against the so-called Reds, <i>i. e.,</i> against humorless -idealists who, like Andrew Jackson, took the platitudes of democracy -quite seriously. The machinery brought to bear upon these feeble and -scattered fanatics would have almost sufficed to repel an invasion by -the united powers of Europe. They were hunted out of their sweat-shops -and coffee-houses as if they were so many Carranzas or Ludendorffs, -dragged to jail to the tooting of horns, arraigned before quaking -judges on unintelligible charges, condemned to deportation without the -slightest chance to defend themselves, torn from their dependent -families, herded into prison-ships, and then finally dumped in a snow -waste, to be rescued and fed by the Bolsheviki. And what was the -theory at the bottom of all these astounding proceedings? So far as -it can be reduced to comprehensible terms it was much less a theory -than a fear—a shivering, idiotic, discreditable fear of a mere -banshee—an overpowering, paralyzing dread that some extra-eloquent -Red, permitted to emit his balderdash unwhipped, might eventually -convert a couple of courageous men, and that the courageous men, filled -with indignation against the plutocracy, might take to the highroad, -burn down a nail-factory or two, and slit the throat of some virtuous -profiteer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> In order to lay this fear, in order to ease the jangled -nerves of the American successors to the Hapsburgs and Hohenzollerns, -all the constitutional guarantees of the citizen were suspended, the -statute-books were burdened with laws that surpass anything heard of -in the Austria of Maria Theresa, the country was handed over to a -frenzied mob of detectives, informers and <i>agents provocateurs</i>—and -the Reds departed laughing loudly, and were hailed by the Bolsheviki as -innocents escaped from an asylum for the criminally insane.</p> - -<p>Obviously, it is out of reason to look for any hospitality to ideas -in a class so extravagantly fearful of even the most palpably absurd -of them. Its philosophy is firmly grounded upon the thesis that the -existing order must stand forever free from attack, and not only -from attack, but also from mere academic criticism, and its ethics -are as firmly grounded upon the thesis that every attempt at any -such criticism is a proof of moral turpitude. Within its own ranks, -protected by what may be regarded as the privilege of the order, -there is nothing to take the place of this criticism. A few feeble -platitudes by Andrew Carnegie and a book of moderate merit by John D. -Rockefeller's press-agent constitute almost the whole of the interior -literature of ideas. In other countries the plutocracy has often -produced men of reflective and analytical habit, eager to rationalize -its instincts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> and to bring it into some sort of relationship to the -main streams of human thought. The case of David Ricardo at once comes -to mind. There have been many others: John Bright, Richard Cobden, -George Grote, and, in our own time, Walther von Rathenau. But in -the United States no such phenomenon has been visible. There was a -day, not long ago, when certain young men of wealth gave signs of an -unaccustomed interest in ideas on the political side, but the most they -managed to achieve was a banal sort of Socialism, and even this was -abandoned in sudden terror when the war came, and Socialism fell under -suspicion of being genuinely international—in brief, of being honest -under the skin. Nor has the plutocracy of the country ever fostered an -inquiring spirit among its intellectual valets and footmen, which is -to say, among the gentlemen who compose headlines and leading articles -for its newspapers. What chiefly distinguishes the daily press of the -United States from the press of all other countries pretending to -culture is not its lack of truthfulness or even its lack of dignity -and honor, for these deficiencies are common to the newspapers -everywhere, but its incurable fear of ideas, its constant effort to -evade the discussion of fundamentals by translating all issues into -a few elemental fears, its incessant reduction of all reflection to -mere emotion. It is, in the true sense, never well-informed. It is -seldom intelligent, save in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> arts of the mob-master. It is never -courageously honest. Held harshly to a rigid correctness of opinion by -the plutocracy that controls it with less and less attempt at disguise, -and menaced on all sides by censorships that it dare not flout, it -sinks rapidly into formalism and feebleness. Its yellow section is -perhaps its most respectable section, for there the only vestige of the -old free journalist survives. In the more conservative papers one finds -only a timid and petulant animosity to all questioning of the existing -order, however urbane and sincere—a pervasive and ill-concealed dread -that the mob now heated up against the orthodox hobgoblins may suddenly -begin to unearth hobgoblins of its own, and so run amok. For it is upon -the emotions of the mob, of course, that the whole comedy is played. -Theoretically the mob is the repository of all political wisdom and -virtue; actually it is the ultimate source of all political power. Even -the plutocracy cannot make war upon it openly, or forget the least -of its weaknesses. The business of keeping it in order must be done -discreetly, warily, with delicate technique. In the main that business -consists of keeping alive its deep-seated fears—of strange faces, of -unfamiliar ideas, of unhackneyed gestures, of untested liberties and -responsibilities. The one permanent emotion of the inferior man, as of -all the simpler mammals, is fear—fear of the unknown, the complex, -the inexplicable. What he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> wants beyond everything else is safety. -His instincts incline him toward a society so organized that it will -protect him at all hazards, and not only against perils to his hide -but also against assaults upon his mind—against the need to grapple -with unaccustomed problems, to weigh ideas, to think things out for -himself, to scrutinize the platitudes upon which his everyday thinking -is based. Content under kaiserism so long as it functions efficiently, -he turns, when kaiserism falls, to some other and perhaps worse form -of paternalism, bringing to its benign tyranny only the docile tribute -of his pathetic allegiance. In America it is the newspaper that is his -boss. From it he gets support for his elemental illusions. In it he -sees a visible embodiment of his own wisdom and consequence. Out of it -he draws fuel for his simple moral passion, his congenital suspicion of -heresy, his dread of the unknown. And behind the newspaper stands the -plutocracy, ignorant, unimaginative and timorous.</p> - -<p>Thus at the top and at the bottom. Obviously, there is no aristocracy -here. One finds only one of the necessary elements, and that only in -the plutocracy, to wit, a truculent egoism. But where is intelligence? -Where are ease and surety of manner? Where are enterprise and -curiosity? Where, above all, is courage, and in particular, moral -courage—the capacity for independent thinking, for difficult problems, -for what Nietzsche called the joys of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> labyrinth? As well look for -these things in a society of half-wits. Democracy, obliterating the old -aristocracy, has left only a vacuum in its place; in a century and a -half it has failed either to lift up the mob to intellectual autonomy -and dignity or to purge the plutocracy of its inherent stupidity and -swinishness. It is precisely here, the first and favorite scene of the -Great Experiment, that the culture of the individual has been reduced -to the most rigid and absurd regimentation. It is precisely here, of -all civilized countries, that eccentricity in demeanor and opinion -has come to bear the heaviest penalties. The whole drift of our law -is toward the absolute prohibition of all ideas that diverge in the -slightest from the accepted platitudes, and behind that drift of law -there is a far more potent force of growing custom, and under that -custom there is a national philosophy which erects conformity into -the noblest of virtues and the free functioning of personality into a -capital crime against society.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>9</h4> - - -<h4><i>Under the Campus Pump</i></h4> - - -<p>But there remain the <i>intelligentsia,</i> the free spirits in the middle -ground, neither as anæsthetic to ideas as the plutocracy on the one -hand nor as much the slaves of emotion as the proletariat on the other. -Have I forgotten them? I have not. But what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> actually reveals itself -when this small brotherhood of the superior is carefully examined? -What reveals itself, it seems to me, is a gigantic disappointment. -Superficially, there are all the marks of a caste of learned and -sagacious men—a great book-knowledge, a laudable diligence, a certain -fine reserve and sniffishness, a plain consciousness of intellectual -superiority, not a few gestures that suggest the aristocratic. But -under the surface one quickly discovers that the whole thing is little -more than play-acting, and not always very skillful. Learning is there, -but not curiosity. A heavy dignity is there, but not much genuine -self-respect. Pretentiousness is there, but not a trace of courage. -Squeezed between the plutocracy on on side and the mob on the other, -the <i>intelligentsia</i> face the eternal national problem of maintaining -their position, of guarding themselves against challenge and attack, -of keeping down suspicion. They have all the attributes of knowledge -save the sense of power. They have all the qualities of an aristocracy -save the capital qualities that arise out of a feeling of security, of -complete independence, of absolute immunity to onslaught from above -and below. In brief, the old bogusness hangs about them, as about the -fashionable aristocrats of the society columns. They are safe so long -as they are good, which is to say, so long as they neither aggrieve the -plutocracy nor startle the proletariat. Immediately they fall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> into -either misdemeanor all their apparent dignity vanishes, and with it all -of their influence, and they become simply somewhat ridiculous rebels -against a social order that has no genuine need of them and is disposed -to tolerate them only when they are not obtrusive.</p> - -<p>For various reasons this shadowy caste is largely made up of men who -have official stamps upon their learning—that is, of professors, -of doctors of philosophy; outside of academic circles it tends to -shade off very rapidly into a half-world of isolated anarchists. One -of those reasons is plain enough: the old democratic veneration for -mere schooling, inherited from the Puritans of New England, is still -in being, and the mob, always eager for short cuts in thinking, is -disposed to accept a schoolmaster without looking beyond his degree. -Another reason lies in the fact that the higher education is still -rather a novelty in the country, and there have yet to be developed -any devices for utilizing learned men in any trade save teaching. Yet -other reasons will suggest themselves. Whatever the ramification of -causes, the fact is plain that the pedagogues have almost a monopoly -of what passes for the higher thinking in the land. Not only do they -reign unchallenged in their own chaste grove; they also penetrate to -all other fields of ratiocination, to the almost complete exclusion of -unshrived rivals. They dominate the weeklies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> of opinion; they are to -the fore in every review; they write nine-tenths of the serious books -of the country; they begin to invade the newspapers; they instruct and -exhort the yokelry from the stump; they have even begun to penetrate -into the government. One cannot turn in the United States without -encountering a professor. There is one on every municipal commission. -There is one in every bureau of the federal government. There is one at -the head of every intellectual movement. There is one to explain every -new mystery. Professors appraise all works of art, whether graphic, -tonal or literary. Professors supply the brain power for agriculture, -diplomacy, the control of dependencies and the distribution of -commodities. A professor was until lately sovereign of the country, and -pope of the state church.</p> - -<p>So much for their opportunity. What, now, of their achievement? -I answer as one who has had thrown upon him, by the impenetrable -operations of fate, the rather thankless duties of a specialist in the -ways of pedagogues, a sort of professor of professors. The job has got -me enemies. I have been accused of carrying on a defamatory <i>jehad</i> -against virtuous and laborious men; I have even been charged with doing -it in the interest of the Wilhelmstrasse, the White Slave Trust and the -ghost of Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. Nothing could be more absurd. -All my instincts are on the side of the professors. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> esteem a man -who devotes himself to a subject with hard diligence; I esteem even -more a man who puts poverty and a shelf of books above profiteering -and evenings of jazz; I am naturally monkish. Moreover, there are more -Ph.D.'s on my family tree than even a Boston bluestocking can boast; -there was a whole century when even the most ignorant of my house was -at least <i>Juris utriusque Doctor.</i> But such predispositions should not -be permitted to color sober researches. What I have found, after long -and arduous labors, is a state of things that is surely not altogether -flattering to the <i>Gelehrten</i> under examination. What I have found, -in brief, is that pedagogy turned to general public uses is almost -as timid and flatulent as journalism—that the professor, menaced by -the timid dogmatism of the plutocracy above him and the incurable -suspiciousness of the mob beneath him, is almost invariably inclined -to seek his own security in a mellifluous inanity—that, far from -being a courageous spokesman of ideas and an apostle of their free -dissemination, in politics, in the fine arts, in practical ethics, he -comes close to being the most prudent and skittish of all men concerned -with them—in brief, that he yields to the prevailing correctness of -thought in all departments, north, east, south and west, and is, in -fact, the chief exponent among us of the democratic doctrine that -heresy is not only a mistake, but also a crime.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> - -<p>A philosophy is not put to much of a test in ordinary times, for in -ordinary times philosophies are permitted to lie like sleeping dogs. -When it shows its inward metal is when the band begins to play. The -turmoils of the late lamentable war, it seems to me, provided for -such a trying out of fundamental ideas and attitudes upon a colossal -scale. The whole thinking of the world was thrown into confusion; all -the worst fears and prejudices of ignorant and emotional men came to -the front; it was a time, beyond all others in modern history, when -intellectual integrity was subjected to a cruel strain. How did the -<i>intelligentsia</i> of These States bear up under that strain? What -was the reaction of our learned men to the challenge of organized -hysteria, mob fear, incitement to excess, downright insanity? How did -they conduct themselves in that universal whirlwind? They conducted -themselves, I fear, in a manner that must leave a brilliant question -mark behind their claim to independence and courage, to true knowledge -and dignity, to ordinary self-respect—in brief, to every quality that -belongs to the authentic aristocrat. They constituted themselves, -not a restraining influence upon the mob run wild, but the loudest -spokesmen of its worst imbecilities. They fed it with bogus history, -bogus philosophy, bogus idealism, bogus heroics. They manufactured -blather for its entertainment. They showed themselves to be as naïve -as so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> many Liberty Loan orators, as emotional, almost, as the spy -hunters, and as disdainful of the ordinary intellectual decencies -as the editorial writers. I accumulated, in those great days, for -the instruction and horror of posterity, a very large collection -of academic arguments, expositions and pronunciamentos; it fills a -trunk, and got me heavily into debt to three clipping-bureaux. Its -contents range from solemn hymns of hate in the learned (and even -the theological) reviews and such official donkeyisms as the formal -ratification of the so-called Sisson documents down to childish -harangues to student-bodies, public demands that the study of the enemy -language and literature be prohibited by law, violent denunciations of -all enemy science as negligible and fraudulent, vitriolic attacks upon -enemy magnificos, and elaborate proofs that the American Revolution -was the result of a foul plot hatched in the Wilhelmstrasse of the -time, to the wanton injury of two loving bands of brothers. I do not -exaggerate in the slightest. The proceedings of Mr. Creel's amazing -corps of "twenty-five hundred American historians" went further than -anything I have described. And in every far-flung college town, in -every one-building "university" on the prairie, even the worst efforts -of those "historians" were vastly exceeded.</p> - -<p>But I am forgetting the like phenomena on the other side of the bloody -chasm? I am overlooking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> the darker crimes of the celebrated German -professors? Not at all. Those crimes against all reason and dignity, -had they been committed in fact, would not be evidence in favor of the -Americans in the dock: the principle of law is too well accepted to -need argument. But I venture to deny them, and out of a very special -and singular knowledge, for I seem to be one of the few Americans who -has ever actually read the proclamations of the German professors: -all the most indignant critics of them appear to have accepted -second-hand accounts of their contents. Having suffered the onerous -labor of reading them, I now offer sworn witness to their relative -mildness. Now and then one encounters in them a disconcerting bray. -Now and then one weeps with sore heart. Now and then one is bogged in -German made wholly unintelligible by emotion. But taking them as they -stand, and putting them fairly beside the corresponding documents of -American vintage, one is at once struck by their comparative suavity -and decorum, their freedom from mere rhetoric and fustian—above all, -by their effort to appeal to reason, such as it is, rather than to -emotion. No German professor, from end to end of the war, put his hand -to anything as transparently silly as the Sisson documents. No German -professor essayed to prove that the Seven Years' War was caused by -Downing Street. No German professor argued that the study of English -would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> corrupt the soul. No German professor denounced Darwin as an -ignoramus and Lister as a scoundrel. Nor was anything of the sort done, -so far as I know, by any French professor. Nor even by any reputable -English professor. All such honorable efforts on behalf of correct -thought in war-time were monopolized by American professors. And if -the fact is disputed, then I threaten upon some future day, when the -stealthy yearning to forget has arisen, to print my proofs in parallel -columns—the most esteemed extravagances of the German professors -in one column and the corresponding masterpieces of the American -professors in the other.</p> - -<p>I do not overlook, of course, the self-respecting men who, in the -midst of all the uproar, kept their counsel and their dignity. A small -minority, hard beset and tested by the fire! Nor do I overlook the -few sentimental fanatics who, in the face of devastating evidence to -the contrary, proceeded upon the assumption that academic freedom was -yet inviolable, and so got themselves cashiered, and began posturing -in radical circles as martyrs, the most absurd of men. But I think I -draw a fair picture of the general. I think I depict with reasonable -accuracy the typical response of the only recognizable <i>intelligentsia</i> -of the land to the first great challenge to their aristocratic -aloofness—the first test in the grand manner of their freedom alike -from the bellicose imbecility of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> plutocracy and the intolerable -fears and childish moral certainties of the mob. That test exposed them -shamelessly. It revealed their fast allegiance to the one thing that is -the antithesis of all free inquiry, of all honest hospitality to ideas, -of all intellectual independence and integrity. They proved that they -were correct—and in proving it they threw a brilliant light upon many -mysteries of our national culture.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>10</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Intolerable Burden</i></h4> - - -<p>Among others, upon the mystery of our literature—its faltering -feebleness, its lack of genuine gusto, its dearth of salient -personalities, its general air of poverty and imitation: What ails -the beautiful letters of the Republic, I repeat, is what ails the -general culture of the Republic—the lack of a body of sophisticated -and civilized public opinion, independent of plutocratic control -and superior to the infantile philosophies of the mob—a body of -opinion showing the eager curiosity, the educated skepticism and the -hospitality to ideas of a true aristocracy. This lack is felt by the -American author, imagining him to have anything new to say, every day -of his life. He can hope for no support, in ordinary cases, from the -mob: it is too suspicious of all ideas. He can hope for no support -from the spokesmen of the plutocracy:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> they are too diligently devoted -to maintaining the intellectual <i>status quo.</i> He turns, then, to -the <i>intelligentsia</i>—and what he finds is correctness! In his two -prime functions, to represent the life about him accurately and to -criticize it honestly, he sees that correctness arrayed against him. -His representation is indecorous, unlovely, too harsh to be borne. His -criticism is in contumacy to the ideals upon which the whole structure -rests. So he is either attacked vigorously as an anti-patriot whose -babblings ought to be put down by law, or enshrouded in a silence which -commonly disposes of him even more effectively.</p> - -<p>Soon or late, of course, a man of genuine force and originality is -bound to prevail against that sort of stupidity. He will unearth an -adherent here and another there; in the long run they may become -numerous enough to force some recognition of him, even from the -most immovable exponents of correctness. But the business is slow, -uncertain, heart-breaking. It puts a burden upon the artist that -ought not to be put upon him. It strains beyond reason his diligence -and passion. A man who devotes his life to creating works of the -imagination, a man who gives over all his strength and energy to -struggling with problems that are essentially delicate and baffling and -pregnant with doubt—such a man does not ask for recognition as a mere -reward for his industry; he asks for it as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> necessary <i>help</i> to his -industry; he needs it as he needs decent subsistence and peace of mind. -It is a grave damage to the artist and a grave loss to the literature -when such a man as Poe has to seek consolation among his inferiors, -and such a man as the Mark Twain of "What Is Man?" is forced to -conceal his most profound beliefs, and such men as Dreiser and Cabell -are exposed to incessant attacks by malignant stupidity. The notion -that artists flourish upon adversity and misunderstanding, that they -are able to function to the utmost in an atmosphere of indifference -or hostility—this notion is nine-tenths nonsense. If it were true, -then one would never hear of painters going to France or of musicians -going to Germany. What the artist actually needs is comprehension -of his aims and ideals by men he respects—not necessarily approval -of his products, but simply an intelligent sympathy for him in the -great agony of creation. And that sympathy must be more than the mere -fellow-feeling of other craftsmen; it must come, in large part, out of -a connoisseurship that is beyond the bald trade interest; it must have -its roots in the intellectual curiosity of an aristocracy of taste. -Billroth, I believe, was more valuable to Brahms than even Schumann. -His eager interest gave music-making a solid dignity. His championship -offered the musician a visible proof that his labors had got for him a -secure place in a civilized and stable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> society, and that he would be -judged by his peers, and safeguarded against the obtuse hostility of -his inferiors.</p> - -<p>No such security is thrown about an artist in America. It is not that -the country lacks the standards that Dr. Brownell pleads for; it is -that its standards are still those of a primitive and timorous society. -The excesses of Comstockery are profoundly symbolical. What they show -is the moral certainty of the mob in operation against something that -is as incomprehensible to it as the theory of least squares, and what -they show even more vividly is the distressing lack of any automatic -corrective of that outrage—of any firm and secure body of educated -opinion, eager to hear and test all intelligible ideas and sensitively -jealous of the right to discuss them freely. When "The Genius" was -attacked by the Comstocks, it fell to my lot to seek assistance for -Dreiser among the <i>intelligentsia.</i> I found them almost unanimously -disinclined to lend a hand. A small number permitted themselves to be -induced, but the majority held back, and not a few, as I have said, -actually offered more or less furtive aid to the Comstocks. I pressed -the matter and began to unearth reasons. It was, it appeared, dangerous -for a member of the <i>intelligentsia,</i> and particularly for a member -of the academic <i>intelligentsia,</i> to array himself against the mob -inflamed—against the moral indignation of the sort of folk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> who devour -vice reports and are converted by the Rev. Billy Sunday! If he came -forward, he would have to come forward alone. There was no organized -support behind him. No instinctive urge of class, no prompting of -a great tradition, moved him to speak out for artistic freedom ... -England supplied the lack. Over there they have a mob too, and -something akin to Comstockery, and a cult of hollow correctness—but -they also have a caste that stands above all that sort of thing, and -out of that caste came aid for Dreiser.</p> - -<p>England is always supplying the lack—England, or France, or Germany, -or some other country, but chiefly England. "My market and my -reputation," said Prescott in 1838, "rest principally with England." -To Poe, a few years later, the United States was "a literary colony -of Great Britain." And there has been little change to this day. The -English leisure class, says Prof. Dr. Veblen, is "for purposes of -reputable usage the upper leisure class of this country." Despite all -the current highfalutin about melting pots and national destinies the -United States remains almost as much an English colonial possession, -intellectually and spiritually, as it was on July 3, 1776. The American -social pusher keeps his eye on Mayfair; the American literatus dreams -of recognition by the London weeklies; the American don is lifted to -bliss by the imprimatur of Oxford or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> Cambridge; even the American -statesman knows how to cringe to Downing Street. Most of the essential -policies of Dr. Wilson between 1914 and 1920—when the realistic -English, finding him no longer useful, incontinently dismissed -him—were, to all intents and purposes, those of a British colonial -premier. He went into the Peace Conference willing to yield everything -to English interests, and he came home with a treaty that was so -extravagantly English that it fell an easy prey to the anti-English -minority, ever alert for the makings of a bugaboo to scare the plain -people. What lies under all this subservience is simple enough. The -American, for all his braggadocio, is quite conscious of his intrinsic -inferiority to the Englishman, on all cultural counts. He may put -himself first as a man of business, as an adventurer in practical -affairs or as a pioneer in the applied arts and sciences, but in -all things removed from the mere pursuit of money and physical ease -he well understands that he belongs at the second table. Even his -recurrent attacks of Anglophobia are no more than Freudian evidences -of his inferiority complex. He howls in order to still his inner -sense of inequality, as he howls against imaginary enemies in order -to convince himself that he is brave and against fabulous despotisms -in order to prove that he is free. The Englishman is never deceived -by this hocus-pocus. He knows that it is always possible to fetch -the rebel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> back into camp by playing upon his elemental fears and -vanities. A few dark threats, a few patronizing speeches, a few Oxford -degrees, and the thing is done. More, the English scarcely regard -it as hunting in the grand manner; it is a business of subalterns. -When, during the early stages of the war, they had occasion to woo -the American <i>intelligentsia,</i> what agents did they choose? Did they -nominate Thomas Hardy, Joseph Conrad, George Moore and company? Nay, -they nominated Conan Doyle, Coningsby Dawson, Alfred Noyes, Ian Hay, -Chesterton, Kipling, Zangwill and company. In the choice there was high -sagacity and no little oblique humor—as there was a bit later in the -appointment of Lord Reading and Sir Auckland Geddes to Washington. The -valuation they set upon the <i>aluminados</i> of the Republic was exactly -the valuation they were in the habit of setting, at home, upon MM. of -the Free Church Federation. They saw the eternal green-grocer beneath -the master's gown and mortarboard. Let us look closely and we shall see -him, too.</p> - -<p>The essence of a self-reliant and autonomous culture is an unshakable -egoism. It must not only regard itself as the peer of any other -culture; it must regard itself as the superior of any other. You will -find this indomitable pride in the culture of any truly first-rate -nation: France, Germany or England. But you will not find it in the -so-called culture of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> America. Here the decadent Anglo-Saxon majority -still looks obediently and a bit wistfully toward the motherland. -No good American ever seriously questions an English judgment on an -æsthetic question, or even on an ethical, philosophical or political -question. There is, in fact, seldom any rational reason why he should: -it is almost always more mature, more tolerant, more intelligent than -any judgment hatched at home. Behind it lies a settled scheme of -things, a stable point of view, the authority of a free intellectual -aristocracy, the pride of tradition and of power. The English are -sure-footed, well-informed, persuasive. It is beyond their imagination -that any one should seriously challenge them. In this over-grown and -oafish colony there is no such sureness. The American always secretly -envies the Englishman, even when he professes to flout him. The -Englishman never envies the American.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary colonist, moved to give utterance to the ideas -bubbling within him, is thus vastly handicapped, for he must submit -them to the test of a culture that, in the last analysis, is never -quite his own culture, despite its dominance. Looking within himself, -he finds that he is different, that he diverges from the English -standard, that he is authentically American—and to be authentically -American is to be officially inferior. He thus faces dismay at -the very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> start: support is lacking when he needs it most. In the -motherland—in any motherland, in any wholly autonomous nation—there -is a class of men like himself, devoted to translating the higher -manifestations of the national spirit into ideas—men differing -enormously among themselves, but still united in common cause against -the lethargy and credulity of the mass. But in a colony that class, -if it exists at all, lacks coherence and certainty; its authority -is not only disputed by the inertia and suspiciousness of the lower -orders, but also by the superior authority overseas; it is timorous and -fearful of challenge. Thus it affords no protection to an individual -of assertive originality, and he is forced to go as a suppliant to a -quarter in which nothing is his by right, but everything must go by -favor—in brief to a quarter where his very application must needs be -regarded as an admission of his inferiority. The burden of proof upon -him is thus made double. Obviously, he must be a man of very strong -personality to surmount such obstacles triumphantly. Such strong men, -of course, sometimes appear in a colony, but they always stand alone; -their worst opposition is at home. For a colonial of less vigorous soul -the battle is almost hopeless. Either he submits to subordination and -so wears docilely the inferior badge of a praiseworthy and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> tolerated -colonist, or he deserts the minority for the far more hospitable and -confident majority, and so becomes a mere mob-artist.</p> - -<p>Examples readily suggest themselves. I give you Poe and Whitman as men -strong enough to weather the adverse wind. The salient thing about each -of these men was this: that his impulse to self-expression, the force -of his "obscure, inner necessity," was so powerful that it carried him -beyond all ordinary ambitions and prudences—in other words, that the -ego functioned so heroically that it quite disregarded the temporal -welfare of the individual. Neither Poe nor Whitman made the slightest -concession to what was the predominant English taste, the prevailing -English authority, of his time. And neither yielded in the slightest -to the maudlin echoes of English notions that passed for ideas in the -United States; in neither will you find any recognizable reflection -of the things that Americans were saying and doing all about them. -Even Whitman, preaching democracy, preached a democracy that not one -actual democrat in a hundred thousand could so much as imagine. What -happened? <i>Imprimis,</i> English authority, at the start, dismissed them -loftily; they were, at best, simply rare freaks from the colonies. -Secondly, American stupidity, falling into step, came near overlooking -them altogether. The accident that maintained them was an accident -of personality and environment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> They happened to be men accustomed -to social isolation and of the most meager wants, and it was thus -difficult to deter them by neglect and punishment. So they stuck to -their guns—and presently they were "discovered," as the phrase is, by -men of a culture wholly foreign to them and perhaps incomprehensible -to them, and thereafter, by slow stages, they began to win a slow -and reluctant recognition in England (at first only from rebels and -iconoclasts), and finally even in America. That either, without French -prompting, would have come to his present estate I doubt very much. And -in support of that doubt I cite again the fact that Poe's high talents -as a critic, not having interested the French, have never got their -deserts either in England or at home.</p> - -<p>It is lesser men that we chiefly have to deal with in this world, -and it is among lesser men that the lack of a confident intellectual -viewpoint in America makes itself most evident. Examples are numerous -and obvious. On the one hand, we have Fenimore Cooper first making a -cringing bow for English favor, and then, on being kicked out, joining -the mob against sense; he wrote books so bad that even the Americans of -1830 admired them. On the other hand, we nave Henry James, a deserter -made by despair; one so depressed by the tacky company at the American -first table that he preferred to sit at the second table of the -English. The impulse was, and is common;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> it was only the forthright -act that distinguished him. And in the middle ground, showing both -seductions plainly, there is Mark Twain—at one moment striving his -hardest for the English <i>imprimatur,</i> and childishly delighted by every -favorable gesture; at the next, returning to the native mob as its -premier clown-monkey-shining at banquets, cavorting in the newspapers, -shrinking poltroonishly from his own ideas, obscenely eager to give -no offense. A much greater artist than either Poe or Whitman, so I -devoutly believe, but a good deal lower as a man. The ultimate passion -was not there; the decent householder always pulled the ear of the -dreamer. His fate has irony in it. In England they patronize him: he -is, for an American, not so bad. In America, appalled by his occasional -ascents to honesty, his stray impulses to be wholly himself, the -dunderheads return him to arm's length, his old place, and one of the -most eminent of them, writing in the New York <i>Times,</i> argues piously -that it is impossible to imagine him actually believing the commonplace -heresies he put into "What Is Man?"</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>11</h4> - - -<h4><i>Epilogue</i></h4> - - -<p>I have described the disease. Let me say at once that I have no remedy -to offer. I simply set down a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> few ideas, throw out a few hints, -attempt a few modest inquiries into causes. Perhaps my argument -often turns upon itself: the field is weed-grown and paths are hard -to follow. It may be that insurmountable natural obstacles stand -in the way of the development of a distinctively American culture, -grounded upon a truly egoistic nationalism and supported by a native -aristocracy. After all, there is no categorical imperative that ordains -it. In such matters, when the conditions are right, nature often -arranges a division of labor. A nation shut in by racial and linguistic -isolation—a Sweden, a Holland or a France—is forced into autonomy by -sheer necessity; if it is to have any intellectual life at all it must -develop its own. But that is not our case. There is England to hold -up the torch for us, as France holds it up for Belgium, and Spain for -Latin America, and Germany for Switzerland. It is our function, as the -younger and less confident partner, to do the simpler, rougher parts of -the joint labor—to develop the virtues of the more elemental orders -of men: industry, piety, docility, endurance, assiduity and ingenuity -in practical affairs—the wood-hewing and water-drawing of the race. -It seems to me that we do all this very well; in these things we are -better than the English. But when it comes to those larger and more -difficult activities which concern only the superior minority, and are, -in essence, no more than products of its efforts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> to <i>demonstrate</i> its -superiority—when it comes to the higher varieties of speculation and -self-expression, to the fine arts and the game of ideas—then we fall -into a bad second place. Where we stand, intellectually, is where the -English non-conformists stand; like them, we are marked by a fear of -ideas as disturbing and corrupting. Our art is imitative and timorous. -Our political theory is hopelessly sophomoric and superficial; even -English Toryism and Russian Bolshevism are infinitely more profound -and penetrating. And of the two philosophical systems that we have -produced, one is so banal that it is now imbedded in the New Thought, -and the other is so shallow that there is nothing in it either to -puzzle or to outrage a school-marm.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, hope will not down, and now and then it is supported -by something rather more real than mere desire. One observes an -under-current of revolt, small but vigorous, and sometimes it exerts -its force, not only against the superficial banality but also against -the fundamental flabbiness, the intrinsic childishness of the Puritan -<i>Anschauung.</i> The remedy for that childishness is skepticism, and -already skepticism shows itself: in the iconoclastic political realism -of Harold Stearns, Waldo Frank and company, in the groping questions -of Dreiser, Cabell and Anderson, in the operatic rebellions of the -Village. True imagination, I often think, is no more than a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> function -of this skepticism. It is the dull man who is always sure, and the sure -man who is always dull. The more a man dreams, the less he believes. A -great literature is thus chiefly the product of doubting and inquiring -minds in revolt against the immovable certainties of the nation. -Shakespeare, at a time of rising democratic feeling in England, flung -the whole force of his genius against democracy. Cervantes, at a time -when all Spain was romantic, made a headlong attack upon romance. -Goethe, with Germany groping toward nationalism, threw his influences -on the side of internationalism. The central trouble with America is -conformity, timorousness, lack of enterprise and audacity. A nation -of third-rate men, a land offering hospitality only to fourth-rate -artists. In Elizabethan England they would have bawled for democracy, -in the Spain of Cervantes they would have yelled for chivalry, and in -the Germany of Goethe they would have wept and beat their breasts for -the Fatherland. To-day, as in the day of Emerson, they set the tune.... -But into the singing there occasionally enters a discordant note. On -some dim to-morrow, perhaps, perchance, peradventure, they may be -challenged.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="II_ROOSEVELT_AN_AUTOPSY" id="II_ROOSEVELT_AN_AUTOPSY">II. ROOSEVELT: AN AUTOPSY</a></h4> - - -<p>One thinks of Dr. Woodrow Wilson's biography of George Washington as -of one of the strangest of all the world's books. Washington: the -first, and perhaps also the last American gentleman. Wilson: the -self-bamboozled Presbyterian, the right-thinker, the great moral -statesman, the perfect model of the Christian cad. It is as if the -Rev. Dr. Billy Sunday should do a biography of Charles Darwin—almost -as if Dr. Wilson himself should dedicate his senility to a life of -the Chevalier Bayard, or the Cid, or Christ.... But such phenomena, -of course, are not actually rare in the republic; here everything -happens that is forbidden by the probabilities and the decencies. The -chief native critic of beautiful letters, for a whole generation, was -a Baptist clergyman; he was succeeded by a literary Wall Street man, -who gave way, in turn, to a soviet of ninth-rate pedagogues; this -very curious apostolic succession I have already discussed. The dean -of the music critics, even to-day, is a translator of grand opera -libretti, and probably one of the worst that ever lived. Return, -now, to political biography. Who can think of anything in American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -literature comparable to Morley's life of Gladstone, or Trevelyan's -life of Macaulay, or Carlyle's Frederick, or even Winston Churchill's -life of his father? I dredge my memory hopelessly; only William Graham -Sumner's study of Andrew Jackson emerges—an extraordinarily astute and -careful piece of work by one of the two most underestimated Americans -of his generation, the other being Daniel Coit Gilman. But where is the -first-rate biography of Washington—sound, fair, penetrating, honest, -done by a man capable of comprehending the English gentry of the -eighteenth century? And how long must we wait for adequate treatises -upon Jefferson, Hamilton, Sam Adams, Aaron Burr, Henry Clay, Calhoun, -Webster, Sumner, Grant, Sherman, Lee?</p> - -<p>Even Lincoln is yet to be got vividly between the covers of a book. -The Nicolay-Hay work is quite impossible; it is not a biography, but -simply a huge storehouse of biographical raw materials; whoever can -read it can also read the official Records of the Rebellion. All the -other standard lives of old Abe—for instance, those of Lamon, Herndon -and Weil, Stoddard, Morse and Miss Tarbell—fail still worse; when -they are not grossly preachy and disingenuous they are trivial. So far -as I can make out, no genuinely scientific study of the man has ever -been attempted. The amazing conflict of testimony about him remains a -conflict; the most elemental facts are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> yet to be established; he grows -vaguer and more fabulous as year follows year. One would think that, by -this time, the question of his religious views (to take one example) -ought to be settled, but apparently it is not, for no longer than a -year ago there came a reverend author, Dr. William E. Barton, with a -whole volume upon the subject, and I was as much in the dark after -reading it as I had been before I opened it. All previous biographers, -it appeared by this author's evidence, had either dodged the problem, -or lied. The official doctrine, in this as in other departments, is -obviously quite unsound. One hears in the Sunday-schools that Abe was -an austere and pious fellow, constantly taking the name of God in -whispers, just as one reads in the school history-books that he was a -shining idealist, holding all his vast powers by the magic of an inner -and ineffable virtue. Imagine a man getting on in American politics, -interesting and enchanting the boobery, sawing off the horns of other -politicians, elbowing his way through primaries and conventions, by the -magic of virtue! As well talk of fetching the mob by hawking exact and -arctic justice! Abe, in fact, must have been a fellow highly skilled -at the great democratic art of gum-shoeing. I like to think of him as -one who defeated such politicians as Stanton, Douglas and Sumner with -their own weapons—deftly leading them into ambuscades, boldly pulling -their noses, magnificently ham-stringing and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> horn-swoggling them—in -brief, as a politician of extraordinary talents, who loved the game for -its own sake, and had the measure of the crowd. His official portraits, -both in prose and in daguerreotype, show him wearing the mien of a -man about to be hanged; one never sees him smiling. Nevertheless, one -hears that, until he emerged from Illinois, they always put the women, -children and clergy to bed when he got a few gourds of corn aboard, -and it is a matter of unescapable record that his career in the State -Legislature was indistinguishable from that of a Tammany Nietzsche.</p> - -<p>But, as I say, it is hopeless to look for the real man in the -biographies of him: they are all full of distortion, chiefly pious -and sentimental. The defect runs through the whole of American -political biography, and even through the whole of American history. -Nearly all our professional historians are poor men holding college -posts, and they are ten times more cruelly beset by the ruling -politico-plutocratic-social oligarchy than ever the Prussian professors -were by the Hohenzollerns. Let them diverge in the slightest from what -is the current official doctrine, and they are turned out of their -chairs with a ceremony suitable for the expulsion of a drunken valet. -During the recent war a herd of two thousand and five hundred such -miserable slaves was organized by Dr. Creel to lie for their country, -and they at once fell upon the congenial task of rewriting American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -history to make it accord with the ideas of H. P. Davison, Admiral -Sims, Nicholas Murray Butler, the Astors, Barney Baruch and Lord -Northcliffe. It was a committee of this herd that solemnly pledged the -honor of American scholarship to the authenticity of the celebrated -Sisson documents....</p> - -<p>In the face of such acute miliary imbecility it is not surprising to -discover that all of the existing biographies of the late Colonel -Roosevelt—and they have been rolling off the presses at a dizzy rate -since his death—are feeble, inaccurate, ignorant and preposterous. I -have read, I suppose, at least ten of these tomes during the past year -or so, and in all of them I have found vastly more gush than sense. -Lawrence Abbott's "Impressions of Theodore Roosevelt" and William -Roscoe Thayer's "Theodore Roosevelt" may well serve as specimens. -Abbott's book is the composition, not of an unbiased student of the -man, but of a sort of groom of the hero. He is so extremely eager to -prove that Roosevelt was the perfect right-thinker, according to the -transient definitions of right-thinking, that he manages to get a -flavor of dubiousness into his whole chronicle. I find myself doubting -him even when I know that he is honest and suspect that he is right. -As for Thayer, all he offers is a hasty and hollow pot-boiler—such a -work as might have been well within the talents of, say, the late Murat -Halstead or the editor of the New York<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> <i>Times.</i> This Thayer has been -heavily praised of late as the Leading American Biographer, and one -constantly hears that some new university has made him <i>Legum Doctor,</i> -or that he has been awarded a medal by this or that learned society, or -that the post has brought him a new ribbon from some literary potentate -in foreign parts. If, in fact, he is actually the cock of the walk in -biography, then all I have said against American biographers is too -mild and mellow. What one finds in his book is simply the third-rate -correctness of a Boston colonial. Consider, for example, his frequent -discussions of the war—a necessity in any work on Roosevelt. In -England there is the mob's view of the war, and there is the view of -civilized and intelligent men, <i>e. g.,</i> Lansdowne, Loreburn, Austin -Harrison, Morel, Keynes, Haldane, Hirst, Balfour, Robert Cecil. In -New England, it would appear, the two views coalesce, with the first -outside. There is scarcely a line on the subject in Thayer's book that -might not have been written by Horatio Bottomley....</p> - -<p>Obviously, Roosevelt's reaction to the war must occupy a large part -of any adequate biography of him, for that reaction was probably more -comprehensively typical of the man than any other business of his -life. It displayed not only his whole stock of political principles, -but also his whole stock of political tricks. It plumbed, on the one -hand, the depths<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> of his sagacity, and on the other hand the depths of -his insincerity. Fundamentally, I am convinced, he was quite out of -sympathy with, and even quite unable to comprehend the body of doctrine -upon which the Allies, and later the United States, based their case. -To him it must have seemed insane when it was not hypocritical, and -hypocritical when it was not insane. His instincts were profoundly -against a new loosing of democratic fustian upon the world; he believed -in strongly centralized states, founded upon power and devoted to -enterprises far transcending mere internal government; he was an -imperialist of the type of Cecil Rhodes, Treitschke and Delcassé. But -the fortunes of domestic politics jockeyed him into the position of -standing as the spokesman of an almost exactly contrary philosophy. The -visible enemy before him was Wilson. What he wanted as a politician -was something that he could get only by wresting it from Wilson, and -Wilson was too cunning to yield it without making a tremendous fight, -chiefly by chicane—whooping for peace while preparing for war, playing -mob fear against mob fear, concealing all his genuine motives and -desires beneath clouds of chautauqual rhetoric, leading a mad dance -whose tune changed at every swing. Here was an opponent that more than -once puzzled Roosevelt, and in the end flatly dismayed him. Here was a -mob-master with a technique infinitely more subtle and effective than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> -his own. So lured into an unequal combat, the Rough Rider got bogged in -absurdities so immense that only the democratic anæsthesia to absurdity -saved him. To make any progress at all he was forced into fighting -against his own side. He passed from the scene bawling piteously for a -cause that, at bottom, it is impossible to imagine him believing in, -and in terms of a philosophy that was as foreign to his true faith as -it was to the faith of Wilson. In the whole affair there was a colossal -irony. Both contestants were intrinsically frauds.</p> - -<p>The fraudulence of Wilson is now admitted by all save a few survivors -of the old corps of official press-agents, most of them devoid of -both honesty and intelligence. No unbiased man, in the presence of -the revelations of Bullitt, Keynes and a hundred other witnesses, and -of the Russian and Shantung performances, and of innumerable salient -domestic phenomena, can now believe that the <i>Doctor dulcifluus</i> was -ever actually in favor of any of the brummagem ideals he once wept -for, to the edification of a moral universe. They were, at best, no -more than ingenious <i>ruses de guerre,</i> and even in the day of their -widest credit it was the Espionage Act and the Solicitor-General to -the Postoffice, rather than any plausibility in their substance, -that got them their credit. In Roosevelt's case the imposture is -less patent; he died before it was fully unmasked. What is more, his -death put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> an end to whatever investigation of it was under way, for -American sentimentality holds that it is indecent to inquire into the -weaknesses of the dead, at least until all the flowers have withered -on their tombs. When, a year ago, I ventured in a magazine article to -call attention to Roosevelt's philosophical kinship to the Kaiser I -received letters of denunciation from all parts of the United States, -and not a few forthright demands that I recant on penalty of lynch law. -Prudence demanded that I heed these demands. We live in a curious and -often unsafe country. Haled before a Roosevelt judge for speeding my -automobile, or spitting on the sidewalk, or carrying a jug, I might -have been railroaded for ten years under some constructive corollary -of the Espionage Act. But there were two things that supported me -in my contumacy to the departed. One was a profound reverence for -and fidelity to the truth, sometimes almost amounting to fanaticism. -The other was the support of my venerable brother in epistemology, -the eminent Iowa right-thinker and patriot, Prof. Dr. S. P. Sherman. -Writing in the <i>Nation,</i> where he survives from more seemly days than -these, Prof. Dr. Sherman put the thing in plain terms. "With the -essentials in the religion of the militarists of Germany," he said, -"Roosevelt was utterly in sympathy."</p> - -<p>Utterly? Perhaps the adverb is a bit too strong. There was in the man -a certain instinctive antipathy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> to the concrete aristocrat and in -particular to the aristocrat's private code—the product, no doubt, -of his essentially <i>bourgeois</i> origin and training. But if he could -not go with the Junkers all the way, he could at least go the whole -length of their distrust of the third order—the undifferentiated -masses of men below. Here, I daresay, he owed a lot to Nietzsche. He -was always reading German books, and among them, no doubt, were "Also -sprach Zarathustra" and "Jenseits von Gut und Böse." In fact, the -echoes were constantly sounding in his own harangues. Years ago, as an -intellectual exercise while confined to hospital, I devised and printed -a give-away of the Rooseveltian philosophy in parallel columns—in one -column, extracts from "The Strenuous Life"; in the other, extracts -from Nietzsche. The borrowings were numerous and unescapable. Theodore -had swallowed Friedrich as a peasant swallows Peruna—bottle, cork, -label and testimonials. Worse, the draft whetted his appetite, and -soon he was swallowing the Kaiser of the <i>Garde-Kavallerie-mess</i> -and battleship-launching speeches—another somewhat defective -Junker. In his palmy days it was often impossible to distinguish his -politico-theological bulls from those of Wilhelm; during the war, -indeed, I suspect that some of them were boldly lifted' by the British -press bureau, and palmed off as felonious imprudences out of Potsdam. -Wilhelm was his model in <i>Weltpolitik,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> and in sociology, exegetics, -administration, law, sport and connubial polity no less. Both roared -for doughty armies, eternally prepared—for the theory that the way to -prevent war is to make all conceivable enemies think twice, thrice, -ten times. Both dreamed of gigantic navies, with battleships as long -as Brooklyn Bridge. Both preached incessantly the duty of the citizen -to the state, with the soft pedal upon the duty of the state to the -citizen. Both praised the habitually gravid wife. Both delighted in -the armed pursuit of the lower fauna. Both heavily patronized the -fine arts. Both were intimates of God, and announced His desires with -authority. Both believed that all men who stood opposed to them were -prompted by the devil and would suffer for it in hell.</p> - -<p>If, in fact, there was any difference between them, it was all in favor -of Wilhelm. For one thing, he made very much fewer speeches; it took -some colossal event, such as the launching of a dreadnaught or the -birthday of a colonel-general, to get him upon his legs; the Reichstag -was not constantly deluged with his advice and upbraiding. For another -thing, he was a milder and more modest man—one more accustomed, let us -say, to circumstance and authority, and hence less intoxicated by the -greatness of his state. Finally, he had been trained to think, not only -of his own immediate fortunes, but also of the remote interests of a -family that, in his most expansive days,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> promised to hold the throne -for many years, and so he cultivated a certain prudence, and even a -certain ingratiating suavity. He could, on occasion, be extremely -polite to an opponent. But Roosevelt was never polite to an opponent; -perhaps a gentleman, by American standards, he was surely never a -gentle man. In a political career of nearly forty years he was never -even fair to an opponent. All of his gabble about the square deal was -merely so much protective coloration, easily explicable on elementary -Freudian grounds. No man, facing Roosevelt in the heat of controversy, -ever actually got a square deal. He took extravagant advantages; he -played to the worst idiocies of the mob; he hit below the belt almost -habitually. One never thinks of him as a duelist, say of the school -of Disraeli, Palmerston and, to drop a bit, Blaine. One always thinks -of him as a glorified longshoreman engaged eternally in cleaning out -bar-rooms—and not too proud to gouge when the inspiration came to -him, or to bite in the clinches, or to oppose the relatively fragile -brass knuckles of the code with chair-legs, bung-starters, cuspidors, -demijohns, and ice-picks.</p> - -<p>Abbott and Thayer, in their books, make elaborate efforts to depict -their hero as one born with a deep loathing of the whole Prussian -scheme of things, and particularly of the Prussian technique in combat. -Abbott even goes so far as to hint that the attentions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> of the Kaiser, -during Roosevelt's historic tour of Europe on his return from Africa, -were subtly revolting to him. Nothing could be more absurd. Prof. Dr. -Sherman, in the article I have mentioned, blows up that nonsense by -quoting from a speech made by the tourist in Berlin—a speech arguing -for the most extreme sort of militarism in a manner that must have made -even some of the Junkers blow their noses dubiously. The disproof need -not be piled up; the America that Roosevelt dreamed of was always a -sort of swollen Prussia, truculent without and regimented within. There -was always a clank of the saber in his discourse; he could not discuss -the tamest matter without swaggering in the best dragoon fashion. -Abbott gets into yet deeper waters when he sets up the doctrine that -the invasion of Belgium threw his darling into an instantaneous and -tremendous fit of moral indignation, and that the curious delay in the -public exhibition thereof, so much discussed since, was due to his -(Abbott's) fatuous interference—a <i>faux pas</i> later regretted with much -bitterness. Unluckily, the evidence he offers leaves me full of doubts. -What the doctrine demands that one believe is simply this: that the man -who, for mere commercial advantage and (in Frederick's famous phrase) -"to make himself talked of in the world," tore up the treaty of 1848 -between the United States and Colombia (<i>geb.</i> New Granada), whereby -the United States forever guaranteed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> the "sovereignty and ownership" -of the Colombians in the isthmus of Panama—that this same man, -thirteen years later, was horrified into a fever when Germany, facing -powerful foes on two fronts, tore up the treaty of 1832, guaranteeing, -not the sovereignty, but the bald neutrality of Belgium—a neutrality -already destroyed, according to the evidence before the Germans, by -Belgium's own acts.</p> - -<p>It is hard, without an inordinate strain upon the credulity, to -believe any such thing, particularly in view of the fact that this -instantaneous indignation of the most impulsive and vocal of men was -diligently concealed for at least six weeks, with reporters camped upon -his doorstep day and night, begging him to say the very thing that -he left so darkly unsaid. Can one imagine Roosevelt, with red-fire -raging within him and sky-rockets bursting in his veins, holding his -peace for a month and a half? I have no doubt whatever that Abbott, -as he says, desired to avoid embarrassing Dr. Wilson—but think of -Roosevelt showing any such delicacy! For one, I am not equal to the -feat. All that unprecedented reticence, in fact, is far more readily -explicable on other and less lofty grounds. What really happened I -presume to guess. My guess is that Roosevelt, like the great majority -of other Americans, was <i>not</i> instantly and automatically outraged by -the invasion of Belgium. On the contrary, he probably viewed it as a -regrettable, but not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> unexpected or unparalleled device of war—if -anything, as something rather thrillingly gaudy and effective—a fine -piece of virtuosity, pleasing to a military connoisseur. But then came -the deluge of Belgian atrocity stories, and the organized campaign to -enlist American sympathies. It succeeded very quickly. By the middle of -August the British press bureau was in full swing; by the beginning of -September the country was flooded with inflammatory stuff; six weeks -after the war opened it was already hazardous for a German in America -to state his country's case. Meanwhile, the Wilson administration had -declared for neutrality, and was still making a more or less sincere -effort to practice it, at least on the surface. Here was Roosevelt's -opportunity, and he leaped to it with sure instinct. On the one side -was the adminstration that he detested, and that all his self-interest -(e. g., his yearning to get back his old leadership and to become -President again in 1917) prompted him to deal a mortal blow, and on the -other side was a ready-made issue, full of emotional possibilities, -stupendously pumped up by extremely clever propaganda, and so far -unembraced by any other rabble-rouser of the first magnitude. Is it -any wonder that he gave a whoop, jumped upon his cayuse, and began -screaming for war? In war lay the greatest chance of his life. In war -lay the confusion and destruction of Wilson, and the melodramatic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -renaissance of the Rough Rider, the professional hero, the national -Barbarossa.</p> - -<p>In all this, of course, I strip the process of its plumes and spangles, -and expose a chain of causes and effects that Roosevelt himself, if he -were alive, would denounce as grossly contumelious to his native purity -of spirit—and perhaps in all honesty. It is not necessary to raise -any doubts as to that honesty. No one who has given any study to the -developement and propagation of political doctrine in the United States -can have failed to notice how the belief in issues among politicians -tends to run in exact ratio to the popularity of those issues. Let the -populace begin suddenly to swallow a new panacea or to take fright at -a new bugaboo, and almost instantly nine-tenths of the master-minds -of politics begin to believe that the panacea is a sure cure for -all the malaises of, the republic, and the bugaboo an immediate and -unbearable menace to all law, order and domestic tranquillity. At the -bottom of this singular intellectual resilience, of course, there is a -good deal of hard calculation; a man must keep up with the procession -of crazes, or his day is swiftly done. But in it there are also -considerations a good deal more subtle, and maybe less discreditable. -For one thing, a man devoted professionally to patriotism and the -wisdom of the fathers is very apt to come to a resigned sort of -acquiescence in all the doctrinaire rubbish that lies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> beneath the -national scheme of things—to believe, let us say, if not that the -plain people are gifted with an infallible sagacity, then at least -that they have an inalienable right to see their follies executed. -Poll-parroting nonsense as a matter of daily routine, the politician -ends by assuming that it is sense, even though he doesn't believe -it. For another thing, there is the contagion of mob enthusiasm—a -much underestimated murrain. We all saw what it could do during the -war—college professors taking their tune from the yellow journals, -the rev. clergy performing in the pulpit like so many Liberty Loan -orators in five-cent moving-picture houses, hysteria grown epidemic -like the influenza. No man is so remote and arctic that he is wholly -safe from that contamination; it explains many extravagant phenomena of -a democratic society; in particular, it explains why the mob leader is -so often a victim to his mob.</p> - -<p>Roosevelt, a perfectly typical politician, devoted to the trade, not -primarily because he was gnawed by ideals, but because he frankly -enjoyed its rough-and-tumble encounters and its gaudy rewards, was -probably moved in both ways—and also by the hard calculation that -I have mentioned. If, by any ineptness of the British press-agents, -tear-squeezers and orphan-exhibitors, indignation over the invasion -of Belgium had failed to materialize—if, worse still, some gross -infringement of American rights by the English had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> caused it to be -forgotten completely—if, finally, Dr. Wilson had been whooping for war -with the populace firmly against him—in such event it goes without -saying that the moral horror of Dr. Roosevelt would have stopped short -at a very low amperage, and that he would have refrained from making it -the center of his polity. But with things as they were, lying neatly to -his hand, he permitted it to take on an extraordinary virulence, and -before long all his old delight in German militarism had been converted -into a lofty detestation of German militarism, and its chief spokesman -on this side of the Atlantic became its chief opponent. Getting rid -of that old delight, of course, was not easily achieved. The concrete -enthusiasm could be throttled, but the habit of mind remained. Thus -one beheld the curious spectacle of militarism belabored in terms of -militarism—of the Kaiser arraigned in unmistakably <i>kaiserliche</i> tones.</p> - -<p>Such violent swallowings and regurgitations were no novelties to the -man. His whole political career was marked, in fact, by performances -of the same sort. The issues that won him most votes were issues that, -at bottom, he didn't believe in; there was always a mental reservation -in his rhetoric. He got into politics, not as a tribune of the plain -people, but as an amateur reformer of the snobbish type common in the -eighties, by the <i>Nation</i> out of the Social Register. He was a young -Harvard man scandalized by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> discovery that his town was run by -men with such names as Michael O'Shaunnessy and Terence Googan—that -his social inferiors were his political superiors. His sympathies -were essentially anti-democratic. He had a high view of his private -position as a young fellow of wealth and education. He believed in -strong centralization—the concentration of power in a few hands, the -strict regimentation of the nether herd, the abandonment of democratic -platitudes. His heroes were such Federalists as Morris and Hamilton; he -made his first splash in the world by writing about them and praising -them. Worse, his daily associations were with the old Union League -crowd of high-tariff Republicans—men almost apoplectically opposed -to every movement from below—safe and sane men, highly conservative -and suspicious men—the profiteers of peace, as they afterward became -the profiteers of war. His early adventures in politics were not -very fortunate, nor did they reveal any capacity for leadership. -The bosses of the day took him in rather humorously, played him for -what they could get out of him, and then turned him loose. In a few -years he became disgusted and went West. Returning after a bit, he -encountered catastrophe: as a candidate for Mayor of New York he was -drubbed unmercifully. He went back to the West. He was, up to this -time, a comic figure—an anti-politician<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> victimized by politicians, a -pseudo-aristocrat made ridiculous by the mob-masters he detested.</p> - -<p>But meanwhile something was happening that changed the whole color of -the political scene, and was destined, eventually, to give Roosevelt -his chance. That something was a shifting in what might be called -the foundations of reform. Up to now it had been an essentially -aristocratic movement—superior, sniffish and anti-democratic. But -hereafter it took on a strongly democratic color and began to adopt -democratic methods. More, the change gave it new life. What Harvard, -the Union League Club and the <i>Nation</i> had failed to accomplish, -the plain people now undertook to accomplish. This invasion of -the old citadel of virtue was first observed in the West, and its -manifestations out there must have given Roosevelt a good deal more -disquiet than satisfaction. It is impossible to imagine him finding -anything to his taste in the outlandish doings of the Populists, the -wild schemes of the pre-Bryan dervishes. His instincts were against -all that sort of thing. But as the movement spread toward the East it -took on a certain urbanity, and by the time it reached the seaboard -it had begun to be quite civilized. With this new brand of reform -Roosevelt now made terms. It was full of principles that outraged all -his pruderies, but it at least promised to work. His entire political -history<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> thereafter, down to the day of his death, was a history of -compromises with the new forces—of a gradual yielding, for strategic -purposes, to ideas that were intrinsically at odds with his congenital -prejudices. When, after a generation of that sort of compromising, the -so-called Progressive party was organized and he seized the leadership -of it from the Westerners who had founded it, he performed a feat -of wholesale englutination that must forever hold a high place upon -the roll of political prodigies. That is to say, he swallowed at one -gigantic gulp, and out of the same herculean jug, the most amazing -mixture of social, political and economic perunas ever got down by -one hero, however valiant, however athirst—a cocktail made up of all -the elixirs hawked among the boobery in his time, from woman suffrage -to the direct primary, and from the initiative and referendum to the -short ballot, and from prohibition to public ownership, and from -trust-busting to the recall of judges.</p> - -<p>This homeric achievement made him the head of the most tatterdemalion -party ever seen in American politics—a party composed of such -incompatible ingredients and hung together so loosely that it began -to disintegrate the moment it was born. In part it was made up of -mere disordered enthusiasts—believers in anything and everything, -pathetic victims of the credulity complex, habitual followers of -jitney messiahs, incurable hopers and snufflers. But in part it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> was -also made up of rice converts like Roosevelt himself—men eager for -office, disappointed by the old parties, and now quite willing to -accept any aid that half-idiot doctrinaires could give them. I have no -doubt that Roosevelt himself, carried away by the emotional storms of -the moment and especially by the quasi-religious monkey-shines that -marked the first Progressive convention, gradually convinced himself -that at least some of the doctrinaires, in the midst of all their -imbecility, yet preached a few ideas that were workable, and perhaps -even sound. But at bottom he was against them, and not only in the -matter of their specific sure cures, but also in the larger matter of -their childish faith in the wisdom and virtue of the plain people. -Roosevelt, for all his fluent mastery of democratic counter-words, -democratic gestures and all the rest of the armamentarium of the -mob-master, had no such faith in his heart of hearts. He didn't believe -in democracy; he believed simply in government. His remedy for all -the great pangs and longings of existence was not a dispersion of -authority, but a hard concentration of authority. He was not in favor -of unlimited experiment; he was in favor of a rigid control from -above, a despotism of inspired prophets and policemen. He was not for -democracy as his followers understood democracy, and as it actually is -and must be; he was for a paternalism of the true Bismarckian pattern, -almost of the Napoleonic or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> Ludendorffian pattern—a paternalism -concerning itself with all things, from the regulation of coal-mining -and meat-packing to the regulation of spelling and marital rights. His -instincts were always those of the property-owning Tory, not those -of the romantic Liberal. All the fundamental objects of Liberalism -—free speech, unhampered enterprise, the least possible governmental -interference—were abhorrent to him. Even when, for campaign purposes, -he came to terms with the Liberals his thoughts always ranged far -afield. When he tackled the trusts the thing that he had in his mind's -eye was not the restoration of competition but the subordination of -all private trusts to one great national trust, with himself at its -head. And when he attacked the courts it was not because they put their -own prejudice before the law but because they refused to put <i>his</i> -prejudices before the law.</p> - -<p>In all his career no one ever heard him make an argument for the rights -of the citizen; his eloquence was always expended in expounding the -duties of the citizen. I have before me a speech in which he pleaded -for "a spirit of kindly justice toward every man and woman," but that -seems to be as far as he ever got in that direction—and it was the -gratuitous justice of the absolute monarch that he apparently had in -mind, not the autonomous and inalienable justice of a free society. -The duties of the citizen, as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> understood them, related not only to -acts, but also to thoughts. There was, to his mind, a simple body of -primary doctrine, and dissent from it was the foulest of crimes. No -man could have been more bitter against opponents, or more unfair to -them, or more ungenerous. In this department, indeed, even so gifted -a specialist in dishonorable controversy as Dr. Wilson has seldom -surpassed him. He never stood up to a frank and chivalrous debate. -He dragged herrings across the trail. He made seductive faces at the -gallery. He capitalized his enormous talents as an entertainer, his -rank as a national hero, his public influence and consequence. The -two great law-suits in which he was engaged were screaming burlesques -upon justice. He tried them in the newspapers before ever they were -called; he befogged them with irrelevant issues; his appearances in -court were not the appearances of a witness standing on a level with -other witnesses, but those of a comedian sure of his crowd. He was, in -his dealings with concrete men as in his dealings with men in the mass, -a charlatan of the very highest skill—and there was in him, it goes -without saying, the persuasive charm of the charlatan as well as the -daring deviousness, the humanness of naïveté as well as the humanness -of chicane. He knew how to woo—and not only boobs. He was, for all his -ruses and ambuscades, a jolly fellow.</p> - -<p>It seems to be forgotten that the current American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> theory that -political heresy should be put down by force, that a man who disputes -whatever is official has no rights in law or equity, that he is lucky -if he fares no worse than to lose his constitutional benefits of free -speech, free assemblage and the use of the mails—it seems to be -forgotten that this theory was invented, not by Dr. Wilson, but by -Roosevelt. Most Liberals, I suppose, would credit it, if asked, to -Wilson. He has carried it to extravagant lengths; he is the father -superior of all the present advocates of it; he will probably go -down into American history as its greatest prophet. But it was first -clearly stated, not in any Wilsonian bull to the right-thinkers of all -lands, but in Roosevelt's proceedings against the so-called Paterson -anarchists. You will find it set forth at length in an opinion prepared -for him by his Attorney-General, Charles J. Bonaparte, another curious -and almost fabulous character, also an absolutist wearing the false -whiskers of a democrat. Bonaparte furnished the law, and Roosevelt -furnished the blood and iron. It was an almost ideal combination; -Bonaparte had precisely the touch of Italian finesse that the Rough -Rider always lacked. Roosevelt believed in the Paterson doctrine—in -brief, that the Constitution does not throw its cloak around -heretics—to the end of his days. In the face of what he conceived to -be contumacy to revelation his fury took on a sort of lyrical grandeur. -There was nothing too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> awful for the culprit in the dock. Upon his head -were poured denunciations as violent as the wildest interdicts of a -mediæval pope.</p> - -<p>The appearance of such men, of course, is inevitable under a democracy. -Consummate showmen, they arrest the wonder of the mob, and so put -its suspicions to sleep. What they actually believe is of secondary -consequence; the main thing is what they say; even more, the way -they say it. Obviously, their activity does a great deal of damage -to the democratic theory, for they are standing refutations of the -primary doctrine that the common folk choose their leaders wisely. -They damage it again in another and more subtle way. That is to say, -their ineradicable contempt for the minds they must heat up and -bamboozle leads them into a fatalism that shows itself in a cynical -and opportunistic politics, a deliberate avoidance of fundamentals. -The policy of a democracy thus becomes an eternal improvisation, -changing with the private ambitions of its leaders and the transient -and often unintelligible emotions of its rank and file. Roosevelt, -incurably undemocratic in his habits of mind, often found it difficult -to gauge those emotional oscillations. The fact explains his frequent -loss of mob support, his periodical journeys into Coventry. There were -times when his magnificent talents as a public comedian brought the -proletariat to an almost unanimous groveling at his feet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> but there -were also times when he puzzled and dismayed it, and so awakened its -hostility. When he assaulted Wilson on the neutrality issue, early -in 1915, he made a quite typical mistake. That mistake consisted in -assuming that public indignation over the wrongs of the Belgians would -maintain itself at a high temperature—that it would develop rapidly -into a demand for intervention. Roosevelt made himself the spokesman -of that demand, and then found to his consternation that it was -waning—that the great masses of the plain people, prospering under -the Wilsonian neutrality, were inclined to preserve it, at no matter -what cost to the Belgians. In 1915, after the <i>Lusitania</i> affair, -things seemed to swing his way again, and he got vigorous support from -the British press bureau. But in a few months he found himself once -more attempting to lead a mob that was fast slipping away. Wilson, a -very much shrewder politician, with little of Roosevelt's weakness for -succumbing to his own rhetoric, discerned the truth much more quickly -and clearly. In 1916 he made his campaign for reëlection on a flatly -anti-Roosevelt peace issue, and not only got himself reëlected, but -also drove Roosevelt out of the ring.</p> - -<p>What happened thereafter deserves a great deal more careful study than -it will ever get from the timorous eunuchs who posture as American -historians. At the moment, it is the official doctrine in England,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -where the thing is more freely discussed than at home, that Wilson was -forced into the war by an irresistible movement from below—that the -plain people compelled him to abandon neutrality and move reluctantly -upon the Germans. Nothing could be more untrue. The plain people, -at the end of 1916, were in favor of peace, and they believed that -Wilson was in favor of peace. How they were gradually worked up to -complaisance and then to enthusiasm and then to hysteria and then to -acute mania—this is a tale to be told in more leisurely days and by -historians without boards of trustees on their necks. For the present -purpose it is sufficient to note that the whole thing was achieved so -quickly and so neatly that its success left Roosevelt surprised and -helpless. His issue had been stolen from directly under his nose. He -was left standing daunted and alone, a boy upon a burning deck. It took -him months to collect his scattered wits, and even then his attack upon -the administration was feeble and ineffective. To the plain people it -seemed a mere ill-natured snapping at a successful rival, which in fact -it was, and so they paid no heed to it, and Roosevelt found himself -isolated once more. Thus he passed from the scene in the shadows, a -broken politician and a disappointed man.</p> - -<p>I have a notion that he died too soon. His best days were probably -not behind him, but ahead of him. Had he lived ten years longer, he -might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> enjoyed a great rehabilitation, and exchanged his old -false leadership of the inflammatory and fickle mob for a sound and -true leadership of the civilized minority. For the more one studies -his mountebankeries as mob-master, the more one is convinced that -there was a shrewd man beneath the motley, and that his actual beliefs -were anything but nonsensical. The truth of them, indeed, emerges -more clearly day by day. The old theory of a federation of free and -autonomous states has broken down by its own weight, and we are moved -toward centralization by forces that have long been powerful and are -now quite irresistible. So with the old theory of national isolation: -it, too, has fallen to pieces. The United States can no longer hope -to lead a separate life in the world, undisturbed by the pressure of -foreign aspirations. We came out of the war to find ourselves hemmed in -by hostilities that no longer troubled to conceal themselves, and if -they are not as close and menacing to-day as those that have hemmed in -Germany for centuries they are none the less plainly there and plainly -growing. Roosevelt, by whatever route of reflection or intuition, -arrived at a sense of these facts at a time when it was still somewhat -scandalous to state them, and it was the capital effort of his life -to reconcile them, in some dark way or other, to the prevailing -platitudes, and so get them heeded. To-day no one seriously maintains, -as all Americans once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> maintained, that the states can go on existing -together as independent commonwealths, each with its own laws, its own -legal theory and its own view of the common constitutional bond. And -to-day no one seriously maintains, as all Americans once maintained, -that the nation may safely potter on without adequate means of defense. -However unpleasant it may be to contemplate, the fact is plain that -the American people, during the next century, will have to fight to -maintain their place in the sun.</p> - -<p>Roosevelt lived just long enough to see his notions in these directions -take on life, but not long enough to see them openly adopted. To the -extent of his prevision he was a genuine leader of the nation, and -perhaps in the years to come, when his actual ideas are disentangled -from the demagogic fustian in which he had to wrap them, his more -honest pronunciamentoes will be given canonical honors, and he will be -ranked among the prophets. He saw clearly more than one other thing -that was by no means obvious to his age—for example, the inevitability -of frequent wars under the new world-system of extreme nationalism; -again, the urgent necessity, for primary police ends, of organizing the -backward nations into groups of vassals, each under the hoof of some -first-rate power; yet again, the probability of the breakdown of the -old system of free competition; once more, the high social utility of -the Spartan virtues and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> grave dangers of sloth and ease; finally, -the incompatibility of free speech and democracy. I do not say that -he was always quite honest, even when he was most indubitably right. -But in so far as it was possible for him to be honest and exist at all -politically, he inclined toward the straightforward thought and the -candid word. That is to say, his instinct prompted him to tell the -truth, just as the instinct of Dr. Wilson prompts him to shift and -dissimulate. What ailed him was the fact that his lust for glory, when -it came to a struggle, was always vastly more powerful than his lust -for the eternal verities. Tempted sufficiently, he would sacrifice -anything and everything to get applause. Thus the statesman was -debauched by the politician, and the philosopher was elbowed out of -sight by the popinjay.</p> - -<p>Where he failed most miserably was in his remedies. A remarkably -penetrating diagnostician, well-read, unprejudiced and with a touch -of genuine scientific passion, he always stooped to quackery when he -prescribed a course of treatment. For all his sensational attacks upon -the trusts, he never managed to devise a scheme to curb them—and -even when he sought to apply the schemes of other men he invariably -corrupted the business with timorousness and insincerity. So with -his campaign for national preparedness. He displayed the disease -magnificently, but the course of medication that he proposed was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -vague and unconvincing; it was not, indeed, without justification -that the plain people mistook his advocacy of an adequate army for -a mere secret yearning to prance upon a charger at the head of huge -hordes. So, again, with his eloquent plea for national solidarity -and an end of hyphenism. The dangers that he pointed out were very -real and very menacing, but his plan for abating them only made them -worse. His objurgations against the Germans surely accomplished -nothing; the hyphenate of 1915 is still a hyphenate in his heart—with -bitter and unforgettable grievances to support him. Roosevelt, very -characteristically, swung too far. In denouncing German hyphenism so -extravagantly he contrived to give an enormous impetus to English -hyphenism, a far older and more perilous malady. It has already gone -so far that a large and influential party endeavors almost openly -to convert the United States into a mere vassal state of England's. -Instead of national solidarity following the war, we have only a -revival of Know-Nothingism; one faction of hyphenates tries to -exterminate another faction. Roosevelt's error here was one that he -was always making. Carried away by the ease with which he could heat -up the mob, he tried to accomplish instantly and by <i>force majeure</i> -what could only be accomplished by a long and complex process, with -more good will on both sides than ever so opinionated and melodramatic -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> pseudo-Junker was capable of. But though he thus made a mess of the -cure, he was undoubtedly right about the disease.</p> - -<p>The talented Sherman, in the monograph that I have praised, argues -that the chief contribution of the dead gladiator to American life was -the example of his gigantic gusto, his delight in toil and struggle, -his superb aliveness. The fact is plain. What he stood most clearly -in opposition to was the superior pessimism of the three Adams -brothers—the notion that the public problems of a democracy are -unworthy the thought and effort of a civilized and self-respecting -man—the sad error that lies in wait for all of us who hold ourselves -above the general. Against this suicidal aloofness Roosevelt always -hurled himself with brave effect. Enormously sensitive and resilient, -almost pathological in his appetite for activity, he made it plain to -every one that the most stimulating sort of sport imaginable was to -be obtained in fighting, not for mere money, but for ideas. There was -no aristocratic reserve about him. He was not, in fact, an aristocrat -at all, but a quite typical member of the upper <i>bourgeoisie;</i> his -people were not <i>patroons</i> in New Amsterdam, but simple traders; he was -himself a social pusher, and eternally tickled by the thought that he -had had a Bonaparte in his cabinet. The marks of the thoroughbred were -simply not there. The man was blatant, crude, overly confidential,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> -devious, tyrannical, vainglorious, sometimes quite childish. One often -observed in him a certain pathetic wistfulness, a reaching out for -a grand manner that was utterly beyond him. But the sweet went with -the bitter. He had all the virtues of the fat and complacent burgher. -His disdain of affectation and prudery was magnificent. He hated all -pretension save his own pretension. He had a sound respect for hard -effort, for loyalty, for thrift, for honest achievement.</p> - -<p>His worst defects, it seems to me, were the defects of his race and -time. Aspiring to be the leader of a nation of third-rate men, he had -to stoop to the common level. When he struck out for realms above that -level he always came to grief: this was the "unsafe" Roosevelt, the -Roosevelt who was laughed at, the Roosevelt retired suddenly to cold -storage. This was the Roosevelt who, in happier times and a better -place, might have been. Well, one does what one can.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="III_THE_SAHARA_OF_THE_BOZART" id="III_THE_SAHARA_OF_THE_BOZART">III. THE SAHARA OF THE BOZART</a></h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Alas, for the South! Her books have grown fewer—<br /> -She never was much given to literature.<br /> -</p> - - -<p>In the lamented J. Gordon Coogler, author of these elegaic lines, -there was the insight of a true poet. He was the last bard of Dixie, -at least in the legitimate line. Down there a poet is now almost as -rare as an oboe-player, a dry-point etcher or a metaphysician. It is, -indeed, amazing to contemplate so vast a vacuity. One thinks of the -interstellar spaces, of the colossal reaches of the now mythical ether. -Nearly the whole of Europe could be lost in that stupendous region of -fat farms, shoddy cities and paralyzed cerebrums: one could throw in -France, Germany and Italy, and still have room for the British Isles. -And yet, for all its size and all its wealth and all the "progress" -it babbles of, it is almost as sterile, artistically, intellectually, -culturally, as the Sahara Desert. There are single acres in Europe that -house more first-rate men than all the states south of the Potomac; -there are probably single square miles in America. If the whole of the -late Confederacy were to be engulfed by a tidal wave to-morrow, the -effect upon the civilized minority of men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> in the world would be but -little greater than that of a flood on the Yang-tse-kiang. It would -be impossible in all history to match so complete a drying-up of a -civilization.</p> - -<p>I say a civilization because that is what, in the old days, the South -had, despite the Baptist and Methodist barbarism that reigns down there -now. More, it was a civilization of manifold excellences—perhaps -the best that the Western Hemisphere has ever seen—undoubtedly the -best that These States have ever seen. Down to the middle of the last -century, and even beyond, the main hatchery of ideas on this side of -the water was across the Potomac bridges. The New England shopkeepers -and theologians never really developed a civilization; all they ever -developed was a government. They were, at their best, tawdry and tacky -fellows, oafish in manner and devoid of imagination; one searches the -books in vain for mention of a salient Yankee gentleman; as well look -for a Welsh gentleman. But in the south there were men of delicate -fancy, urbane instinct and aristocratic manner—in brief, superior -men—in brief, gentry. To politics, their chief diversion, they brought -active and original minds. It was there that nearly all the political -theories we still cherish and suffer under came to birth. It was there -that the crude dogmatism of New England was refined and humanized. It -was there, above all, that some attention was given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> to the art of -living—that life got beyond and above the state of a mere infliction -and became an exhilarating experience. A certain noble spaciousness -was in the ancient southern scheme of things. The <i>Ur-</i>Confederate had -leisure. He liked to toy with ideas. He was hospitable and tolerant. He -had the vague thing that we call culture.</p> - -<p>But consider the condition of his late empire to-day. The picture -gives one the creeps. It is as if the Civil War stamped out every last -bearer of the torch, and left only a mob of peasants on the field. One -thinks of Asia Minor, resigned to Armenians, Greeks and wild swine, of -Poland abandoned to the Poles. In all that gargantuan paradise of the -fourth-rate there is not a single picture gallery worth going into, or -a single orchestra capable of playing the nine symphonies of Beethoven, -or a single opera-house, or a single theater devoted to decent plays, -or a single public monument (built since the war) that is worth looking -at, or a single workshop devoted to the making of beautiful things. -Once you have counted Robert Loveman (an Ohioan by birth) and John -McClure (an Oklahoman) you will not find a single southern poet above -the rank of a neighborhood rhymester. Once you have counted James -Branch Cabell (a lingering survivor of the <i>ancien régime:</i> a scarlet -dragonfly imbedded in opaque amber) you will not find a single southern -prose writer who can actually write.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> And once you have—but when you -come to critics, musical composers, painters, sculptors, architects -and the like, you will have to give it up, for there is not even a bad -one between the Potomac mud-flats and the Gulf. Nor an historian. Nor -a sociologist. Nor a philosopher. Nor a theologian. Nor a scientist. -In all these fields the south is an awe-inspiring blank—a brother to -Portugal, Serbia and Esthonia.</p> - -<p>Consider, for example, the present estate and dignity of Virginia—in -the great days indubitably the premier American state, the mother of -Presidents and statesmen, the home of the first American university -worthy of the name, the <i>arbiter elegantiarum</i> of the western world. -Well, observe Virginia to-day. It is years since a first-rate man, -save only Cabell, has come out of it; it is years since an idea has -come out of it. The old aristocracy went down the red gullet of war; -the poor white trash are now in the saddle. Politics in Virginia are -cheap, ignorant, parochial, idiotic; there is scarcely a man in office -above the rank of a professional job-seeker; the political doctrine -that prevails is made up of hand-me-downs from the bumpkinry of the -Middle West—Bryanism, Prohibition, vice crusading, all that sort -of filthy claptrap; the administration of the law is turned over to -professors of Puritanism and espionage; a Washington or a Jefferson, -dumped there by some act of God, would be denounced as a scoundrel -and jailed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> overnight. Elegance, <i>esprit,</i> culture? Virginia has no -art, no literature, no philosophy, no mind or aspiration of her own. -Her education has sunk to the Baptist seminary level; not a single -contribution to human knowledge has come out of her colleges in -twenty-five years; she spends less than half upon her common schools, -<i>per capita,</i> than any northern state spends. In brief, an intellectual -Gobi or Lapland. Urbanity, <i>politesse,</i> chivalry? Co to! It was in -Virginia that they invented the device of searching for contraband -whisky in women's underwear.... There remains, at the top, a ghost of -the old aristocracy, a bit wistful and infinitely charming. But it has -lost all its old leadership to fabulous monsters from the lower depths; -it is submerged in an industrial plutocracy that is ignorant and -ignominious. The mind of the state, as it is revealed to the nation, -is pathetically naïve and inconsequential. It no longer reacts with -energy and elasticity to great problems. It has fallen to the bombastic -trivialities of the camp-meeting and the chautauqua. Its foremost -exponent—if so flabby a thing may be said to have an exponent—is a -stateman whose name is synonymous with empty words, broken pledges and -false pretenses. One could no more imagine a Lee or a Washington in the -Virginia of to-day than one could imagine a Huxley in Nicaragua.</p> - -<p>I choose the Old Dominion, not because I disdain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> it, but precisely -because I esteem it. It is, by long odds, the most civilized of the -southern states, now as always. It has sent a host of creditable sons -northward; the stream kept running into our own time. Virginians, even -the worst of them, show the effects of a great tradition. They hold -themselves above other southerners, and with sound pretension. If -one turns to such a commonwealth as Georgia the picture becomes far -darker. There the liberated lower orders of whites have borrowed the -worst commercial bounderism of the Yankee and superimposed it upon a -culture that, at bottom, is but little removed from savagery. Georgia -is at once the home of the cotton-mill sweater and of the most noisy -and vapid sort of chamber of commerce, of the Methodist parson turned -Savonarola and of the lynching bee. A self-respecting European, going -there to live, would not only find intellectual stimulation utterly -lacking; he would actually feel a certain insecurity, as if the scene -were the Balkans or the China Coast. The Leo Frank affair was no -isolated phenomenon. It fitted into its frame very snugly. It was a -natural expression of Georgian notions of truth and justice. There is -a state with more than half the area of Italy and more population than -either Denmark or Norway, and yet in thirty years it has not produced -a single idea. Once upon a time a Georgian printed a couple of books -that attracted notice, but immediately it turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> out that he was -little more than an amanuensis for the local blacks—that his works -were really the products, not of white Georgia, but of black Georgia. -Writing afterward <i>as</i> a white man, he swiftly subsided into the fifth -rank. And he is not only the glory of the literature of Georgia; he is, -almost literally, the whole of the literature of Georgia—nay, of the -entire art of Georgia.</p> - -<p>Virginia is the best of the south to-day, and Georgia is perhaps the -worst. The one is simply senile; the other is crass, gross, vulgar -and obnoxious. Between lies a vast plain of mediocrity, stupidity, -lethargy, almost of dead silence. In the north, of course, there -is also grossness, crassness, vulgarity. The north, in its way, is -also stupid and obnoxious. But nowhere in the north is there such -complete sterility, so depressing a lack of all civilized gesture -and aspiration. One would find it difficult to unearth a second-rate -city between the Ohio and the Pacific that isn't struggling to -establish an orchestra, or setting up a little theater, or going in -for an art gallery, or making some other effort to get into touch -with civilization. These efforts often fail, and sometimes they -succeed rather absurdly, but under them there is at least an impulse -that deserves respect, and that is the impulse to seek beauty and to -experiment with ideas, and so to give the life of every day a certain -dignity and purpose. You will find no such impulse in the south.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<p>There are no committees down there cadging subscriptions for -orchestras; if a string quartet is ever heard there, the news of it -has never come out; an opera troupe, when it roves the land, is a nine -days' wonder. The little theater movement has swept the whole country, -enormously augmenting the public interest in sound plays, giving new -dramatists their chance, forcing reforms upon the commercial theater. -Everywhere else the wave rolls high—but along the line of the Potomac -it breaks upon a rock-bound shore. There is no little theater beyond. -There is no gallery of pictures. No artist ever gives exhibitions. No -one talks of such things. No one seems to be interested in such things.</p> - -<p>As for the cause of this unanimous torpor and doltishness, this -curious and almost pathological estrangement from everything that -makes for a civilized culture, I have hinted at it already, and now -state it again. The south has simply been drained of all its best -blood. The vast blood-letting of the Civil War half exterminated and -wholly paralyzed the old aristocracy, and so left the land to the -harsh mercies of the poor white trash, now its masters. The war, of -course, was not a complete massacre. It spared a decent number of -first-rate southerners—perhaps even some of the very best. Moreover, -other countries, notably France and Germany, have survived far more -staggering butcheries, and even showed marked progress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> thereafter. -But the war not only cost a great many valuable lives; it also brought -bankruptcy, demoralization and despair in its train—and so the -majority of the first-rate southerners that were left, broken in spirit -and unable to live under the new dispensation, cleared out. A few went -to South America, to Egypt, to the Far East. Most came north. They were -fecund; their progeny is widely dispersed, to the great benefit of -the north. A southerner of good blood almost always does well in the -north. He finds, even in the big cities, surroundings fit for a man of -condition. His peculiar qualities have a high social value, and are -esteemed. He is welcomed by the codfish aristocracy as one palpably -superior. But in the south he throws up his hands. It is impossible for -him to stoop to the common level. He cannot brawl in politics with the -grandsons of his grand-father's tenants. He is unable to share their -fierce jealousy of the emerging black—the cornerstone of all their -public thinking. He is anæsthetic to their theological and political -enthusiasms. He finds himself an alien at their feasts of soul. And -so he withdraws into his tower, and is heard of no more. Cabell is -almost a perfect example. His eyes, for years, were turned toward -the past; he became a professor of the grotesque genealogizing that -decaying aristocracies affect; it was only by a sort of accident that -he discovered himself to be an artist. The south is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> unaware of the -fact to this day; it regards Woodrow Wilson and Col. John Temple Graves -as much finer stylists, and Frank L. Stanton as an infinitely greater -poet. If it has heard, which I doubt, that Cabell has been hoofed by -the Comstocks, it unquestionably views that assault as a deserved -rebuke to a fellow who indulges a lewd passion for fancy writing, and -is a covert enemy to the Only True Christianity.</p> - -<p>What is needed down there, before the vexatious public problems of the -region may be intelligently approached, is a survey of the population -by competent ethnologists and anthropologists. The immigrants of the -north have been studied at great length, and any one who is interested -may now apply to the Bureau of Ethnology for elaborate data as to their -racial strains, their stature and cranial indices, their relative -capacity for education, and the changes that they undergo under -American <i>Kultur.</i> But the older stocks of the south, and particularly -the emancipated and dominant poor white trash, have never been -investigated scientifically, and most of the current generalizations -about them are probably wrong. For example, the generalization that -they are purely Anglo-Saxon in blood. This I doubt very seriously. -The chief strain down there, I believe, is Celtic rather than Saxon, -particularly in the hill country. French blood, too, shows itself here -and there, and so does Spanish, and so does German. The last-named<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> -entered from the northward, by way of the limestone belt just east -of the Alleghenies. Again, it is very likely that in some parts of -the south a good many of the plebeian whites have more than a trace -of negro blood. Interbreeding under concubinage produced some very -light half-breeds at an early day, and no doubt appreciable numbers of -them went over into the white race by the simple process of changing -their abode. Not long ago I read a curious article by an intelligent -negro, in which he stated that it is easy for a very light negro to -pass as white in the south on account of the fact that large numbers -of southerners accepted as white have distinctly negroid features. -Thus it becomes a delicate and dangerous matter for a train conductor -or a hotel-keeper to challenge a suspect. But the Celtic strain is -far more obvious than any of these others. It not only makes itself -visible in physical stigmata—e. g., leanness and dark coloring—but -also in mental traits. For example, the religious thought of the south -is almost precisely identical with the religious thought of Wales. -There is the same naïve belief in an anthropomorphic Creator but little -removed, in manner and desire, from an evangelical bishop; there is -the same submission to an ignorant and impudent sacerdotal tyranny, -and there is the same sharp contrast between doctrinal orthodoxy and -private ethics. Read Caradoc Evans' ironical picture of the Welsh -Wesleyans in his preface<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> to "My Neighbors," and you will be instantly -reminded of the Georgia and Carolina Methodists. The most booming -sort of piety, in the south, is not incompatible with the theory that -lynching is a benign institution. Two generations ago it was not -incompatible with an ardent belief in slavery.</p> - -<p>It is highly probable that some of the worst blood of western Europe -flows in the veins of the southern poor whites, now poor no longer. The -original strains, according to every honest historian, were extremely -corrupt. Philip Alexander Bruce (a Virginian of the old gentry) says -in his "Industrial History of Virginia in the Seventeenth Century" -that the first native-born generation was largely illegitimate. "One -of the most common offenses against morality committed in the lower -ranks of life in Virginia during the seventeenth century," he says, -"was bastardy." The mothers of these bastards, he continues, were -chiefly indentured servants, and "had belonged to the lowest class in -their native country." Fanny Kemble Butler, writing of the Georgia -poor whites of a century later, described them as "the most degraded -race of human beings claiming an Anglo-Saxon origin that can be found -on the face of the earth—filthy, lazy, ignorant, brutal, proud, -penniless savages." The Sunday-school and the chautauqua, of course, -have appreciably mellowed the descendants of these "savages," and their -economic progress and rise to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> political power have done perhaps even -more, but the marks of their origin are still unpleasantly plentiful. -Every now and then they produce a political leader who puts their -secret notions of the true, the good and the beautiful into plain -words, to the amazement and scandal of the rest of the country. That -amazement is turned into downright incredulity when news comes that his -platform has got him high office, and that he is trying to execute it.</p> - -<p>In the great days of the south the line between the gentry and the poor -whites was very sharply drawn. There was absolutely no intermarriage. -So far as I know there is not a single instance in history of a -southerner of the upper class marrying one of the bondwomen described -by Mr. Bruce. In other societies characterized by class distinctions -of that sort it is common for the lower class to be improved by -extra-legal crosses. That is to say, the men of the upper class take -women of the lower class as mistresses, and out of such unions spring -the extraordinary plebeians who rise sharply from the common level, -and so propagate the delusion that all other plebeians would do the -same thing if they had the chance—in brief, the delusion that class -distinctions are merely economic and conventional, and not congenital -and genuine. But in the south the men of the upper classes sought their -mistresses among the blacks, and after a few generations there was -so much white blood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> in the black women that they were considerably -more attractive than the unhealthy and bedraggled women of the poor -whites. This preference continued into our own time. A southerner of -good family once told me in all seriousness that he had reached his -majority before it ever occurred to him that a white woman might make -quite as agreeable a mistress as the octaroons of his jejune fancy. -If the thing has changed of late, it is not the fault of the southern -white man, but of the southern mulatto women. The more sightly yellow -girls of the region, with improving economic opportunities, have gained -self-respect, and so they are no longer as willing to enter into -concubinage as their grand-dams were.</p> - -<p>As a result of this preference of the southern gentry for mulatto -mistresses there was created a series of mixed strains containing the -best white blood of the south, and perhaps of the whole country. As -another result the poor whites went unfertilized from above, and so -missed the improvement that so constantly shows itself in the peasant -stocks of other countries. It is a commonplace that nearly all negroes -who rise above the general are of mixed blood, usually with the white -predominating. I know a great many negroes, and it would be hard for -me to think of an exception. What is too often forgotten is that this -white blood is not the blood of the poor whites but that of the old -gentry. The mulatto girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> of the early days despised the poor whites -as creatures distinctly inferior to negroes, and it was thus almost -unheard of for such a girl to enter into relations with a man of that -submerged class. This aversion was based upon a sound instinct. The -southern mulatto of to-day is a proof of it. Like all other half-breeds -he is an unhappy man, with disquieting tendencies toward anti-social -habits of thought, but he is intrinsically a better animal than the -pure-blooded descendant of the old poor whites, and he not infrequently -demonstrates it. It is not by accident that the negroes of the south -are making faster progress, economically and culturally, than the -masses of the whites. It is not by accident that the only visible -æsthetic activity in the south is wholly in their hands. No southern -composer has ever written music so good as that of half a dozen -white-black composers who might be named. Even in politics, the negro -reveals a curious superiority. Despite the fact that the race question -has been the main political concern of the southern whites for two -generations, to the practical exclusion of everything else, they have -contributed nothing to its discussion that has impressed the rest of -the world so deeply and so favorably as three or four books by southern -negroes.</p> - -<p>Entering upon such themes, of course, one must resign one's self to -a vast misunderstanding and abuse. The south has not only lost its -old capacity for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> producing ideas; it has also taken on the worst -intolerance of ignorance and stupidity. Its prevailing mental attitude -for several decades past has been that of its own hedge ecclesiastics. -All who dissent from its orthodox doctrines are scoundrels. All who -presume to discuss its ways realistically are damned. I have had, in -my day, several experiences in point. Once, after I had published -an article on some phase of the eternal race question, a leading -southern newspaper replied by printing a column of denunciation of my -father, then dead nearly twenty years—a philippic placarding him as -an ignorant foreigner of dubious origin, inhabiting "the Baltimore -ghetto" and speaking a dialect recalling that of Weber & Fields—two -thousand words of incandescent nonsense, utterly false and beside -the point, but exactly meeting the latter-day southern notion of -effective controversy. Another time, I published a short discourse -on lynching, arguing that the sport was popular in the south because -the backward culture of the region denied the populace more seemly -recreations. Among such recreations I mentioned those afforded by -brass bands, symphony orchestras, boxing matches, amateur athletic -contests, shoot-the-chutes, roof gardens, horse races, and so on. In -reply another great southern journal denounced me as a man "of wineshop -temperament, brass-jewelry tastes and pornographic predilections." -In other words, brass bands, in the south,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> are classed with brass -jewelry, and both are snares of the devil! To advocate setting up -symphony orchestras is pornography!... Alas, when the touchy southerner -attempts a greater urbanity, the result is often even worse. Some time -ago a colleague of mine printed an article deploring the arrested -cultural development of Georgia. In reply he received a number of -protests from patriotic Georgians, and all of them solemnly listed the -glories of the state. I indulge in a few specimens:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Who has not heard of Asa G. Candler, whose name is -synonymous with Coca-Cola, a Georgia product?</p> - -<p>The first Sunday-school in the world was opened in Savannah.</p> - -<p>Who does not recall with pleasure the writings of ... Frank -L. Stanton, Georgia's brilliant poet?</p> - -<p>Georgia was the first state to organize a Boys' Corn Club in -the South—Newton county, 1904.</p> - -<p>The first to suggest a common United Daughters of the -Confederacy badge was Mrs. Raynes, of Georgia.</p> - -<p>The first to suggest a state historian of the United -Daughters of the Confederacy was Mrs. C. Helen Plane (Macon -convention, 1896).</p> - -<p>The first to suggest putting to music Heber's "From -Green-land's Icy Mountains" was Mrs. F. R. Goulding, of -Savannah.</p></blockquote> - -<p>And so on, and so on. These proud boasts came, remember, not from -obscure private persons, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> from "Leading Georgians"—in one case, -the state historian. Curious sidelights upon the ex-Confederate mind! -Another comes from a stray copy of a negro paper. It describes an -ordinance lately passed by the city council of Douglas, Ga., forbidding -any trousers presser, on penalty of forfeiting a $500 bond, to engage -in "pressing for both white and colored." This in a town, says the -negro paper, where practically all of the white inhabitants have "their -food prepared by colored hands," "their babies cared for by colored -hands," and "the clothes which they wear right next to their skins -washed in houses where negroes live"—houses in which the said clothes -"remain for as long as a week at a time." But if you marvel at the -absurdity, keep it dark! A casual word, and the united press of the -south will be upon your trail, denouncing you bitterly as a scoundrelly -Yankee, a Bolshevik Jew, an agent of the Wilhelmstrasse....</p> - -<p>Obviously, it is impossible for intelligence to flourish in such -an atmosphere. Free inquiry is blocked by the idiotic certainties -of ignorant men. The arts, save in the lower reaches of the gospel -hymn, the phonograph and the chautauqua harangue, are all held -in suspicion. The tone of public opinion is set by an upstart -class but lately emerged from industrial slavery into commercial -enterprise—the class of "hustling" business men, of "live wires," of -commercial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> club luminaries, of "drive" managers, of forward-lookers -and right-thinkers—in brief, of third-rate southerners inoculated -with all the worst traits of the Yankee sharper. One observes the -curious effects of an old tradition of truculence upon a population -now merely pushful and impudent, of an old tradition of chivalry upon -a population now quite without imagination. The old repose is gone. -The old romanticism is gone. The philistinism of the new type of -town-boomer southerner is not only indifferent to the ideals of the -old south; it is positively antagonistic to them. That philistinism -regards human life, not as an agreeable adventure, but as a mere trial -of rectitude and efficiency. It is overwhelmingly utilitarian and -moral. It is inconceivably hollow and obnoxious. What remains of the -ancient tradition is simply a certain charming civility in private -intercourse—often broken down, alas, by the hot rages of Puritanism, -but still generally visible. The southerner, at his worst, is never -quite the surly cad that the Yankee is. His sensitiveness may betray -him into occasional bad manners, but in the main he is a pleasant -fellow—hospitable, polite, good-humored, even jovial.... But a bit -absurd.... A bit pathetic.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="IV_THE_DIVINE_AFFLATUS" id="IV_THE_DIVINE_AFFLATUS">IV. THE DIVINE AFFLATUS</a></h4> - - -<p>The suave and Å“dematous Chesterton, in a late effort to earn -the honorarium of a Chicago newspaper, composed a thousand words -of labored counterblast to what is called inspiration in the arts. -The thing itself, he argued, has little if any actual existence; we -hear so much about it because its alleged coyness and fortuitousness -offer a convenient apology for third-rate work. The man taken in such -third-rate work excuses himself on the ground that he is a helpless -slave of some power that stands outside him, and is quite beyond his -control. On days when it favors him he teems with ideas and creates -masterpieces, but on days when it neglects him he is crippled and -impotent—a fiddle without a bow, an engine without steam, a tire -without air. All this, according to Chesterton, is nonsense. A man who -can really write at all, or paint at all, or compose at all should be -able to do it at almost any time, provided only "he is not drunk or -asleep."</p> - -<p>So far Chesterton. The formula of the argument is simple and familiars -to dispose of a problem all that is necessary is to deny that it -exists. But there are plenty of men, I believe, who find themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> -unable to resolve the difficulty in any such cavalier manner—men whose -chief burden and distinction, in fact, is that they do not employ -formulæ in their thinking, but are thrown constantly upon industry, -ingenuity and the favor of God. Among such men there remains a good -deal more belief in what is vaguely called inspiration. They know -by hard experience that there are days when their ideas flow freely -and clearly, and days when they are dammed up damnably. Say a man of -that sort has a good day. For some reason quite incomprehensible to -him all his mental processes take on an amazing ease and slickness. -Almost without conscious effort he solves technical problems that have -badgered him for weeks. He is full of novel expedients, extraordinary -efficiencies, strange cunnings. He has a feeling that he has suddenly -and unaccountably broken through a wall, dispersed a fog, got himself -out of the dark. So he does a double or triple stint of the best work -that he is capable of—maybe of far better work than he has ever been -capable of before—and goes to bed impatient for the morrow. And on -the morrow he discovers to his consternation that he has become almost -idiotic, and quite incapable of any work at all.</p> - -<p>I challenge any man who trades in ideas to deny that he has this -experience. The truth is that he has it constantly. It overtakes -poets and contrapuntists,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> critics and dramatists, philosophers and -journalists; it may even be shared, so far as I know, by advertisement -writers, chautauqua orators and the rev. clergy. The characters that -all anatomists of melancholy mark in it are the irregular ebb and flow -of the tides, and the impossibility of getting them under any sort of -rational control. The brain, as it were, stands to one side and watches -itself pitching and tossing, full of agony but essentially helpless. -Here the man of creative imagination pays a ghastly price for all -his superiorities and immunities; nature takes revenge upon him for -dreaming of improvements in the scheme of things. Sitting there in his -lonely room, gnawing the handle of his pen, racked by his infernal -quest, horribly bedevilled by incessant flashes of itching, toothache, -eye-strain and evil conscience—thus tortured, he makes atonement for -his crime of being intelligent. The normal man, the healthy and honest -man, the good citizen and householder—this man, I daresay, knows -nothing of all that travail. It is reserved especially for artists -and metaphysicians. It is the particular penalty of those who pursue -strange butterflies into dark forests, and go fishing in enchanted and -forbidden streams.</p> - -<p>Let us, then, assume that the fact is proved: the nearest poet -is a witness to it. But what of the underlying mystery? How are -we to account for that puckish and inexplicable rise and fall of -inspiration?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> My questions, of course, are purely rhetorical. -Explanations exist; they have existed for all time; there is always -a well-known solution to every human problem—neat, plausible, and -wrong. The ancients, in the case at bar, laid the blame upon the gods: -sometimes they were remote and surly, and sometimes they were kind. In -the Middle Ages lesser powers took a hand in the matter, and so one -reads of works of art inspired by Our Lady, by the Blessed Saints, by -the souls of the departed, and even by the devil. In our own day there -are explanations less super-natural but no less fanciful—to wit, -the explanation that the whole thing is a matter of pure chance, and -not to be resolved into any orderly process—to wit, the explanation -that the controlling factor is external circumstance, that the artist -happily married to a dutiful wife is thereby inspired—finally, to -make an end, the explanation that it is all a question of Freudian -complexes, themselves lurking in impenetrable shadows. But all of these -explanations fail to satisfy the mind that is not to be put off with -mere words. Some of them are palpably absurd; others beg the question. -The problem of the how remains, even when the problem of the why is -disposed of. What is the precise machinery whereby the cerebrum is -bestirred to such abnormal activity on one day that it sparkles and -splutters like an arclight, and reduced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> to such feebleness on another -day that it smokes and gutters like a tallow dip?</p> - -<p>In this emergency, having regard for the ages-long and unrelieved -sufferings of artists great and small, I offer a new, simple, and -at all events not ghostly solution. It is supported by the observed -facts, by logical analogies and by the soundest known principles of -psychology, and so I present it without apologies. It may be couched, -for convenience, in the following brief terms: that inspiration, -so-called, is a function of metabolism, and that it is chiefly -conditioned by the state of the intestinal flora—in larger words, that -a man's flow of ideas is controlled and determined, both quantitatively -and qualitatively, not by the whims of the gods, nor by the terms -of his armistice with his wife, nor by the combinations of some -transcendental set of dice, but by the chemical content of the blood -that lifts itself from his liver to his brain, and that this chemical -content is established in his digestive tract, particularly south of -the pylorus. A man may write great poetry when he is drunk, when he -is cold and miserable, when he is bankrupt, when he has a black eye, -when his wife glowers at him across the table, when his children lie -dying of smallpox; he may even write it during an earthquake, or while -crossing the English channel, or in the midst of a Methodist revival, -or in New York. But I am so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> far gone in materialism that I am disposed -to deny flatly and finally, and herewith do deny flatly and finally, -that there has lived a poet in the whole history of the world, ancient -or modern, near or far, who ever managed to write great poetry, or even -passably fair and decent poetry, at a time when he was suffering from -stenosis at any point along the thirty-foot <i>via dolorosa</i> running from -the pylorus to the sigmoid flexure. In other words, when he was—</p> - -<p>But perhaps I had better leave your medical adviser to explain. After -all, it is not necessary to go any further in this direction; the whole -thing may be argued in terms of the blood stream—and the blood stream -is respectable, as the duodenum is an outcast. It is the blood and the -blood only, in fact, that the cerebrum is aware of; of what goes on -elsewhere it can learn only by hearsay. If all is well below, then the -blood that enters the brain through the internal carotid is full of the -elements necessary to bestir the brain-cells to their highest activity; -if, on the contrary, anabolism and katabolism are going on ineptly, if -the blood is not getting the supplies that it needs and not getting -rid of the wastes that burden it, then the brain-cells will be both -starved and poisoned, and not all the king's horses and all the king's -men can make them do their work with any show of ease and efficiency. -In the first case the man whose psyche dwells in the cells will have -a moment of inspiration—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> is, he will find it a strangely simple -and facile matter to write his poem, or iron out his syllogism, or -make his bold modulation from F sharp minor to C major, or get his -flesh-tone, or maybe only perfect his swindle. But in the second case -he will be stumped and helpless. The more he tries, the more vividly -he will be conscious of his impotence. Sweat will stand out in beads -upon his brow, he will fish patiently for the elusive thought, he will -try coaxing and subterfuge, he will retire to his ivory tower, he -will tempt the invisible powers with black coffee, tea, alcohol and -the alkaloids, he may even curse God and invite death—but he will -not write his poem, or iron out his syllogism, or find his way into C -major, or get his flesh-tone, or perfect his swindle.</p> - -<p>Fix your eye upon this hypothesis of metabolic inspiration, and at once -you will find the key to many a correlative mystery. For one thing, -it quickly explains the observed hopelessness of trying to pump up -inspiration by mere hard industry—the essential imbecility of the -I,000 words a day formula. Let there be stenosis below, and not all -the industry of a Hercules will suffice to awaken the lethargic brain. -Here, indeed, the harder the striving, the worse the stagnation—as -every artist knows only too well. And why not? Striving in the face -of such an interior obstacle is the most cruel of enterprises—a -business more nerve-wracking and exhausting than reading a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> newspaper -or watching a bad play. The pain thus produced, the emotions thus -engendered, react upon the liver in a manner scientifically displayed -by Dr. George W. Crile in his "Man: An Adaptive Mechanism," and the -result is a steady increase in the intestinal demoralization, and a -like increase in the pollution of the blood. In the end the poor victim -comes to a familiar pass; beset on the one hand by impotence and on -the other hand by an impatience grown pathological, he gets into a -state indistinguishable from the frantic. It is at such times that -creative artists suffer most atrociously. It is then that they writhe -upon the sharp spears and red-hot hooks of a jealous and unjust Creator -for their invasion of His monopoly. It is then that they pay a grisly -super-tax upon their superiority to the great herd of law-abiding and -undistinguished men. The men of this herd never undergo any comparable -torture; the agony of the artist is quite beyond their experience and -even beyond their imagination. No catastrophe that could conceivably -overtake a lime and cement dealer, a curb broker, a lawyer, a plumber -or a Presbyterian is to be mentioned in the same breath with the -torments that, to the most minor of poets, are familiar incidents of -his professional life, and, to such a man as Poe, or Beethoven, or -Brahms, are the commonplaces of every day. Beethoven suffered more -during the composition of the Fifth symphony than all the judges<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> on -the supreme benches of the world have suffered jointly since the time -of the Gerousia.</p> - -<p>Again, my hypothesis explains the fact that inspiration, save under -extraordinary circumstances, is never continuous for more than a -relatively short period. A banker, a barber or a manufacturer of patent -medicines does his work day after day without any noticeable rise or -fall of efficiency; save when he is drunk, jailed or ill in bed the -curve of his achievement is flattened out until it becomes almost a -straight line. But the curve of an artist, even of the greatest of -artists, is frightfully zig-zagged. There are moments when it sinks -below the bottom of the chart, and immediately following there may -be moments when it threatens to run off the top. Some of the noblest -passages written by Shakespeare are in his worst plays, cheek by jowl -with padding and banality; some of the worst music of Wagner is in his -finest music dramas. There is, indeed, no such thing as a flawless -masterpiece. Long labored, it may be gradually enriched with purple -passages—the high inspirations of widely separated times crowded -together—, but even so it will remain spotty, for those purple -passages will be clumsily joined, and their joints will remain as -apparent as so many false teeth. Only the most elementary knowledge -of psychology is needed to show the cause of the zig-zagging that -I have mentioned. It lies in the elemental fact that the chemical -constitution<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> of the blood changes every hour, almost every minute. -What it is at the beginning of digestion is not what it is at the end -of digestion, and in both cases it is enormously affected by the nature -of the substances digested. No man, within twenty-four hours after -eating a meal in a Pennsylvania Railroad dining-car, could conceivably -write anything worth reading. A tough beefsteak, I daresay, has ditched -many a promising sonnet, and bad beer, as every one knows, has spoiled -hundreds of sonatas. Thus inspiration rises and falls, and even when -it rises twice to the same height it usually shows some qualitative -difference—there is the inspiration, say, of Spring vegetables and -there is the inspiration of Autumn fruits. In a long work the products -of greatly differing inspirations, of greatly differing streams of -blood, are hideously intermingled, and the result is the inevitable -spottiness that I have mentioned. No one but a maniac argues that "Die -Meistersinger" is <i>all</i> good. One detects in it days when Wagner felt, -as the saying goes, like a fighting cock, but one also detects days -when he arose in the morning full of acidosis and despair—days when he -turned heavily from the Pierian spring to castor oil.</p> - -<p>Moreover, it must be obvious that the very conditions under which works -of art are produced tend to cause great aberrations in metabolism. The -artist is forced by his calling to be a sedentary man. Even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> a poet, -perhaps the freest of artists, must spend a good deal of time bending -over a desk. He may conceive his poems in the open air, as Beethoven -conceived his music, but the work of reducing them to actual words -requires diligent effort in camera. Here it is a sheer impossibility -for him to enjoy the ideal hygienic conditions which surround the -farmhand, the curb-broker and the sailor. His! viscera are congested; -his eyes are astrain; his muscles are without necessary exercise. -Furthermore, he probably breathes bad air and goes without needed -sleep. The result is inevitably some disturbance of metabolism, with a -vitiated blood supply and a starved cerebrum. One is always surprised -to encounter a poet who is ruddy and stout; the standard model is a -pale and flabby stenotic, kept alive by patent medicines. So with the -painter, the musical composer, the sculptor, the artist in prose. -There is no more confining work known to man than instrumentation. -The composer who has spent a day at it is invariably nervous and ill. -For hours his body is bent over his music-paper, the while his pen -engrosses little dots upon thin lines. I have known composers, after a -week or so of such labor, to come down with auto-intoxication in its -most virulent forms. Perhaps the notorious ill health of Beethoven, -and the mental break-downs of Schumann, Tschaikowsky and Hugo Wolf had -their origin in this direction. It is difficult, going through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> -history of music, to find a single composer in the grand manner who was -physically and mentally up to par.</p> - -<p>I do not advance it as a formal corollary, but no doubt this stenosis -hypothesis also throws some light upon two other immemorial mysteries, -the first being the relative æsthetic sterility of women, and the other -being the low æsthetic development of certain whole classes, and even -races of men, <i>e. g.</i>, the Puritans, the Welsh and the Confederate -Americans. That women suffer from stenosis far more than men is a -commonplace of internal medicine; the weakness is chiefly to blame, -rather than the functional peculiarities that they accuse, for their -liability to headache. A good many of them, in fact, are habitually -in the state of health which, in the artist, is accompanied by an -utter inability to work. This state of health, as I have said, does -not inhibit <i>all</i> mental activity. It leaves the powers of observation -but little impaired; it does not corrupt common sense; it is not -incompatible with an intelligent discharge of the ordinary duties of -life. Thus a lime and cement dealer, in the midst of it, may function -almost as well as when his metabolic processes are perfectly normal, -and by the same token a woman chronically a victim to it may yet show -all the sharp mental competence which characterizes her sex. But here -the thing stops. To go beyond—to enter the realm of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> constructive -thinking, to abandon the mere application of old ideas and essay to -invent new ideas, to precipitate novel and intellectual concepts out -of the chaos of memory and perception—this is quite impossible to the -stenotic. <i>Ergo,</i> it is unheard of among classes and races of men who -feed grossly and neglect personal hygiene; the pill-swallower is the -only artist in such groups. One may thus argue that the elder Beecham -saved poetry in England, as the younger Beecham saved music.... But, as -I say, I do not stand behind the hypothesis in this department, save, -perhaps, in the matter of women. I could amass enormous evidences in -favor of it, but against them there would always loom the disconcerting -contrary evidence of the Bulgarians. Among them, I suppose, stenosis -must be unknown—but so are all the fine arts.</p> - -<p>"La force et la foiblesse de l'esprit," said Rochefoucauld, "sont -mal nommées; elles ne sont, en effect, que la bonne ou la mauvaise -des organes du corps." Science wastes itself hunting in the other -direction. We are flooded with evidences of the effects of the mind -on the body, and so our attention is diverted from the enormously -greater effects of the body on the mind. It is rather astonishing that -the Wassermann reaction has not caused the latter to be investigated -more thoroughly. The first result of the general employment of that -great diagnostic device was the discovery that thousands of cases of -so-called mental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> disease were really purely physical in origin—that -thousands of patients long supposed to have been crazed by seeing -ghosts, by love, by grief, or by reverses in the stock-market were -actually victims of the small but extremely enterprising <i>spirochæte -pallida.</i> The news heaved a bomb into psychiatry, but it has so far -failed to provoke a study of the effects of other such physical -agents. Even the effects of this one agent remain to be inquired into -at length. One now knows that it may cause insanity, but what of the -lesser mental aberrations that it produces? Some of these aberrations -may be actually beneficial. That is to say, the mild toxemia -accompanying the less virulent forms of infection may stimulate the -brain to its highest functioning, and so give birth to what is called -genius—a state of mind long recognized, by popular empiricism, as a -sort of half-way station on the road to insanity. Beethoven, Nietzsche -and Schopenhauer suffered from such mild toxemias, and there is not -the slightest doubt that their extraordinary mental activity was at -least partly due to the fact. That tuberculosis, in its early stages, -is capable of the same stimulation is a commonplace of observation. -The consumptive may be weak physically, but he is usually very alert -mentally. The history of the arts, in fact, shows the names of hundreds -of inspired consumptives.</p> - -<p>Here a physical infirmity produces a result that is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> beneficial, just -as another physical infirmity, the stenosis aforesaid, produces a -result that is baleful. The artist often oscillates horribly between -the two effects; he is normally anything but a healthy animal. -Perfect health, indeed, is a boon that very few men above the rank of -clodhoppers ever enjoy. What health means is a degree of adaptation -to the organism's environment so nearly complete that there is no -irritation. Such a state, it must be obvious, is not often to be -observed in organisms of the highest complexity. It is common, -perhaps, in the earthworm. This elemental beast makes few demands -upon its environment, and is thus subject to few diseases. It seldom -gets out of order until the sands of its life are run, and then it -suffers one grand illness and dies forthwith. But man is forever -getting out of order, for he is enormously complicated—and the higher -he rises in complexity, the more numerous and the more serious are -his derangements. There are whole categories of diseases, <i>e. g.,</i> -neurasthenia and hay-fever, that afflict chiefly the more civilized -and delicate ranks of men, leaving the inferior orders unscathed. Good -health in man, indeed, is almost invariably a function of inferiority. -A professionally healthy man, e. g., an acrobat, an osteopath or an -ice-wagon driver, is always stupid. In the Greece of the great days -the athletes we hear so much about were mainly slaves. Not one of -the eminent philosophers, poets or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> statesmen of Greece was a good -high-jumper. Nearly all of them, in fact, suffered from the same -malaises which afflict their successors of to-day, as you will quickly -discern by examining their compositions. The æsthetic impulse, like the -thirst for truth, might almost be called a disease. It seldom if ever -appears in a perfectly healthy man.</p> - -<p>But we must take the aloes with the honey. The artist suffers damnably, -but there is compensation in his dreams. Some of his characteristic -diseases cripple him and make his whole life a misery, but there are -others that seem to help him. Of the latter, the two that I have -mentioned carry with them concepts of extreme obnoxiousness. Both are -infections, and one is associated in the popular mind with notions or -gross immorality. But these concepts of obnoxiousness should not blind -us to the benefits that apparently go with the maladies. There are, -in fact, maladies much more obnoxious, and they carry no compensating -benefits. Cancer is an example. Perhaps the time will come when the -precise effects of these diseases will be worked out accurately, and -it will be possible to gauge in advance their probable influence upon -this or that individual. If that time ever comes the manufacture of -artists will become a feasible procedure, like the present manufacture -of soldiers, capons, right-thinkers and doctors of philosophy. In those -days the promising young men of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> the race, instead of being protected -from such diseases at all hazards, will be deliberately infected with -them, as soils are now inoculated with nitrogen-liberating bacteria.... -At the same time, let us hope, some progress will be made against -stenosis. It is, after all, simply a question of technique, like the -artificial propagation of the race by the device of Dr. Jacques Loeb. -The poet of the future, come upon a period of doldrums, will not tear -his hair in futile agony. Instead, he will go to the nearest clinic, -and there get his rasher of Bulgarian bacilli, or an injection of some -complex organic compound out of a ductless gland, or an order on a -masseur, or a diet list, or perchance a barrel of Russian oil.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="V_SCIENTIFIC_EXAMINATION_OF_A_POPULAR_VIRTUE" id="V_SCIENTIFIC_EXAMINATION_OF_A_POPULAR_VIRTUE">V. SCIENTIFIC EXAMINATION OF A POPULAR VIRTUE</a></h4> - - -<p>An old <i>Corpsbruder,</i> assaulting my ear lately with an abstruse tale of -his sister's husband's brother's ingratitude, ended by driving me quite -out of his house, firmly resolved to be his acquaintance no longer. -The exact offense I heard inattentively, and have already partly -forgotten—an obscure tort arising out of a lawsuit. My ex-friend, -it appears, was appealed to for help in a bad case by his grapevine -relative, and so went on the stand for him and swore gallantly to -some complex and unintelligible lie. Later on, essaying to cash in -on the perjury, he asked the fellow to aid him in some domestic -unpleasantness, and was refused on grounds of morals. Hence his -indignation—and my spoiled evening....</p> - -<p>What is one to think of a man so asinine that he looks for gratitude in -this world, or so puerilely egotistical that he enjoys it when found? -The truth is that the sentiment itself is not human but doggish, and -that the man who demands it in payment for his doings is precisely the -sort of man who feels noble and distinguished when a dog licks his -hand. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> a man says when he expresses gratitude is simply this: -"You did something for me that I could not have done myself. <i>Ergo,</i> -you are my superior. Hail, <i>Durchlaucht!"</i> Such a confession, whether -true or not, is degrading to the confessor, and so it is very hard to -make, at all events for a man of self-respect. That is why such a man -always makes it clumsily and with many blushes and hesitations. It -is hard for him to put so embarrassing a doctrine into plain words. -And that is why the business is equally uncomfortable to the party -of the other part. It distresses him to see a human being of decent -instincts standing before him in so ignominious a position. He is as -flustered as if the fellow came in handcuffs, or in rags, or wearing -the stripes of a felon. Moreover, his confusion is helped out by his -inward knowledge—very clear if he is introspective, and plain enough -even if he is not—that he really deserves no such tribute to his high -mightiness; that the altruism for which he is being praised was really -bogus; that he did the thing behind the gratitude which now assails -him, not for any grand and lofty reason, but for a purely selfish and -inferior reason, to wit, for the reason that it pleases all of us to -show what we can do when an appreciative audience is present; that we -delight to exercise our will to power when it is safe and profitable. -This is the primary cause of the benefits which inspire gratitude, -real and pretended. This is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> the fact at the bottom of altruism. Find -me a man who is always doing favors for people and I will show you a -man of petty vanity, forever trying to get fuel for it in the cheapest -way. And find me a man who is notoriously grateful in habit and I'll -show you a man who is essentially third rate and who is conscious of -it at the bottom of his heart. The man of genuine self-respect—which -means the man who is more or less accurately aware, not only of his own -value, but also and more importantly, of his own limitations—tries -to avoid entering either class. He hesitates to demonstrate his -superiority by such banal means, and he shrinks from confessing an -inferiority that he doesn't believe in.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the popular morality of the world, which is the creation, -not of its superior men but of its botches and half-men—in brief, -of its majorities—puts a high value on gratitude and denounces the -with-holding of it as an offense against the proprieties. To be -noticeably ungrateful for benefits—that is, for the by-products of the -egotism of others—is to be disliked. To tell a tale of ingratitude -is to take on the aspect of a martyr to the defects of others, to get -sympathy in an affliction. All of us are responsive to such ideas, -however much we may resent them logically. One may no more live in the -world without picking up the moral prejudices of the world than one -will be able to go to hell without perspiring....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> - -<p>Let me recall a case within my own recent experience. One day I -received a letter from a young woman I had never heard of before, -asking me to read the manuscripts of two novels that she had written. -She represented that she had venerated my critical parts for a long -while, and that her whole future career in letters would be determined -by my decision as to her talents. The daughter of a man apparently of -some consequence in some sordid business or other, she asked me to -meet her at her father's office, and there to impart to her, under -socially aseptic conditions, my advice. Having a standing rule against -meeting women authors, even in their fathers' banks and soap factories, -I pleaded various imaginary engagements, but finally agreed, after a -telephone debate, to read her manuscripts. They arrived promptly and I -found them to be wholly without merit—in fact, the veriest twaddle. -Nevertheless I plowed through them diligently, wasted half an hour at -the job, wrote a polite letter of counsel and returned the manuscripts -to her house, paying a blackamoor 50 cents to haul them.</p> - -<p>By all ordinary standards, an altruistic service and well deserving -some show of gratitude. Had she knitted me a pair of pulse-warmers it -would have seemed meet and proper. Even a copy of the poems of Alfred -Noyes would not have been too much. At the very least I expected a note -of thanks. Well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> not a word has ever reached me. For all my laborious -politeness and disagreeable labor my reward is exactly nil. The lady is -improved by my counsel—and I am shocked by her gross ingratitude.... -That is, conventionally, superficially, as a member of society in -good standing. But when on sour afternoons I roll the affair in my -mind, examining, not the mere surface of it but the inner workings and -anatomy of it, my sense of outrage gradually melts and fades away—the -inevitable recompense of skepticism. What I see clearly is that I was -an ass to succumb to the blandishments of this discourteous miss, -and that she was quite right in estimating my service trivially, and -out of that clear seeing comes consolation, and amusement, and, in -the end, even satisfaction. I got exactly what I deserved. And she, -whether consciously or merely instinctively, measured out the dose with -excellent accuracy.</p> - -<p>Let us go back. Why did I waste two hours, or maybe three, reading -those idiotic manuscripts? Why, in the first place, did I answer her -opening request—the request, so inherently absurd, that I meet her -in her father's office? For a very plain reason: she accompanied it -with flattery. What she said, in effect, was that she regarded me as a -critic of the highest talents, and this ludicrous cajolery—sound, I -dare say, in substance, but reduced to naught by her obvious obscurity -and stupidity—was quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> enough to fetch me. In brief, she assumed -that, being a man, I was vain to the point of imbecility, and this -assumption was correct, as it always is. To help out, there was the -concept of romantic adventure vaguely floating in my mind. Her voice, -as I heard it by telephone, was agreeable; her appearance, since she -seemed eager to show herself, I probably judged (subconsciously) to -be at least not revolting. Thus curiosity got on its legs, and vanity -in another form. Am I fat and half decrepit, a man seldom noticed by -cuties? Then so much the more reason why I should respond. The novelty -of an apparently comely and respectable woman desiring to witness me -finished what the primary (and very crude) appeal to my vanity had -begun. I was, in brief, not only the literary popinjay but also the -eternal male—and hard at the immemorial folly of the order.</p> - -<p>Now turn to the gal and her ingratitude. The more I inspect it the more -I became convinced that it is not discreditable to her, but highly -creditable—that she demonstrates a certain human dignity, despite her -imbecile writings, by exhibiting it. Would a show of gratitude put -her in a better light? I doubt it. That gratitude, considering the -unfavorable report I made on her manuscripts, would be doubly invasive -of her <i>amour propre.</i> On the one hand it would involve a confession -that my opinion of her literary gifts was better than her own, and -that I was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> thus her superior. And on the other hand it would involve -a confession that my own actual writings (being got into print without -aid) were better than hers, and that I was thus her superior again. -Each confession would bring her into an attitude of abasement, and -the two together would make her position intolerable. Moreover, both -would be dishonest: she would privately believe in neither doctrine. -As for my opinion, its hostility to her aspiration is obviously enough -to make her ego dismiss it as false, for no organism acquiesces in its -own destruction. And as for my relative worth as a literary artist, -she must inevitably put it very low, for it depends, in the last -analysis, upon my dignity and sagacity as a man, and she has proved -by experiment, and quite easily, that I am almost as susceptible to -flattery as a moving picture actor, and hence surely no great shakes.</p> - -<p>Thus there is not the slightest reason in the world why the fair -creature should knit me a pair of pulse-warmers or send me the poems -of Noyes, or even write me a polite note. If she did any of these -things, she would feel herself a hypocrite and hence stand embarrassed -before the mirror of her own thoughts. Confronted by a choice between -this sort of shame and the incomparably less uncomfortable shame -of violating a social convention and an article of popular morals, -secretly and without danger of exposure, she very sensibly chooses -the more innocuous of the two.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> At the very start, indeed, she set -up barriers against gratitude, for her decision to ask a favor of me -was, in a subtle sense, a judgment of my inferiority. One does not ask -favors, if it can be avoided, of persons one genuinely respects; one -puts such burdens upon the naïve and colorless, upon what are called -the good natured; in brief, upon one's inferiors. When that girl first -thought of me as a possible aid to her literary aspiration she thought -of me (perhaps vaguely, but none the less certainly) as an inferior -fortuitously outfitted with a body of puerile technical information -and competence, of probable use to her. This unfavorable view was -immediately reënforced by her discovery of my vanity.</p> - -<p>In brief, she showed and still shows the great instinctive sapience of -her sex. She is female, and hence far above the nonsensical delusions, -vanities, conventions and moralities of men.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="VI_EXEUNT_OMNES" id="VI_EXEUNT_OMNES">VI. EXEUNT OMNES</a></h4> - - -<p>One of the hardest jobs that faces an American magazine editor in -this, the one-hundred-and forty-fifth year of the Republic, is that -of keeping the minnesingers of the land from filling his magazine -with lugubrious dithyrambs to, on and against somatic death. Of -spiritual death, of course, not many of them ever sing. Most of them, -in fact, deny its existence in plain terms; they are all sure of the -immortality of the soul, and in particular they are absolutely sure of -the immortality of their own souls, and of those of their best girls. -In this department the most they ever allow to the materialism of the -herds that lie bogged in prose is such a benefit of the half doubt as -one finds in Christina Rossetti's "When I am Dead." But when it comes -to somatic death, the plain brutal death of coroners' inquests and -vital statistics, their optimism vanishes, and, try as they may, they -can't get around the harsh fact that on such and such a day, often -appallingly near, each and every one of us will heave a last sigh, roll -his eyes despairingly, turn his face to the wall and then suddenly -change from a proud and highly complex mammal, made in the image of -God, to a mere inert aggregate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> of disintegrating colloids, made in the -image of a stale cabbage.</p> - -<p>The inevitability of it seems to fascinate them. They write about -it more than they write about anything else save love. Every day my -editorial desk is burdened with their manuscripts—poems in which the -poet serves notice that, when his time comes, he will die bravely -and even a bit insolently; poems in which he warns his mistress that -he will wait for her on the roof of the cosmos and keep his harp in -tune; poems in which he asks her grandly to forget him, and, above -all, to avoid torturing herself by vain repining at his grave; poems -in which he directs his heirs and assigns to bury him in some lonely, -romantic spot, where the whippoorwills sing; poems in which he hints -that he will not rest easily if Philistines are permitted to begaud his -last anchorage with <i>couronnes des perles;</i> poems in which he speaks -jauntily of making a rendez-vous with death, as if death were a wench; -poems in which—</p> - -<p>But there is no need to rehearse the varieties. If you read the -strophes that are strung along the bottoms of magazine pages you are -familiar with all of them; even in the great moral periodical that I -help to edit, despite my own excessive watchfulness and Dr. Nathan's -general theory that both death and poetry are nuisances and in bad -taste, they have appeared multitudinously, no doubt to the disgust of -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> <i>intelligentsia.</i> As I say, it is almost impossible to keep the -minnesingers off the subject. When my negro flops the morning bale -of poetry manuscripts upon my desk and I pull up my chair to have at -them, I always make a bet with myself that, of the first dozen, at -least seven will deal with death—and it is so long since I lost that -I don't remember it. Periodically I send out a circular to all the -recognized poets of the land, begging them in the name of God to be -less mortuary, but it never does any good. More, I doubt that it ever -will—or any other sort of appeal. Take away death and love and you -would rob poets of both their liver and their lights; what would remain -would be little more than a feeble gurgle in an illimitable void. For -the business of poetry, remember, is to set up a sweet denial of the -harsh facts that confront all of us—to soothe us in our agonies with -emollient words—in brief, to lie sonorously and reassuringly. Well, -what is the worst curse of life? Answer: the abominable magnetism -that draws unlikes and incompatibles into delirious and intolerable -conjunction—the kinetic over-stimulation called love. And what is the -next worst? Answer: the fear of death. No wonder the poets give so -much attention to both! No other foe of human peace and happiness is -one-half so potent, and hence none other offers such opportunities to -poetry, and, in fact, to all art. A sonnet designed to ease the dread -of bankruptcy, even if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> done by a great master, would be banal, for -that dread is itself banal, and so is bankruptcy. The same may be said -of the old fear of hell, now no more. There was a day when this latter -raged in the breast of nearly every man—and in that day the poets -produced antidotes that were very fine poems. But to-day only the elect -and anointed of God fear hell, and so there is no more production of -sound poetry in that department.</p> - -<p>As I have hinted, I tire of reading so much necrotic verse in -manuscript, and wish heartily that the poets would cease to assault -me with it. In prose, curiously enough, one observes a corresponding -shortage. True enough, the short story of commerce shows a good -many murders and suicides, and not less than eight times a day I am -made privy to the agonies of a widower or widow who, on searching -the papers of his wife or her husband immediately after her or his -death, discovers that she or he had a lover or a mistress. But I -speak of serious prose: not of trade balderdash. Go to any public -library and look under "Death: Human" in the card index, and you will -be surprised to find how few books there are on the subject. Worse, -nearly all the few are by psychical researchers who regard death as -a mere removal from one world to another or by New Thoughters who -appear to believe that it is little more than a sort of illusion. -Once, seeking to find out what death<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> was physiologically—that is, -to find out just what happened when a man died—I put in a solid -week without result. There seemed to be nothing whatever on the -subject even in the medical libraries. Finally, after much weariness, -I found what I was looking for in Dr. George W. Crile's "Man: An -Adaptive Mechanism"—incidentally, a very solid and original work, -much less heard of than it ought to be. Crile said that death was -acidosis—that it was caused by the failure of the organism to maintain -the alkalinity necessary to its normal functioning—and in the absence -of any proofs or even arguments to the contrary I accepted his notion -forthwith and have held to it ever since. I thus think of death as -a sort of deleterious fermentation, like that which goes on in a -bottle of Château Margaux when it becomes corked. Life is a struggle, -not against sin, not against the Money Power, not against malicious -animal magnetism, but against hydrogen ions. The healthy man is one -in whom those ions, as they are dissociated by cellular activity, are -immediately fixed by alkaline bases. The sick man is one in whom the -process has begun to lag, with the hydrogen ions getting ahead. The -dying man is one in whom it is all over save the charges of fraud.</p> - -<p>But here I get into chemical physics, and not only run afoul of -revelation but also reveal, perhaps, a degree of ignorance verging -upon intellectual coma.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> The thing I started out to do was to call -attention to the only full-length and first-rate treatise on death that -I have ever encountered or heard of, to wit, "Aspects of Death and -Correlated Aspects of Life," by Dr. F. Parkes Weber, a fat, hefty and -extremely interesting tome, the fruit of truly stupendous erudition. -What Dr. Weber has attempted is to bring together in one volume all -that has been said or thought about death since the time of the first -human records, not only by poets, priests and philosophers, but also -by painters, engravers, soldiers, monarchs and the populace generally. -The author, I take it, is primarily a numismatist, and he apparently -began his work with a collection of inscriptions on coins and medals. -But as it stands it covers a vastly wider area. One traces, in chapter -after chapter, the ebb and flow of human ideas upon the subject, of -the human attitude to the last and greatest mystery of them all—the -notion of it as a mere transition to a higher plane of life, the notion -of it as a benign panacea for all human suffering, the notion of it -as an incentive to this or that way of living, the notion of it as -an impenetrable enigma, inevitable and inexplicable. Few of us quite -realize how much the contemplation of death has colored human thought -throughout the ages. There have been times when it almost shut out all -other concerns; there has never been a time when it has not bulked -enormously in the racial consciousness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> Well, what Dr. Weber does in -his book is to detach and set forth the salient ideas that have emerged -from all that consideration and discussion—to isolate the chief -theories of death, ancient and modern, pagan and Christian, scientific -and mystical, sound and absurd.</p> - -<p>The material thus digested is appallingly copious. If the learned -author had confined himself to printed books alone, he would have faced -a labor fit for a new Hercules. But in addition to books he has given -his attention to prints, to medals, to paintings, to engraved gems -and to monumental inscriptions. His authorities range from St. John -on what is to happen at the Day of Judgment to Sir William Osier on -what happens upon the normal human death-bed, and from Socrates on the -relation of death to philosophy to Havelock Ellis on the effects of -Christian ideas of death upon the mediæval temperament. The one field -that Dr. Weber has overlooked is that of music, a somewhat serious -omission. It is hard to think of a great composer who never wrote a -funeral march, or a requiem, or at least a sad song to some departed -love. Even old Papa Haydn had moments when he ceased to be merry, and -let his thought turn stealthily upon the doom ahead. To me, at all -events, the slow movement of the Military Symphony is the saddest of -music—an elegy, I take it, on some young fellow who went out in the -incomprehensible wars of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> times and got himself horribly killed -in a far place. The trumpet blasts towards the end fling themselves -over his hasty grave in a remote cabbage field; one hears, before and -after them, the honest weeping of his comrades into their wine-pots. In -truth, the shadow of death hangs over all the music of Haydn, despite -its lightheartedness. Life was gay in those last days of the Holy -Roman Empire, but it was also precarious. If the Turks were not at the -gate, then there was a peasant rising somewhere in the hinterland, or -a pestilence swept the land. Beethoven, a generation later, growled -at death surlily, but Haydn faced it like a gentleman. The romantic -movement brought a sentimentalization of the tragedy; it became a sort -of orgy. Whenever Wagner dealt with death he treated it as if it were -some sort of gaudy tournament—a thing less dreadful than ecstatic. -Consider, for example, the <i>Char-Freitag</i> music in "Parsifal"—death -music for the most memorable death in the history of the world. Surely -no one hearing it for the first time, without previous warning, would -guess that it had to do with anything so gruesome as a crucifixion. -On the contrary, I have a notion that the average auditor would guess -that it was a musical setting for some lamentable fornication between a -Bayreuth baritone seven feet in height and a German soprano weighing at -least three hundred pounds.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> - -<p>But if Dr. Weber thus neglects music, he at least gives full measure -in all other departments. His book, in fact, is encyclopædic; he -almost exhausts the subject. One idea, however, I do not find in it: -the conception of death as the last and worst of all the practical -jokes played upon poor mortals by the gods. That idea apparently -never occurred to the Greeks, who thought of almost everything, but -nevertheless it has an ingratiating plausibility. The hardest thing -about death is not that men die tragically, but that most of them die -ridiculously. If it were possible for all of us to make our exits at -great moments, swiftly, cleanly, decorously, and in fine attitudes, -then the experience would be something to face heroically and with -high and beautiful words. But we commonly go off in no such gorgeous, -poetical way. Instead, we die in raucous prose—of arterio-sclerosis, -of diabetes, of toxemia, of a noisome perforation in the ileo-caecal -region, of carcinoma of the liver. The abominable acidosis of Dr. Crile -sneaks upon us, gradually paralyzing the adrenals, flabbergasting the -thyroid, crippling the poor old liver, and throwing its fog upon the -brain. Thus the ontogenetic process is recapitulated in reverse order, -and we pass into the mental obscurity of infancy, and then into the -blank unconsciousness of the prenatal state, and finally into the -condition of undifferentiated protoplasm. A man does not die quickly -and brilliantly, like a lightning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> stroke; he passes out by inches, -hesitatingly and, one may almost add, gingerly. It is hard to say just -when he is fully dead. Long after his heart has ceased to beat and -his lungs have ceased to swell him up with the vanity of his species, -there are remote and obscure parts of him that still live on, quite -unconcerned about the central catastrophe. Dr. Alexis Carrel has cut -them out and kept them alive for months. The hair keeps on growing -for a long while. Every time another one of the corpses of Barbarossa -or King James I is examined it is found that the hair is longer than -it was the last time. No doubt there are many parts of the body, and -perhaps even whole organs, which wonder what it is all about when they -find that they are on the way to the crematory. Burn a man's mortal -remains, and you inevitably burn a good portion of him alive, and no -doubt that portion sends alarmed messages to the unconscious brain, -like dissected tissue under anæsthesia, and the resultant shock brings -the deceased before the hierarchy of heaven in a state of collapse, -with his face white, sweat bespangling his forehead and a great thirst -upon him. It would not be pulling the nose of reason to argue that many -a cremated Sunday-school super-intendent thus confronting the ultimate -tribunal in the aspect of a man taken with the goods, has been put down -as suffering from an uneasy conscience when what actually ailed him -was simply surgical shock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> The cosmic process is not only incurably -idiotic; it is also indecently unjust.</p> - -<p>But here I become medico-legal. What I had in mind when I began was -this: that the human tendency to make death dramatic and heroic has -little excuse in the facts. No doubt you remember the scene in the -last act of "Hedda Gabler," in which Dr. Brack comes in with the -news of Lövborg's suicide. Hedda immediately thinks of him putting -the pistol to his temple and dying instantly and magnificently. The -picture fills her with romantic delight. When Brack tells her that the -shot was actually through the breast she is disappointed, but soon -begins to romanticise even <i>that.</i> "The breast," she says, "is also a -good place.... There is something beautiful in this!" A bit later she -recurs to the charming theme, "In the breast—ah!" Then Brack tells -her the plain truth—in the original, thus: <i>"Nej,—det traf ham i -underlivet!"...</i> Edmund Gosse, in his first English translation of the -play, made the sentence: "No—it struck him in the abdomen." In the -last edition William Archer makes it "No—in the bowels!" Abdomen is -nearer to <i>underlivet</i> than bowels, but belly would probably render the -meaning better than either. What Brack wants to convey to Hedda is the -news that Lövborg's death was not romantic in the least—that he went -to a brothel, shot himself, not through the cerebrum or the heart, but -through the duodenum or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> perhaps the jejunum, and is at the moment of -report awaiting autopsy at the Christiania <i>Allgemeine-krankenhaus.</i> -The shock floors her, but it is a shock that all of us must learn -to bear. Men upon whom we lavish our veneration reduce it to an -absurdity at the end by dying of chronic cystitis, or by choking upon -marshmallows or dill pickles, or as the result of getting cut by dirty -barbers. Women whom we place upon pedestals worthy of the holy saints -come down at last with mastoid abscesses or die obscenely of hiccoughs. -And we ourselves? Let us not have too much hope. The chances are that, -if we go to war, eager to leap superbly at the cannon's mouth, we'll be -finished on the way by an ingrowing toenail or by being run over by an -army truck driven by a former Greek bus-boy and loaded with imitation -Swiss cheeses made in Oneida, N. Y. And that if we die in our beds, it -will be of measles or albuminuria.</p> - -<p>The aforesaid Crile, in one of his smaller books, "A Mechanistic View -of War and Peace," has a good deal to say about death in war, and in -particular, about the disparity between the glorious and inspiring -passing imagined by the young soldier and the messy finish that is -normally in store for him. He shows two pictures of war, the one ideal -and the other real. The former is the familiar print, "The Spirit of -'76," with the three patriots springing grandly to the attack, one of -them with a neat and romantic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> bandage around his head—apparently, -to judge by his liveliness, to cover a wound no worse than an average -bee-sting. The latter picture is what the movie folks call a close-up -of a French soldier who was struck just below the mouth by a German -one-pounder shell—a soldier suddenly converted into the hideous -simulacrum of a cruller. What one notices especially is the curious -expression upon what remains of his face—an expression of the utmost -surprise and indignation. No doubt he marched off to the front firmly -convinced that, if he died at all, it would be at the climax of some -heroic charge, up to his knees in blood and with his bayonet run clear -through a Bavarian at least four feet in diameter. He imagined the -clean bullet through the heart, the stately last gesture, the final -words: "Thérèse! Sophie! Olympe! Marie! Suzette! Odette! Denise! -Julie!... France!" Go to the book and see what he got.... Dr. Crile, -whose experience of war has soured him against it, argues that the best -way to abolish it would be to prohibit such romantic prints as "The -Spirit of '76" and substitute therefor a series of actual photographs -of dead and wounded men. The plan is plainly of merit. But it would -be expensive. Imagine a war getting on its legs before the conversion -of the populace had become complete.. Think of the huge herds of -spy-chasers, letter-openers, pacifist-hounds, burlesons and other such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> -operators that it would take to track down and confiscate all those -pictures!...</p> - -<p>Even so, the vulgar horror of death would remain, for, as Ellen La -Motte well says in her little book, "The Backwash of War," the finish -of a civilian in a luxurious hospital, with trained nurses fluttering -over him and his pastor whooping and heaving for him at the foot of his -bed, is often quite as terrible as any form of exitus witnessed in war. -It is, in fact, always an unpleasant business. Let the poets disguise -it all they may and the theologians obscure the issue with promises of -post-mortem felicity, the plain truth remains that it gives one pause -to reflect that, on some day not far away, one must yield supinely to -acidosis, sink into the mental darkness of an idiot, and so suffer a -withdrawal from these engaging scenes. "No. 8," says the nurse in faded -pink, tripping down the corridor with a hooch of rye for the diabetic -in No. 2, "has just passed out." "Which is No. 8?" asks the new nurse. -"The one whose wife wore that awful hat this afternoon?" ... But all -the authorities, it is pleasant to know, report that the final scene -is placid enough. Dr. Weber quotes many of them. The dying man doesn't -struggle much and he isn't much afraid. As his alkalies give out he -succumbs to a blest stupidity. His mind fogs. His will power vanishes. -He submits decently. He scarcely gives a damn.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="VII_THE_ALLIED_ARTS" id="VII_THE_ALLIED_ARTS">VII. THE ALLIED ARTS</a></h4> - - - -<h4>1</h4> - - -<h4><i>On Music-Lovers</i></h4> - - -<p>Of all forms of the uplift, perhaps the most futile is that which -addresses itself to educating the proletariat in music. The theory -behind it is that a taste for music is an elevating passion, and that -if the great masses of the plain people could be inoculated with it -they would cease to herd into the moving-picture theaters, or to -listen to Socialists, or to beat their wives and children. The defect -in this theory lies in the fact that such a taste, granting it to be -elevating, simply cannot be implanted. Either it is born in a man or -it is not born in him. If it is, then he will get gratification for it -at whatever cost—he will hear music if hell freezes over. But if it -isn't, then no amount of education will ever change him—he will remain -stone deaf until the last sad scene on the gallows.</p> - -<p>No child who has this congenital taste ever has to be urged or tempted -or taught to love music. It takes to tone inevitably and irresistibly; -nothing can restrain it. What is more, it always tries to <i>make</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> music, -for the delight in sounds is invariably accompanied by a great desire -to make them. I have never encountered an exception to this rule. All -genuine music-lovers try to make music. They may do it badly, and -even absurdly, but nevertheless they do it. Any man who pretends to -a delight in the tone-art and yet has never learned the scale of G -major—any and every such man is a fraud. The opera-houses of the world -are crowded with such liars. You will even find hundreds of them in the -concert-halls, though here the suffering they have to undergo to keep -up their pretense is almost too much for them to bear. Many of them, -true enough, deceive themselves. They are honest in the sense that they -credit their own buncombe. But it is buncombe none the less.</p> - -<p>Music, of course, has room for philanthropy. The cost of giving an -orchestral concert is so great that ordinary music-lovers could not -often pay for it. Here the way is open for rich backers, most of whom -have no more ear for music than so many Chinamen. Nearly all the opera -of the world is so supported. A few rich cads pay the bills, their -wives posture obscenely in the boxes, and the genuine music-lovers -upstairs and down enjoy the more or less harmonious flow of sound. But -this business doesn't <i>make</i> music-lovers. It merely gives pleasure to -music-lovers who already exist. In twenty-five years, I am sure, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> -Metropolitan Opera Company hasn't converted a single music-lover. On -the contrary, it has probably disgusted and alienated many thousands of -faint-hearted quasi-music-lovers, <i>i. e.,</i> persons with no more than -the most nebulous taste for music—so nebulous that one or two evenings -of tremendous gargling by fat tenors was enough to kill it altogether.</p> - -<p>In the United States the number of genuine music-lovers is probably -very low. There are whole states, <i>e. g.,</i> Alabama, Arkansas and Idaho, -in which it would be difficult to muster a hundred. In New York, I -venture, not more than one person in every thousand of the population -deserves to be counted. The rest are, to all intents and purposes, -tone-deaf. They can not only sit through the infernal din made by the -current jazz-bands; they actually like it. This is precisely as if they -preferred the works of The Duchess to those of Thomas Hardy, or the -paintings of the men who make covers for popular novels to those of El -Greco. Such persons inhabit the sewers of the bozart. No conceivable -education could rid them of their native ignobility of soul. They are -born unspeakable and incurable.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>2</h4> - - -<h4>Opera</h4> - - -<p>Opera, to a person genuinely fond of aural beauty, must inevitably -appear tawdry and obnoxious, if only because it presents aural beauty -in a frame of purely visual gaudiness, with overtones of the grossest -sexual provocation. The most successful opera singers of the female -sex, at least in America, are not those whom the majority of auditors -admire most as singers but those whom the majority of male spectators -desire most as mistresses. Opera is chiefly supported in all countries -by the same sort of wealthy sensualists who also support musical -comedy. One finds in the directors' room the traditional stock company -of the stage-door alley. Such vermin, of course, pose in the newspapers -as devout and almost fanatical partisans of art; they exhibit -themselves at every performance; one hears of their grand doings, -through their press agents, almost every day. But one has merely to -observe the sort of opera they think is good to get the measure of -their actual artistic discrimination.</p> - -<p>The genuine music-lover may accept the carnal husk of opera to get at -the kernel of actual music within, but that is no sign that he approves -the carnal husk or enjoys gnawing through it. Most musicians, indeed, -prefer to hear operatic music outside the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> opera house; that is why -one so often hears such things as "The Ride of the Valkyrie" in the -concert hall. "The Ride of the Valkyrie" has a certain intrinsic value -as pure music; played by a competent orchestra it may give civilized -pleasure. But as it is commonly performed in an opera house, with a -posse of flat bel-dames throwing themselves about the stage, it can -only produce the effect of a dose of ipecacuanha. The sort of person -who actually delights in such spectacles is the sort of person who -delights in plush furniture. Such half-wits are in a majority in every -opera house west of the Rhine. They go to the opera, not to hear music, -not even to hear bad music, but merely to see a more or less obscene -circus. A few, perhaps, have a further purpose; they desire to assist -in that circus, to show themselves in the capacity of fashionables, -to enchant the yokelry with their splendor. But the majority must be -content with the more lowly aim. What they get for the outrageous -prices they pay for seats is a chance to feast their eyes upon -glittering members of the superior <i>demi-monde,</i> and to abase their -groveling souls before magnificoes on their own side of the footlights. -They esteem a performance, not in proportion as true music is on tap, -but in proportion as the display of notorious characters on the stage -is copious, and the exhibition of wealth in the boxes is lavish. A -soprano who can gargle her way up to G sharp in alto is more to such -simple souls than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> a whole drove of Johann Sebastian Bachs; her one -real rival, in the entire domain of art, is the contralto who has a -pension from a grand duke and is reported to be <i>enceinte</i> by several -profiteers. Heaven visualizes itself as an opera house with forty-eight -Carusos, each with forty-eight press agents.... On the Continent, -where frankness is unashamed, the opera audience often reveals its -passion for tone very naively. That is to say, it arises on its hind -legs, turns its back upon the stage and gapes at the boxes in charming -innocence.</p> - -<p>That such ignobles applaud is usually quite as shoddy as they are -themselves. To write a successful opera a knowledge of harmony and -counterpoint is not enough; one must also be a sort of Barnum. All -the first-rate musicians who have triumphed in the opera house have -been skillful mountebanks as well. I need cite only Richard Wagner and -Richard Strauss. The business, indeed, has almost nothing to do with -music. All the actual music one finds in many a popular opera—for -example, "Thaïs"—mounts up to less than one may find in a pair of -Gung'l waltzes. It is not this mild flavor of tone that fetches the -crowd; it is the tinpot show that goes with it. An opera may have -plenty of good music in it and fail, but if it has a good enough show -it will succeed.</p> - -<p>Such a composer as Wagner, of course, could not write even an opera -without getting some music into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> it. In nearly all of his works, -even including "Parsifal," there are magnificent passages, and some -of them are very long. Here his natural genius overcame him, and he -forgot temporarily what he was about. But these magnificent passages -pass unnoticed by the average opera audience. What it esteems in his -music dramas is precisely what is cheapest and most mountebankish—for -example, the more lascivious parts of "Tristan und Isolde." The sound -music it dismisses as tedious. The Wagner it venerates is not the -musician, but the showman. That he had a king for a backer and was -seduced by Liszt's daughter—these facts, and not the fact of his -stupendous talent, are the foundation stones of his fame in the opera -house.</p> - -<p>Greater men, lacking his touch of the quack, have failed where he -succeeded—Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Bach, Haydn, Haendel. -Not one of them produced a genuinely successful opera; most of them -didn't even try. Imagine Brahms writing for the diamond horseshoe! -Or Bach! Or Haydn! Beethoven attempted it, but made a mess of it; -"Fidelio" survives to-day chiefly as a set of concert overtures. -Schubert wrote more actual music every morning between 10 o'clock and -lunch time than the average opera composer produces in 250 years, and -yet he always came a cropper in the opera house.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>3</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Music of To-morrow</i></h4> - - -<p>Viewing the current musical scene, Carl Van Vechten finds it full of -sadness. Even Debussy bores him; he heard nothing interesting from that -quarter for a long while before the final scene. As for Germany, he -finds it a desert, with Arnold Schoenberg behind the bar of its only -inviting <i>Gasthaus.</i> Richard Strauss? Pooh! Strauss is an exploded -torpedo, a Zeppelin brought to earth; "he has nothing more to say." -(Even the opening of the Alpine symphony, it would appear, is more -stick-candy.) England? Go to! Italy? Back to the barrel-organ! Where, -then, is the tone poetry of to-morrow to come from? According to Van -Vechten, from Russia. It is the steppes that will produce it—or, more -specifically, Prof. Igor Strawinsky, author of "The Nightingale" and -of various revolutionary ballets. In the scores of Strawinsky, says -Van Vechten, music takes a vast leap forward. Here, at last, we are -definitely set free from melody and harmony; the thing becomes an -ineffable complex of rhythms; "all rhythms are beaten into the ears."</p> - -<p>New? Of the future? I have not heard all of the powerful shiverings -and tremblings of M. Strawinsky, but I presume to doubt it none the -less. "The ancient Greeks," says Van Vechten, "accorded rhythm a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> -higher place than either melody or harmony." Well, what of it? So did -the ancient Goths and Huns. So do the modern Zulus and New Yorkers. -The simple truth is that the accentuation of mere rhythm is a proof, -not of progress in music, but of a reversion to barbarism. Rhythm is -the earliest, the underlying element. The African savage, beating his -tom-tom, is content to go no further; the American composer of fox -trots is with him. But music had scarcely any existence as an art-form -until melody came to rhythm's aid, and its fruits were little save -dullness until harmony began to support melody. To argue that mere -rhythm, unsupported by anything save tone-color, may now take their -place is to argue something so absurd that its mere statement is a -sufficient answer to it.</p> - -<p>The rise of harmony, true enough, laid open a dangerous field. Its -exploration attracted meticulous minds; it was rigidly mapped in hard, -geometrical forms; in the end, it became almost unnavigable to the -man of ideas. But no melodramatic rejection of all harmony is needed -to work a reform. The business, indeed, is already gloriously under -way. The dullest conservatory pupil has learned how to pull the noses -of the old-time schoolmasters. No one cares a hoot any more about the -ancient laws of preparation and resolution. (The rules grow so loose, -indeed, that I may soon be tempted to write a tone-poem<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> myself). But -out of this chaos new laws will inevitably arise, and though they -will not be as rigid as the old ones, they will still be coherent and -logical and intelligible. Already, in fact, gentlemen of professorial -mind are mapping them out; one needs but a glance at such a book as -René Lenormand's to see that there is a certain order hidden in even -the wildest vagaries of the moment. And when the boiling in the pot -dies down, the truly great musicians will be found to be, not those -who have been most daring, but those who have been most discreet and -intelligent—those who have most skillfully engrafted what is good -in the new upon what was sound in the old. Such a discreet fellow is -Richard Strauss. His music is modern enough—but not too much. One is -thrilled by its experiments and novelties, but at the same time one can -enjoy the thing as music.</p> - -<p>Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Wagner belonged to the same lodge. They -were by no means the wildest revolutionaries of their days, but they -were the best musicians. They didn't try to improve music by purging -it of any of the elements that made it music; they tried, and with -success, to give each element a new force and a new significance. -Berlioz, I dare say, knew more about the orchestra than Wagner; he -surely went further than Wagner in reaching out for new orchestral -effects. But nothing he ever wrote has a fourth of the stability and -value of "Die Meistersinger."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> He was so intrigued by his tone-colors -that he forgot his music.</p> - - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>4</h4> - - -<h4><i>Tempo di Valse</i></h4> - - -<p>Those Puritans who snort against the current dances are quite -right when they argue that the tango and the shimmie are violently -aphrodisiacal, but what they overlook is the fact that the abolition -of such provocative wriggles would probably revive something worse, to -wit, the Viennese waltz. The waltz never quite goes out of fashion; -it is always just around the corner; every now and then it comes back -with a bang. And to the sore harassment and corruption, I suspect, of -chemical purity, the ideal of all right-thinkers. The shimmie and the -tango are too gross to be very dangerous to civilized human beings; -they suggest drinking beer out of buckets; the most elemental good -taste is proof enough against them. But the waltz! Ah, the waltz, -indeed! It is sneaking, insidious, disarming, lovely. It does its work, -not like a college-yell or an explosion in a munitions plant, but -like the rustle of the trees, the murmur of the illimitable sea, the -sweet gurgle of a pretty girl. The jazz-band fetches only vulgarians, -barbarians, idiots, pigs. But there is a mystical something in "Weiner -Blut" or "Künstler Leben" that fetches even philosophers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<p>The waltz, in fact, is magnificently improper—the art of tone turned -bawdy. I venture to say that the compositions of one man alone, -Johann Strauss II, have lured more fair young creatures to lamentable -complaisance than all the hyperdermic syringes of all the white slave -scouts since the fall of the Western Empire. There is something -about a waltz that is simply irresistible. Try it on the fattest and -sedatest or even upon the thinnest and most acidulous of women, and -she will be ready, in ten minutes, for a stealthy kiss behind the -door—nay, she will forthwith impart the embarrassing news that her -husband misunderstands her, and drinks too much, and cannot appreciate -Maeterlinck, and is going to Cleveland, O., on business to-morrow....</p> - -<p>I often wonder that the Comstocks have not undertaken a crusade against -the waltz. If they suppress "The 'Genius'" and "Jurgen," then why do -they overlook "Rosen aus dem Süden"? If they are so hot against "Madame -Bovary" and the Decameron, then why the immunity of "Wein, Weib und -Gesang"? I throw out the suggestion and pass on. Nearly all the -great waltzes of the world, incidently, were written by Germans—or -Austrians. A waltz-pogrom would thus enlist the American Legion and -the Daughters of the Revolution. Moreover, there is the Public Health -Service: it is already engaged upon a campaign to enforce virginity in -both sexes by statute<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> and artillery. Imagine such an enterprise with -every band free to play "Wiener Mäd'l"!</p> - - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>5</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Puritan as Artist</i></h4> - - -<p>The saddest thing that I have ever heard in the concert hall is Herbert -K. Hadley's overture, "In Bohemia." The title is a magnificent piece of -profound, if unconscious irony. One looks, at least, for a leg flung -in the air, a girl kissed, a cork popped, a flash of drawer-ruffles. -What one encounters is a meeting of the Lake Mohonk Conference. Such -prosy correctness and hollowness, in music, is almost inconceivable. -It is as if the most voluptuous of the arts were suddenly converted -into an abstract and austere science, like comparative grammar or -astro-physics. "Who's Who in America" says that Hadley was born in -Somerville, Mass., and "studied violin and other branches in Vienna." A -prodigy thus unfolds itself: here is a man who lived in Vienna, and yet -never heard a Strauss waltz! This, indeed, is an even greater feat than -being born an artist in Somerville.</p> - - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>6</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Human Face</i></h4> - - -<p>Probably the best portrait that I have ever seen in America is one of -Theodore Dreiser by Bror Nordfeldt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> Who this Bror Nordfeldt may be I -haven't the slightest notion—a Scandinavian, perhaps. Maybe I have got -his name wrong; I can't find any Nordfeldt in "Who's Who in America." -But whatever his name, he has painted Dreiser in a capital manner. The -portrait not only shows the outward shell of the man; it also conveys -something of his inner spirit—his simple-minded wonder at the mystery -of existence, his constant effort to argue himself out of a despairing -pessimism, his genuine amazement before life as a spectacle. The thing -is worth a hundred Sargents, with their slick lying, their childish -facility, their general hollowness and tackiness. Sargent should have -been a designer of candy-box tops. The notion that he is a great artist -is one of the astounding delusions of Anglo-Saxondom. What keeps it -going is the patent fact that he is a very dexterous craftsman—one -who understands thoroughly how to paint, just as a good plumber knows -how to plumb. But of genuine æsthetic feeling the man is almost as -destitute as the plumber. His portrait of the four Johns Hopkins -professors is probably the worst botch ever palmed off on a helpless -committee of intellectual hay and feed dealers. But Nordfeldt, in his -view of Dreiser, somehow gets the right effect. It is rough painting, -but real painting. There is a knock-kneed vase in the foreground, and a -bunch of flowers apparently painted with a shaving-brush—but Dreiser -himself is genuine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> More, he is made interesting. One sees at once -that he is no common man.</p> - -<p>The artist himself seems to hold the portrait in low esteem. Having -finished it, he reversed the canvas and used the back for painting a -vapid snow scenes—a thing almost bad enough to go into a Fifth Avenue -show-window. Then he abandoned both pictures. I discovered the portrait -by accidentally knocking the snow scene off a wall. It has never been -framed. Drieser himself has probably forgotten it. ... No, I do <i>not</i> -predict that it will be sold to some Pittsburgh nail manufacturer, in -1950, for $100,000. If it lasts two or three more years, unframed and -disesteemed, it will be running in luck. When Dreiser is hanged, I -suppose, relic-hunters will make a search for it. But by that time it -will have died as a door-mat.</p> - - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>7</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Cerebral Mime</i></h4> - - -<p>Of all actors, the most offensive to the higher cerebral centers is -the one who pretends to intellectuality. His alleged intelligence, -of course, is always purely imaginary: no man of genuinely superior -intelligence has ever been an actor. Even supposing a young man of -appreciable mental powers to be lured upon the stage, as philosophers -are occasionally lured into bordellos, his mind would be inevitably -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> almost immediately destroyed by the gaudy nonsense issuing from -his mouth every night. That nonsense enters into the very fiber of the -actor. He becomes a grotesque boiling down of all the preposterous -characters that he has ever impersonated. Their characteristics are -seen in his manner, in his reactions to stimuli, in his point of view. -He becomes a walking artificiality, a strutting dummy, a thematic -catalogue of imbecilities.</p> - -<p>There are, of course, plays that are not wholly nonsense, and now -and then one encounters an actor who aspires to appear in them. This -aspiration almost always overtakes the so-called actor-manager—that -is to say, the actor who has got rich and is thus ambitious to appear -as a gentleman. Such aspirants commonly tackle Shakespeare, and if -not Shakespeare, then Shaw, or Hauptmann, or Rostand, or some other -apparently intellectual dramatist. But this is seldom more than a -passing madness. The actor-manager may do that sort of thing once in a -while, but in the main he sticks to his garbage. Consider, for example, -the late Henry Irving. He posed as an intellectual and was forever -gabbling about his high services to the stage, and yet he appeared -constantly in such puerile things as "The Bells," beside which the -average newspaper editorial or college yell was literature. So with -the late Mansfield. His pretension, deftly circulated by press-agents, -was that he was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> man of brilliant and polished mind. Nevertheless, -he spent two-thirds of his life in the theater playing such abominable -drival as "A Parisian Romance" and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."</p> - -<p>It is commonly urged in defense of certain actors that they are forced -to appear in that sort of stuff by the public demand for it—that -appearing in it painfully violates their secret pruderies. This defense -is unsound and dishonest. An actor never disdains anything that gets -him applause and money; he is almost completely devoid of that æsthetic -conscience which is the chief mark of the genuine artist. If there -were a large public willing to pay handsomely to hear him recite -limericks, or to blow a cornet, or to strip off his underwear and -dance a polonaise stark naked, he would do it without hesitation—and -then convince himself that such buffooning constituted a difficult and -elevated art, fully comparable to Wagner's or Dante's. In brief, the -one essential, in his sight, is the chance to shine, the fat part, -the applause. Who ever heard of an actor declining a fat part on the -ground that it invaded his intellectual integrity? The thing is simply -unimaginable.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="VIII_THE_CULT_OF_HOPE" id="VIII_THE_CULT_OF_HOPE">VIII. THE CULT OF HOPE</a></h4> - - -<p>Of all the sentimental errors which reign and rage in this incomparable -republic, the worst, I often suspect, is that which confuses the -function of criticism, whether æsthetic, political or social, with the -function of reform. Almost invariably it takes the form of a protest: -"The fellow condems without offering anything better. Why tear down -without building up?" So coo and snivel the sweet ones: so wags the -national tongue. The messianic delusion becomes a sort of universal -murrain. It is impossible to get an audience for an idea that is not -"constructive"—<i>i. e.,</i> that is not glib, and uplifting, and full -of hope, and hence capable of tickling the emotions by leaping the -intermediate barrier of the intelligence.</p> - -<p>In this protest and demand, of course, there is nothing but a hollow -sound of words—the empty babbling of men who constantly mistake their -mere feelings for thoughts. The truth is that criticism, if it were -thus confined to the proposing of alternative schemes, would quickly -cease to have any force or utility at all, for in the overwhelming -majority of instances no alternative scheme of any intelligibility -is imaginable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> and the whole object of the critical process is to -demonstrate it. The poet, if the victim is a poet, is simply one as -bare of gifts as a herring is of fur: no conceivable suggestion will -ever make him write actual poetry. The cancer cure, if one turns to -popular swindles, is wholly and absolutely without merit—and the fact -that medicine offers us no better cure does not dilute its bogusness -in the slightest. And the plan of reform, in politics, sociology or -what not, is simply beyond the pale of reason; no change in it or -improvement of it will ever make it achieve the downright impossible. -Here, precisely, is what is the matter with most of the notions that go -floating about the country, particularly in the field of governmental -reform. The trouble with them is not only that they won't and don't -work; the trouble with them, more importantly, is that the thing they -propose to accomplish is intrinsically, or at all events most probably, -beyond accomplishment. That is to say, the problem they are ostensibly -designed to solve is a problem that is insoluble. To tackle them with -a proof of that insolubility, or even with a colorable argument of it, -is sound criticism; to tackle them with another solution that is quite -as bad, or even worse, is to pick the pocket of one knocked down by an -automobile.</p> - -<p>Unluckily, it is difficult for a certain type of mind to grasp the -concept of insolubility. Thousands of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> poor dolts keep on trying to -square the circle; other thousands keep pegging away at perpetual -motion. The number of persons so afflicted is far greater than the -records of the Patent Office show, for beyond the circle of frankly -insane enterprise there lie circles of more and more plausible -enterprise, and finally we come to a circle which embraces the great -majority of human beings. These are the optimists and chronic hopers -of the world, the believers in men, ideas and things. These are the -advocates of leagues of nations, wars to make the world safe for -democracy, political mountebanks, "clean-up" campaigns, laws, raids, -Men and Religion Forward Movements, eugenics, sex hygiene, education, -newspapers. It is the settled habit of such credulous folk to give ear -to whatever is comforting; it is their settled faith that whatever -is desirable will come to pass. A caressing confidence—but one, -unfortunately, that is not borne out by human experience. The fact is -that some of the things that men and women have desired most ardently -for thousands of years are not nearer realization to-day than they were -in the time of Rameses, and that there is not the slightest reason for -believing that they will lose their coyness on any near to-morrow. -Plans for hurrying them on have been tried since the beginning; plans -for forcing them overnight are in copious and antagonistic operation -to-day; and yet they continue to hold off and elude us, and the -chances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> are that they will keep on holding off and eluding us until -the angels get tired of the show, and the whole earth is set off like a -gigantic bomb, or drowned, like a sick cat, between two buckets.</p> - -<p>But let us avoid the grand and chronic dreams of the race and get -down to some of the concrete problems of life under the Christian -enlightenment. Let us take a look, say, at the so-called drink problem, -a small sub-division of the larger problem of saving men from their -inherent and incurable hoggishness. What is the salient feature of the -discussion of the drink problem, as one observes it going on eternally -in These States? The salient feature of it is that very few honest and -intelligent men ever take a hand in the business—that the best men of -the nation, distinguished for their sound sense in other fields, seldom -show any interest in it. On the one hand it is labored by a horde of -obvious jackasses, each confident that he can dispose of it overnight. -And on the other hand it is sophisticated and obscured by a crowd of -oblique fellows, hired by interested parties, whose secret desire is -that it be kept unsolved. To one side, the professional gladiators -of Prohibition; to the other side, the agents of the brewers and -distillers. But why do all neutral and clear-headed men avoid it? Why -does one hear so little about it from those who have no personal stake -in it, and can thus view it fairly and accurately? Is it because they -are afraid?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> Is it because they are not intrigued by it? I doubt that -it would be just to accuse them in either way. The real reason why they -steer clear of the gabble is simpler and more creditable. It is this: -that none of them—that no genuinely thoughtful and prudent man—can -imagine any solution which meets the tests of his own criticism—that -no genuinely intelligent man believes the thing is soluble at all.</p> - -<p>Here, of course, I generalize a bit heavily. Honest and intelligent -men, though surely not many of them, occasionally come forward with -suggestions. In the midst of so much debate it is inevitable that -even a man of critical mind should sometimes lean to one side or the -other—that some salient imbecility should make him react toward its -rough opposite. But the fact still remains that not a single complete -and comprehensive scheme has ever come from such a man, that no such -man has ever said, in so many words, that he thought the problem could -be solved, simply and effectively. All such schemes come from idiots -or from sharpers disguised as idiots to win the public confidence. The -whole discussion is based upon assumptions that even the most casual -reflection must reject as empty balderdash.</p> - -<p>And as with the drink problem, so with most of the other great -questions that harass and dismay the helpless human race. Turn, for -example, to the sex problem. There is no half-baked ecclesiastic, -bawling in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> his galvanized-iron temple on a suburban lot, who doesn't -know precisely how it ought to be dealt with. There is no fantoddish -old suffragette, sworn to get her revenge on man, who hasn't a -sovereign remedy for it. There is not a shyster of a district attorney, -ambitious for higher office, who doesn't offer to dispose of it in -a few weeks, given only enough help from the city editors. And yet, -by the same token, there is not a man who has honestly studied it -and pondered it, bringing sound information to the business, and -understanding of its inner difficulties and a clean and analytical -mind, who doesn't believe and hasn't stated publicly that it is -intrinsically and eternally insoluble. I can't think of an exception, -nor does a fresh glance through the literature suggest one. The latest -expert to tell the disconcerting truth is Dr. Maurice Parmelee, the -criminologist. His book, "Personality and Conduct," is largely devoted -to demonstrating that the popular solutions, for all the support they -get from vice crusaders, complaisant legislators and sensational -newspapers, are unanimously imbecile and pernicious—that their only -effect in practice is to make what was bad a good deal worse. His -remedy is—what? An alternative solution? Not at all. His remedy, in -brief, is to abandon all attempts at a solution, to let the whole thing -go, to cork up all the reformers and try to forget it.</p> - -<p>And in this proposal he merely echoes Havelock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> Ellis, undoubtedly -the most diligent and scientific student of the sex problem that the -world has yet seen—in fact, the one man who, above all others, has -made a decorous and intelligent examination of it possible. Ellis' -remedy is simply a denial of all remedies. He admits that the disease -is bad, but he shows that the medicine is infinitely worse, and so he -proposes going back to the plain disease, and advocates bearing it -with philosophy, as we bear colds in the head, marriage, the noises of -the city, bad cooking and the certainty of death. Man is inherently -vile—but he is never so vile as when he is trying to disguise and -deny his vileness. No prostitute was ever so costly to a community as -a prowling and obscene vice crusader, or as the dubious legislator or -prosecuting officer who jumps as he pipes.</p> - -<p>Ellis, in all this, falls under the excommunication of the -sentimentalists. He demolishes one scheme without offering an -alternative scheme. He tears down without making any effort to build -up. This explains, no doubt, his general unpopularity; into mouths -agape for peruna, he projects only paralyzing streams of ice-water. And -it explains, too, the curious fact that his books, the most competent -and illuminating upon the subject that they discuss, are under the -ban of the Comstocks in both England and America, whereas the hollow -treatises of ignorant clerics and smutty old maids are merchanted with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> -impunity, and even commended from the sacred desk. The trouble with -Ellis is that he tells the truth, which is the unsafest of all things -to tell. His crime is that he is a man who prefers facts to illusions, -and knows what he is talking about. Such men are never popular. The -public taste is for merchandise of a precisely opposite character. The -way to please is to proclaim in a confident manner, not what is true, -but what is merely comforting. This is what is called building up. This -is constructive criticism.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="IX_THE_DRY_MILLENNIUM" id="IX_THE_DRY_MILLENNIUM">IX. THE DRY MILLENNIUM</a></h4> - - - - -<h4>1</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Holy War</i></h4> - - -<p>The fact that the enforcement of Prohibition entails a host of -oppressions and injustices—that it puts a premium upon the lowest -sort of spying, affords an easy livelihood to hordes of professional -scoundrels, subjects thousands of decent men to the worst sort of -blackmail, violates the theoretical sanctity of domicile, and makes -for bitter and relentless enmities,—this fact is now adduced by its -ever-hopeful foes as an argument for the abandonment of the whole -disgusting crusade. By it they expect to convert even a large minority -of the drys, apparently on the theory that the latter got converted -emotionally and hastily, and that an appeal to their sense of justice -and fair-dealing will debamboozle them.</p> - -<p>No hope could be more vain. What all the current optimists overlook -is that the illogical and indefensible persecutions certain to occur -in increasing number under the Prohibition Amendment constitute the -chief cause of its popularity among the sort of men who are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> in favor -of it. The typical Prohibitionist, in other words, is a man full of -religious excitement, with the usual sadistic overtones. He delights -in persecution for its own sake. He likes to see the other fellow -jump and to hear him yell. This thirst is horribly visible in all -the salient mad mullahs of the land—that is, in all the genuine -leaders of American culture. Such skillful boob-bumpers as the Rev. -Dr. Billy Sunday know what that culture is; they know what the crowd -wants. Thus they convert the preaching of the alleged Word of God -into a rough-and-tumble pursuit of definite sinners—saloon-keepers, -prostitutes, Sabbath-breakers, believers in the Darwinian -hypothesis, German exegetes, hand-books, poker-players, adulterers, -cigarette-smokers, users of profanity. It is the chase that heats up -the great mob of Methodists, not the Word. And the fact that the chase -is unjust only tickles them the more, for to do injustice with impunity -is a sign of power, and power is the thing that the inferior man always -craves most violently.</p> - -<p>Every time the papers print another account of a Prohibionist agent -murdering a man who resists him, or searching some woman's underwear, -or raiding a Vanderbilt yacht, or blackmailing a Legislature, or -committing some other such inordinate and anti-social act, they simply -make a thousand more votes for Prohibition. It is precisely that sort -of entertainment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> that makes Prohibition popular with the boobery. It -is precisely because it is unjust, imbecile, arbitrary and tyrannical -that they are so hot for it. The incidental violation of even the -inferior man's liberty is not sufficient to empty him of delight in -the chase. The victims reported in the newspapers are commonly his -superiors; he thus gets the immemorial democratic satisfaction out of -their discomfiture. Besides, he has no great rage for liberty himself. -He is always willing to surrender it at demand. The most popular man -under a democracy is not the most democratic man, but the most despotic -man. The common folk delight in the exactions of such a man. They like -him to boss them. Their natural gait is the goose-step.</p> - -<p>It was predicted by romantics that the arrival of Prohibition would see -the American workingman in revolt against its tyranny, with mills idle -and industry paralyzed. Certain boozy labor leaders even went so far as -to threaten a general strike. No such strike, of course, materialized. -Not a single American workingman uttered a sound. The only protests -heard of came from a few barbarous foreigners, and these malcontents -were quickly beaten into submission by the <i>Polizei.</i> In a week or -two all the reserve stocks of beer were exhausted, and every jug of -authentic hard liquor was emptied. Since then, save for the ghastly -messes that he has brewed behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> locked doors, the American workingman -has been dry. Worse, he has also been silent. Not a sound has come out -of him.... But his liver is full of bile? He nourishes an intolerable -grievance? He will get his revenge, soon or late, at the polls? All -moonshine! He will do nothing of the sort. He will actually do what -he always does—that is, he will make a virtue of his necessity, and -straightway begin believing that he <i>likes</i> Prohibition, that it is -doing him a lot of good, that he wouldn't be without it if he could. -This is the habitual process of thought of inferior men, at all times -and everywhere. This is the sturdy common sense of the plain people.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>2</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Lure of Babylon</i></h4> - - -<p>One of the ultimate by-products of Prohibition and the allied -Puritanical barbarities will probably be an appreciable slackening in -the present movement of yokels toward the large cities. The thing that -attracted the peasant youth to our gaudy Sodoms and Ninevehs, in the -past, was not, as sociologists have always assumed, the prospect of -less work and more money. The country boy, in point of fact—that is, -the average country boy, the normal country boy—had to work quite as -hard in the city as he ever worked in the country, and his wages were -anything but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> princely. Unequipped with a city trade, unprotected by a -union, and so forced into competition with the lowest types of foreign -labor, he had to be content with monotonous, uninspiring and badly-paid -jobs. He did not become a stock-broker, or even a plumber; until the -war gave him a temporary chance at its gigantic swag, he became a car -conductor, a porter or a wagon-driver. And it took him many years to -escape from that sordid fate, for the city boy, with a better education -and better connections, was always a lap or two ahead of him. The -notion that yokels always succeed in the cities is a great delusion. -The overwhelming majority of our rich men are city-born and city-bred. -And the overwhelming majority of our elderly motormen, forlorn corner -grocerymen, neighborhood carpenters and other such blank cartridges are -country-bred.</p> - -<p>No, it was not money that lured the adolescent husbandman to the -cities, but the gay life. What he dreamed of was a more spacious and -stimulating existence than the farm could offer—an existence crowded -with intriguing and usually unlawful recreations. A few old farmers may -have come in now and then to buy gold bricks or to hear the current -Henry Ward Beechers, but these oldsters were mere trippers—they never -thought of settling down—the very notion of it would have appalled -them. The actual settlers were all young, and what brought them on was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> -less an economic impulse than an æsthetic one. They wanted to live -magnificently, to taste the sweets that drummers talked of, to sample -the refined divertisements described in such works as "The Confessions -of an Actress," "Night Life in Chicago" and "What Every Young Husband -Should Know." Specifically, they yearned for a semester or two in the -theaters, the saloons and the bordellos—particularly, the saloons and -bordellos. It was this gorgeous bait that dragged them out of their -barn-yards. It was this bait that landed a select few in Wall street -and the United States Senate—and millions on the front seats of -trolley-cars, delivery-wagons and ash-carts.</p> - -<p>But now Puritanism eats the bait. In all our great cities the public -stews are closed, and the lamentable irregularities they catered to are -thrown upon an individual initiative that is quite beyond the talents -and enterprise of a plow-hand. Now the saloons are closed too, and the -blind-pigs begin to charge such prices that no peasant can hope to pay -them. Only the theater remains—and already the theater loses its old -lavish devilishness. True enough, it still deals in pornography, but -that pornography becomes exclusive and even esoteric: a yokel could -not understand the higher farce, nor could he afford to pay for a -seat at a modern leg-show. The cheap burlesque house of other days is -now incurably moral; I saw a burlesque show lately which was almost a -dramatization<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> of a wall-card by Dr. Frank Crane. There remains the -movie, but the peasant needn't come to the city to see movies—there is -one in every village. What remains, then, of the old lure? What sane -youth, comfortably housed on a farm, with Theda Bara performing at the -nearest cross-roads, wheat at $2.25 a bushel and milkers getting $75 a -month and board—what jejune rustic, not downright imbecile, itches for -the city to-day?</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>3</h4> - - -<h4><i>Cupid and Well-Water</i></h4> - - -<p>In the department of amour, I daresay, the first effect of Prohibition -will be to raise up impediments to marriage. It was alcohol, in the -past, that was the primary cause of perhaps a majority of alliances -among civilized folk. The man, priming himself with cocktails to -achieve boldness, found himself suddenly bogged in sentimentality, and -so yielded to the ancient tricks of the lady. Absolutely sober men will -be harder to snare. Coffee will never mellow them sufficiently. Thus I -look for a fall in the marriage rate.</p> - -<p>But only temporarily. In the long run, Prohibition will make marriage -more popular, at least among the upper classes, than it has ever -been in the past, and for the plain reason that, once it is in full -effect,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> the life of a civilized bachelor will become intolerable. In -the past he went to his club. But a club without a bar is as hideously -unattractive as a beautiful girl without hair or teeth. No sane man -will go into it. In two years, in fact, nine out of ten clubs will be -closed. The only survivors will be a few bleak rookeries for senile -widowers. The bachelor of less years, unable to put up with the society -of such infernos, will inevitably decide that if he must keep sober he -might just as well have a charming girl to ease his agonies, and so he -will expose himself in society, and some fair one or other will nab -him. At the moment, observing only the first effect of Prohibition, the -great majority of intelligent women are opposed to it. But when the -secondary effect begins to appear they will become in favor of it. They -now have the vote. I see no hope.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>4</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Triumph of Idealism</i></h4> - - -<p>Another effect of Prohibition will be that it will gradually empty -the United States of its present small minority of civilized men. -Almost every man that one respects is now casting longing eyes across -the ocean. Some of them talk frankly of emigrating, once Europe pulls -itself together. Others merely propose to go abroad every year and to -stay there as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> long as possible, visiting the United States only at -intervals, as a Russian nobleman, say, used to visit his estates in -the Ukraine. Worse, Prohibition will scare off all the better sort -of immigrants from the other side. The lower order of laborers may -continue to come in small numbers—each planning to get all the money -he can and then escape, as the Italians are even now escaping. But no -first-rate man will ever come—no Stephen Girard, or William Osier, -or Carl Schurz, or Theodore Thomas, or Louis Agassiz, or Edwin Klebs, -or Albert Gallatin, or Alexander Hamilton. It is not Prohibition -<i>per se</i> that will keep them away; it is the whole complex of social -and political attitudes underlying Prohibition—the whole clinical -picture of Puritanism rampant. The United States will become a sort -of huge Holland—fat and contented, but essentially undistinguished. -Its superior men will leave it automatically, as nine-tenths of all -superior Hollanders leave Holland.</p> - -<p>But all this, from the standpoint of Prohibitionists, is no argument -against Prohibition. On the contrary, it is an argument in favor of -Prohibition. For the men the Prohibitionist—<i>i. e.,</i> the inferior sort -of Puritan—distrusts and dislikes most intensely is precisely what -the rest of humanity regards as the superior man. You will go wrong if -you imagine that the honest yeomen of, say, Mississippi deplore the -fact that in the whole state there is not a single<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> distinguished man. -They actually delight in it. It is a source of genuine pride to them -that no such irreligious scoundrel as Balzac lives there, and no such -scandalous adulterer as Wagner, and no scoundrelly atheist as Huxley, -and no such rambunctious piano-thumper as Beethoven, and no such German -spy as Nietzsche. Such men, settling there, would be visited by a -Vigilance Committee and sharply questioned. The Puritan Commonwealth, -now as always, has no traffic with heretics.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="X_APPENDIX_ON_A_TENDER_THEME" id="X_APPENDIX_ON_A_TENDER_THEME">X. APPENDIX ON A TENDER THEME</a></h4> - - -<h4>1</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Nature of Love</i></h4> - - -<p>Whatever the origin (in the soul, the ductless glands or the -convolutions of the cerebrum) of the thing called romantic love, its -mere phenomenal nature may be very simply described. It is, in brief, a -wholesale diminishing of disgusts, primarily based on observation, but -often, in its later stages, taking on an hallucinatory and pathological -character. Friendship has precisely the same constitution, but the -pathological factor is usually absent. When we are attracted to a -person and find his or her proximity agreeable, it means that he or she -disgusts us less than the average human being disgusts us—which, if we -have delicate sensibilities, is a good deal more than is comfortable. -The elemental man is not much oppressed by this capacity for disgust; -in consequence, he is capable of falling in love with almost any woman -who seems sexually normal. But the man of a higher type is vastly more -sniffish, and so the majority of women whom he meets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> are quite unable -to interest him, and when he succumbs at last it is always to a woman -of special character, and often she is also one of uncommon shrewdness -and enterprise.</p> - -<p>Because human contacts are chiefly superficial, most of the disgusts -that we are conscious of are physical. We are never honestly friendly -with a man who is dirtier than we are ourselves, or who has table -manners that are cruder than our own (or merely noticeably different), -or who laughs in a way that strikes us as gross, or who radiates some -odor that we do not like. We never conceive a romantic passion for a -woman who employs a toothpick in public, or who suffers from acne, or -who offers the subtle but often quite unescapable suggestion that she -has on soiled underwear. But there are also psychical disgusts. Our -friends, in the main, must be persons who think substantially as we -do, at least about all things that actively concern us, and who have -the same general tastes. It is impossible to imagine a Brahmsianer -being honestly fond of a man who enjoys jazz, or a man who admires -Joseph Conrad falling in love with a woman who reads Rex Beach. By the -same token, it is impossible to imagine a woman of genuine refinement -falling in love with a Knight of Pythias, a Methodist or even a -chauffeur; either the chauffeur is a Harvard aviator in disguise or the -lady herself is a charwoman in disguise. Here,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> however, the force of -aversion may be greatly diminished by contrary physical attractions; -the body, as usual, is enormously more potent than the so-called mind. -In the midst of the bitterest wars, with every man of the enemy held -to be a fiend in human form, women constantly fall in love with enemy -soldiers who are of pleasant person and wear attractive uniforms. And -many a fair agnostic, as every one knows, is on good terms with a -handsome priest....</p> - -<p>Imagine a young man in good health and easy circumstances, entirely -ripe for love. The prompting to mate and beget arises within his -interstitial depths, traverses his lymphatic system, lifts his blood -pressure, and goes whooping through his <i>meatus auditorium externus</i> -like a fanfare of slide trombones. The impulse is very powerful. It -staggers and dismays him. He trembles like a stag at bay. Why, then, -doesn't he fall head over heels in love with the first eligible woman -that he meets? For the plain reason that the majority of women that he -meets offend him, repel him, disgust him. Often it is in some small, -inconspicuous and, at first glance, unanalyzable way. She is, in -general, a very pretty girl—but her ears stand out too much. Or her -hair reminds him of oakum. Or her mouth looks like his aunt's. Or she -has beer-keg ankles. Here very impalpable things, such as bodily odors, -play a capital part; their importance is always much underestimated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> -Many a girl has lost a husband by using the wrong perfume, or by -neglecting to have her hair washed. Many another has come to grief by -powdering her nose too much or too little, or by shrinking from the -paltry pain of having some of her eyebrows pulled, or by employing a -lip-salve with too much purple in it, or by patronizing a bad dentist, -or by speaking incautiously of chilblains....</p> - -<p>But eventually the youth finds his love—soon or late the angel -foreordained comes along. Who is this prodigy? Simply the <i>first</i> girl -to sneak over what may be called the threshold of his disgusts—simply -the <i>first</i> to disgust him so little, at first glance, that the loud, -insistent promptings of the Divine Schadchen have a chance to be -heard. If he muffs this first, another will come along, maybe soon, -maybe late. For every normal man there are hundreds of thousands in -Christendom, thousands in his own town, scores within his own circle -of acquaintance. This normal man is not too delicate. His fixed foci -of disgust are neither very numerous nor very sensitive. For the rest, -he is swayed by fashion, by suggestion, by transient moods. Anon a -mood of cynicism is upon him and he is hard to please, but anon he -succumbs to sentimentality and is blind to everything save the grossest -offendings. It is only the man of extraordinary sensitiveness, the man -of hypertrophied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> delicacy, who must search the world for his elective -affinity.</p> - -<p>Once the threshold is crossed emotion comes to the aid of perception. -That is to say, the blind, almost irresistible mating impulse, now -fortuitously relieved from the contrary pressure of active disgusts, -fortifies itself by manufacturing illusions. The lover sees with an -eye that is both opaque and out of focus. Thus he begins the familiar -process of editing and improving his girl. Features and characteristics -that, observed in cold blood, might have quickly aroused his most -active disgust are now seen through a rose-tinted fog, like drabs in a -musical comedy. The lover ends by being almost anæsthetic to disgust. -While the spell lasts his lady could shave her head or take to rubbing -snuff, or scratch her leg at a communion service, or smear her hair -with bear's grease, and yet not disgust him. Here the paralysis of the -faculties is again chiefly physical—a matter of obscure secretions, of -shifting pressure, of metabolism. Nature is at her tricks. The fever -of love is upon its victim. His guard down, he is little more than a -pathetic automaton. The shrewd observer of gaucheries, the sensitive -sniffer, the erstwhile cynic, has become a mere potential papa.</p> - -<p>This spell, of course, doesn't last forever. Marriage cools the fever -and lowers the threshold of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> disgust. The husband begins to observe -what the lover was blind to, and often his discoveries affect him as -unpleasantly as the treason of a trusted friend. And not only is the -fever cooled: the opportunities for exact observation are enormously -increased. It is a commonplace of juridical science that the great -majority of divorces have their origin in the connubial chamber. Here -intimacy is so extreme that it is fatal to illusion. Both parties, -thrown into the closest human contact that either has suffered since -their unconscious days <i>in utero,</i> find their old capacity for disgust -reviving, and then suddenly flaming. The girl who was perfect in her -wedding gown becomes a ghastly caricature in her <i>robe de nuit;</i> -the man who was a Chevalier Bayard as a wooer becomes a snuffling, -shambling, driveling nuisance as a husband—a fellow offensive to -eyes, ears, nose, touch and immortal soul. A learned judge of my -acquaintance, constantly hearing divorce actions and as constantly -striving to reconcile the parties, always tries to induce plaintiff -and defendant to live apart for a while, or, failing that, to occupy -separate rooms, or, failing that, to at least dress in separate -rooms. According to this jurist, a husband who shaves in his wife's -presence is either an idiot or a scoundrel. The spectacle, he argues, -is intrinsically disgusting, and to force it upon a refined woman is -either to subject her to the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> exquisite torture or to degrade her -gradually to the insensate level of an <i>Abortfrau.</i> The day is saved, -as every one knows, by the powerful effects of habit. The acquisition -of habit is the process whereby disgust is overcome in daily life—the -process whereby one may cease to be disgusted by a persistent noise or -odor. One suffers horribly at first, but after a bit one suffers less, -and in the course of time one scarcely suffers at all. Thus a man, when -his marriage enters upon the stage of regularity and safety, gets used -to his wife as he might get used to a tannery next door, and <i>vice -versa.</i> I think that women, in this direction, have the harder row to -hoe, for they are more observant than men, and vastly more sensitive in -small ways. But even women succumb to habit with humane rapidity, else -every marriage would end in divorce. Disgusts pale into mere dislikes, -disrelishes, distastes. They cease to gag and torture. But though they -thus shrink into the shadow, they are by no means disposed of. Deep -down in the subconscious they continue to lurk, and some accident may -cause them to flare up at any time, and so work havoc. This flaring -up accounts for a familiar and yet usually very mystifying phenomenon -—the sudden collapse of a marriage, a friendship or a business -association after years of apparent prosperity.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>2</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Incomparable Buzzsaw</i></h4> - - -<p>The chief (and perhaps the only genuine) charm of women is seldom -mentioned by the orthodox professors of the sex. I refer to the charm -that lies in the dangers they present. The allurement that they hold -out to men is precisely the allurement that Cape Hatteras holds -out to sailors: they are enormously dangerous and hence enormously -fascinating. To the average man, doomed to some banal and sordid -drudgery all his life long, they offer the only grand hazard that he -ever encounters. Take them away and his existence would be as flat and -secure as that of a milch-cow. Even to the unusual man, the adventurous -man, the imaginative and romantic man, they offer the adventure of -adventures. Civilization tends to dilute and cheapen all other hazards. -War itself, once an enterprise stupendously thrilling, has been reduced -to mere caution and calculation; already, indeed, it employs as many -press-agents, letter-openers, and chautauqua orators as soldiers. On -some not distant to-morrow its salient personality may be Potash, and -if not Potash, then Perlmutter. But the duel of sex continues to be -fought in the Berserker manner. Whoso approaches women still faces the -immemorial dangers. Civilization has not made them a bit more safe than -they were in Solomon's time; they are still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> inordinately barbarous and -menacing, and hence inordinately provocative, and hence inordinately -charming and romantic....</p> - -<p>The most disgusting cad in the world is the man who, on grounds of -decorum and morality, avoids the game of love. He is one who puts -his own ease and security above the most laudable of philanthropies. -Women have a hard time of it in this world. They are oppressed by -man-made laws, man-made social customs, masculine egoism, the delusion -of masculine superiority. Their one comfort is the assurance that, -even though it may be impossible to prevail against man, it is always -possible to enslave and torture a man. This feeling is fostered when -one makes love to them. One need not be a great beau, a seductive -catch, to do it effectively. Any man is better than none. No woman -is ever offended by admiration. The wife of a millionaire notes the -reverent glance of a head-waiter. To withhold that devotion, to shrink -poltroonishly from giving so much happiness at such small expense, to -evade the business on the ground that it has hazards—this is the act -of a puling and tacky fellow.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>3</h4> - - -<h4><i>Women as Spectacles</i></h4> - - -<p>Women, when it comes to snaring men, through the eye, bait a great many -hooks that fail to fluster the fish. Nine-tenths of their primping and -decorating of their persons not only doesn't please men; it actually -repels men. I often pass two days running without encountering a single -woman who is charmingly dressed. Nearly all of them run to painful -color schemes, absurd designs and excessive over-ornamentation. One -seldom observes a man who looks an absolute guy, whereas such women -are very numerous; in the average theater audience they constitute a -majority of at least nine-tenths. The reason is not far to seek. The -clothes of men are plain in design and neutral in hue. The only touch -of genuine color is in the florid blob of the face, the center of -interest—exactly where it ought to be. If there is any other color at -all, it is a faint suggestion in the cravat—adjacent to the face, and -so leading the eye toward it. It is color that kills the clothes of the -average woman. She runs to bright spots that take the eye away from her -face and hair. She ceases to be woman clothed and becomes a mere piece -of clothing womaned.</p> - -<p>Even at the basic feminine art of pigmenting their faces very few women -excel. The average woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> seems to think that she is most lovely when -her sophistication of her complexion is most adroitly concealed—when -the <i>poudre de riz</i> is rubbed in so hard that it is almost invisible, -and the penciling of eyes and lips is perfectly realistic. This is -a false notion. Most men of appreciative eye have no objection to -artificiality <i>per se,</i> so long as it is intrinsically sightly. The -marks made by a lip-stick may be very beautiful; there are many lovely -shades of scarlet, crimson and vermilion. A man with eyes in his head -admires them for themselves; he doesn't have to be first convinced that -they are non-existent, that what he sees is not the mark of a lip-stick -at all, but an authentic lip. So with the eyes. Nothing could be more -charming than an eye properly reënforced; the naked organ is not to be -compared to it; nature is an idiot when it comes to shadows. But it -must be admired as a work of art, not as a miraculous and incredible -eye. ... Women, in this important and venerable art, stick too closely -to crude representation. They forget that men do not admire the -technique, but the result. What they should do is to forget realism for -a while, and concentrate their attention upon composition, chiaroscuro -and color.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>4</h4> - - -<h4><i>Woman and the Artist</i></h4> - - -<p>Much gabble is to be found in the literature of the world upon -the function of woman as inspiration, stimulant and <i>agente -provocateuse</i> to the creative artist. The subject is a favorite one -with sentimentalists, most of whom are quite beyond anything properly -describable as inspiration, either with or without feminine aid. I -incline to think, as I hint, that there is little if any basis of fact -beneath the theory. Women not only do not inspire creative artists to -high endeavor; they actually stand firmly against every high endeavor -that a creative artist initiates spontaneously. What a man's women -folks almost invariable ask of him is that he be respectable—that he -do something generally approved—that he avoid yielding to his aberrant -fancies—in brief, that he sedulously eschew showing any sign of -genuine genius. Their interest is not primarily in the self-expression -of the individual, but in the well-being of the family organization, -which means the safety of themselves. No sane woman would want to be -the wife of such a man, say, as Nietzsche or Chopin. His mistress -perhaps, yes—for a mistress can always move on when the weather gets -too warm. But not a wife. I here speak by the book. Both Nietzsche and -Chopin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> had plenty of mistresses, but neither was ever able to get a -wife.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare and Ann Hathaway, Wagner and Minna Planer, Molière and -Armande Béjart—one might multiply instances almost endlessly. Minna, -at least in theory, knew something of music; she was thus what romance -regards as an ideal wife for Wagner. But instead of helping him to -manufacture his incomparable masterpieces, she was for twenty-five -years the chief impediment to their manufacture. "Lohengrin" gave her -the horrors; she begged Richard to give up his lunacies and return -to the composition of respectable cornet music. In the end he had to -get rid of her in sheer self-defense. Once free, with nothing worse -on his hands than the illicit affection of Cosima Liszt von Bülow, -he produced music drama after music drama in rapid succession. Then, -married to Cosima, he descended to the anticlimax of "Parsifal," a -truly tragic mixture of the stupendous and the banal, of work of genius -and <i>sinfonia domestica</i>—a great man dying by inches, smothered by the -smoke of French fried potatoes, deafened by the wailing of children, -murdered in his own house by the holiest of passions.</p> - -<p>Sentimentalists always bring up the case of Schumann and his Clara -in rebuttal. But does it actually rebut? I doubt it. Clara, too, -perpetrated her <i>attentat</i> against art. Her fair white arms, lifting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> -from the keyboard to encircle Robert's neck, squeezed more out of -him than mere fatuous smirks. He had the best head on him that music -had seen since Beethoven's day; he was, on the cerebral side, a -colossus; he might have written music of the very first order. Well, -what he <i>did</i> write was piano music—some of it imperfectly arranged -for orchestra. The sad eyes of Clara were always upon him. He kept -within the limits of her intelligence, her prejudices, her wifely -love. No grand experiments with the orchestra. No superb leapings and -cavortings. No rubbing of sand-paper over critical ears. Robert lived -and died a respectable musical <i>Hausvater.</i> He was a man of genuine -genius—but he didn't leave ten lines that might not have been passed -by old Prof. Jadassohn.</p> - -<p>The truth is that, no matter how great the domestic concord and how -lavish the sacrifices a man makes for his women-folk, they almost -always regard him secretly as a silly and selfish fellow, and cherish -the theory that it would be easily possible to improve him. This -is because the essential interests of men and women are eternally -antithetical. A man may yield over and over again, but in the long run -he must occasionally look out for himself—and it is these occasions -that his women-folk remember. The typical domestic situation shows -a woman trying to induce a man to do something that he doesn't want -to do, or to refrain from something that he does want<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> to do. This -is true in his bachelor days, when his mother or his sister is his -antagonist. It is preëminently true just before his marriage, when -the girl who has marked him down is hard at the colossal job of -overcoming his reluctance. And after marriage it is so true that there -is hardly need to state it. One of the things every man discovers to -his disquiet is that his wife, after the first play-acting is over, -regards him essentially as his mother used to regard him—that is, as -a self-worshiper who needs to be policed and an idiot who needs to -be protected. The notion that women <i>admire</i> their men-folks is pure -moonshine. The most they ever achieve in that direction is to pity -them. When a woman genuinely loves a man it is a sign that she regards -him much as a healthy man regards a one-armed and epileptic soldier.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>5</h4> - - -<h4><i>Martyrs</i></h4> - - -<p>Nearly the whole case of the birth-controllers who now roar in -Christendom is grounded upon the doctrine that it is an intolerable -outrage for a woman to have to submit to motherhood when her private -fancies may rather incline to automobiling, shopping or going to the -movies. For this curse the husband is blamed; the whole crime is laid -to his swinish lasciviousness. With the highest respect, nonsense! My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> -private suspicion, supported by long observation, copious prayer and -the most laborious cogitation, is that no woman delights in motherhood -so vastly as this woman who theoretically abhors it. She experiences, -in fact, a double delight. On the one hand, there is the caressing -of her vanity—a thing enjoyed by every woman when she achieves the -banality of viable offspring. And on the other hand, there is the fine -chance it gives her to play the martyr—a chance that every woman -seeks as diligently as a man seeks ease. All these so-called unwilling -mothers wallow in their martyrdom. They revel in the opportunity to be -pitied, made much over and envied by other women.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>6</h4> - - -<h4><i>The Burnt Child</i></h4> - - -<p>The fundamental trouble with marriage is that it shakes a man's -confidence in himself, and so greatly diminishes his general competence -and effectiveness. His habit of mind becomes that of a commander who -has lost a decisive and calamitous battle. He never quite trusts -himself thereafter.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>7</h4> - - -<p><i>The Supreme Comedy</i> Marriage, at Best, is full of a sour and -inescapable comedy, but it never reaches the highest peaks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> the -ludicrous save when efforts are made to escape its terms—that is, when -efforts are made to loosen its bonds, and so ameliorate and denaturize -it. All projects to reform it by converting it into a free union of -free individuals are inherently absurd. The thing is, at bottom, the -most rigid of existing conventionalities, and the only way to conceal -the fact and so make it bearable is to submit to it docilely. The -effect of every revolt is merely to make the bonds galling, and, what -is worse, poignantly obvious. Who are happy in marriage? Those with so -little imagination that they cannot picture a better state, and those -so shrewd that they prefer quiet slavery to hopeless rebellion.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>8</h4> - - -<h4><i>A Hidden Cause</i></h4> - - -<p>Many a woman, in order to bring the man of her choice to the altar of -God, has to fight him with such relentless vigilance and ferocity that -she comes to hate him. This, perhaps, explains the unhappiness of many -marriages. In particular, it explains the unhappiness of many marriages -based upon what is called "love."</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h4>9</h4> - - -<h4><i>Bad Workmanship</i></h4> - - -<p>The essential slackness and incompetence of women, their congenital -incapacity for small expertness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> already descanted upon at length in -my psychological work, "In Defense of Women," is never more plainly -revealed than in their manhandling of the primary business of their -sex. If the average woman were as competent at her trade of getting a -husband as the average car conductor is at his trade of robbing the -fare-box, then a bachelor beyond the age of twenty-five would be so -rare in the world that yokels would pay ten cents to gape at him. But -women, in this fundamental industry, pursue a faulty technique and -permit themselves to be led astray by unsound principles. The axioms -into which they have precipitated their wisdom are nearly all untrue. -For example, the axiom that the way to capture a man is through his -stomach—which is to say, by feeding him lavishly. Nothing could be -more absurd. The average man, at least in England and America, has such -rudimentary tastes in victualry that he doesn't know good food from -bad. He will eat anything set before him by a cook that he likes. The -true way to fetch him is with drinks. A single bottle of drinkable wine -will fill more men with the passion of love than ten sides of beef or -a ton of potatoes. Even a <i>Seidel</i> of beer, deftly applied, is enough -to mellow the hardest bachelor. If women really knew their business, -they would have abandoned cooking centuries ago, and devoted themselves -to brewing, distilling and bartending. It is a rare man who will walk -five blocks for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> first-rate meal. But it is equally a rare man who, -even in the old days of freedom, would <i>not</i> walk five blocks for a -first-rate cocktail. To-day he would walk five miles.</p> - -<p>Another unsound feminine axiom is the one to the effect that the way -to capture a man is to be distant—to throw all the burden of the -courtship upon him. This is precisely the way to lose him. A man face -to face with a girl who seems reserved and unapproachable is not -inspired thereby to drag her off in the manner of a caveman; on the -contrary, he is inspired to thank God that here, at last, is a girl -with whom it is possible to have friendly doings without getting into -trouble—that here is one not likely to grow mushy and make a mess. The -average man does not marry because some marble fair one challenges his -enterprise. He marries because chance throws into his way a fair one -who repels him less actively than most, and because his delight in what -he thus calls her charm is reënforced by a growing suspicion that she -has fallen in love with him. In brief, it is chivalry that undoes him. -The girl who infallibly gets a husband—in fact, <i>any</i> husband that she -wants—is the one who tracks him boldly, fastens him with sad eyes, and -then, when his conscience has begun to torture him, throws her arms -around his neck, bursts into maidenly tears on his shoulder, and tells -him that she fears her forwardness will destroy his respect for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> her. -It is only a colossus who can resist such strategy. But it takes only a -man of the intellectual grade of a Y. M. C. A. secretary to elude the -girl who is afraid to take the offensive.</p> - -<p>A third bogus axiom I have already discussed, to wit, the axiom that a -man is repelled by palpable cosmetics—that the wise girl is the one -who effectively conceals her sophistication of her complexion. What -could be more untrue? The fact is that very few men are competent to -distinguish between a layer of talc and the authentic epidermis, and -that the few who have the gift are quite free from any notion that the -latter is superior to the former. What a man seeks when he enters the -society of women is something pleasing to the eye. That is all he asks. -He does not waste any time upon a chemical or spectroscopic examination -of the object observed; he simply determines whether it is beautiful or -not beautiful. Has it so long escaped women that their husbands, when -led astray, are usually led astray by women so vastly besmeared with -cosmetics that they resemble barber-poles more than human beings? Are -they yet blind to the superior pull of a French maid, a chorus girl, -a stenographer begauded like a painter's palette? ... And still they -go on rubbing off their varnish, brushing the lampblack from their -eyelashes, seeking eternally the lip-stick that is so depressingly -purple that it will deceive! Alas, what folly!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="caption"><a id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</p> - - -<p> -Abbott, Lawrence, <a href="#Page_106">106</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Abbott, Lyman, <a href="#Page_58">58</a><br /><br /> -Akins, Zoë, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -Alcott, A. B., <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -Allen, James Lane, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -<i>Also sprach Zarathustra,</i> <a href="#Page_111">111</a><br /> -<i>American Painting and Its Tradition,</i> <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> -<i>American Scholar, The,</i> <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a><br /> -Amherst College, <a href="#Page_48">48</a><br /> -Anderson, Sherwood, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -Archer, William, <a href="#Page_190">190</a><br /> -<i>Aspects of Death and Correlated Aspects of Life,</i> <a href="#Page_185">185</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -<i>Atlantic Monthly,</i> <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -<i>Authors' League Bulletin,</i> <a href="#Page_36">36</a><br /> -<br /> -Babbitt, Irving, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a><br /> -<i>Backward Glance Along My Own Road, A,</i> <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br /> -<i>Backwash of War, The,</i> <a href="#Page_193">193</a><br /> -Baker, George P., <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -Bancroft, George, <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br /> -Barton, Wm. E., <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br /> -Baudelaire, Charles, <a href="#Page_61">61</a><br /> -Beach, Rex, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a><br /> -Beethoven, Ludwig, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br /> -Bennett, Arnold, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -Benson, E. F., <a href="#Page_38">38</a><br /> -Bierce, Ambrose, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a><br /> -Billroth, Theodor, <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br /> -Blasco, Ibáñez, V., <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -<i>Blue Hotel, The,</i> <a href="#Page_42">42</a><br /> -Böhme, Jakob, <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> -Bonaparte, Charles J., <a href="#Page_126">126</a><br /> -<i>Bookman,</i> <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -Boynton, P. H., <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br /> -Brady, Cyrus Townsend, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Brahms, Johannes, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a><br /> -Brainard, J. G. C, <a href="#Page_14">14</a><br /> -Bright, John, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> -Bronson-Howard, George, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Brooks, Van Wyck, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Brown, Alice, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br /> -Browne, Porter Emerson, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Brownell, W. C, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> -Bruce, Philip Alexander, <a href="#Page_147">147</a><br /> -Bryant, Wm. Cullen, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -Burroughs, John, <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br /> -Burton, Richard, <a href="#Page_21">21</a><br /> -Butler, Fanny Kemble, <a href="#Page_147">147</a><br /> -Bynner, Witter, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -<br /> -Cabell, James Branch, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a><br /> -Cahan, Abraham, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -Caine, Hall, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a><br /> -Candler, Asa G., <a href="#Page_152">152</a><br /> -Carlyle, Thomas, <a href="#Page_58">58</a><br /> -Carnegie, Andrew, <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br /> -Carrel, Alexis, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a><br /> -Cather, Willa Sibert, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -Chambers, Robert W., <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -Channing, Wm. Ellery, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> -Chesterton, G. K., <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br /> -Churchill, Winston, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Clemens, S. L., <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a><br /> -Cobb, Irvin, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Cobden, Richard, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> -Comfort, Will Levington, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Comstockery, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> -<i>Confessions of an Actress, The,</i> <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> -Conrad, Joseph, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a><br /> -Coogler, J. Gordon, <a href="#Page_136">136</a><br /> -Cooper, J. Fenimore, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br /> -Corelli, Marie,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -<i>Cosmopolitan,</i> <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Crane, Frank, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a><br /> -Crane, Stephen, <a href="#Page_42">42</a><br /> -Crile, George W., <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a><br /> -Crothers, Samuel MCC, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a><br /> -<br /> -D'Annunzio, Gabriel, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Dawson, Coningsby, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Davis, Richard Harding, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> -Debussy, Claude, <a href="#Page_201">201</a><br /> -Deland, Margaret, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -<i>Democratic Vistas,</i> <a href="#Page_10">10</a><br /> -Dickens, Charles, <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br /> -<i>Die Meistersinger,</i> <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br /> -<i>Dissertations on the English Language,</i> <a href="#Page_12">12</a><br /> -Doyle, A. Conan, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Dreiser Protest, <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br /> -Dreiser, Theodore, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, -<a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, -<a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -<br /> -Eliot, T. S., <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> -Ellis, Havelock, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> -Emerson, Ralph Waldo, <a href="#Page_9">9</a> <i>et seq.,</i> <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -<i>Ethan Frome,</i> <a href="#Page_42">42</a><br /> -Evans, Caradoc, <a href="#Page_146">146</a><br /> -<br /> -Fernald, Chester Bailey, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Flexner, Simon, <a href="#Page_48">48</a><br /> -Frank, Waldo, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -Freneau, Philip, <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br /> -Freytag-Loringhoven, Elsa von, <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br /> -Fuller, Henry B., <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a><br /> -<br /> -Gale, Zona, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Garland, Hamlin, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Geddes, Auckland, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -<i>"Genius;" The,</i> <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br /> -Georgia, <a href="#Page_141">141</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Gilman, Daniel Coit, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br /> -Glasgow, Ellen, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -Glass, Montague, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Glyn, Elinor, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -<i>Good Girl, A.,</i> <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -Gorky, Maxim, <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br /> -Gosse, Edmund, <a href="#Page_190">190</a><br /> -Grant, Robert, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br /> -Graves, John Temple, <a href="#Page_145">145</a><br /> -Greenwich Village, <a href="#Page_25">25</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Griswold, Rufus W., <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br /> -Grote, George, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> -<br /> -Hadley, Herbert K., <a href="#Page_206">206</a><br /> -Hamilton, Clayton, <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br /> -Harris, Corra, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Harris, Frank, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -Harrison, Henry Sydnor, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Harte, Bret, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br /> -Haweis, H. R., <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br /> -Hawthorne, Hildegarde, <a href="#Page_58">58</a><br /> -Hawthorne, Julian, <a href="#Page_58">58</a><br /> -Hawthorne, Nathaniel, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br /> -Hay, Ian, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Haydn, Josef, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a><br /> -<i>Heart of Darkness,</i> <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> -<i>Hearst's,</i> <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Hecht, Ben, <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br /> -<i>Hedda Gabier,</i><a href="#Page_190">190</a><br /> -Henry, O., <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> -Hergesheimer, Joseph, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> -Hillis, Newell Dwight, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Holmes, Oliver Wendell, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -Hooker, Brian, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -<br />Hopper, James, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Hough, Emerson, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Howe, E. W., <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Howells, Wm. Dean, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -Hubbard, Elbert, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Huneker, James, <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br /> -<br /> -<i>Impressions of Theodore Roosevelt,</i> <a href="#Page_106">106</a><br /> -<i>In Defense of Women,</i> <a href="#Page_246">246</a><br /> -<i>Industrial History of Virginia in -the Seventeenth Century,</i> <a href="#Page_147">147</a><br /> -Irving, Henry, <a href="#Page_209">209</a><br /> -Irving, Washington, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a><br /> -Iveagh, Lord, <a href="#Page_66">66</a><br /> -<br /> -James, Henry, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br /> -<br /> -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse,</i> <a href="#Page_111">111</a><br /> -Johns Hopkins University, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a><br /> -Johnson, Owen, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Johnson, Robert U., <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -Johnston, Mary, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -<br /> -Kellner, Leon, <a href="#Page_53">53</a><br /> -Kilmer, Joyce, <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -Kipling, Rudyard, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Knapp, Samuel Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> -<br /> -La Motte, Ellen, <a href="#Page_193">193</a><br /> -Lardner, Ring W., <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -<i>Last of the Mohicans, The,</i> <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br /> -<i>Lay Anthony, The,</i><a href="#Page_42">42</a><br /> -<i>Leaves of Grass,</i><a href="#Page_65">65</a><br /> -<i>Lectures on American Literature,</i> <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> -Lee, Gerald Stanley, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Le Quex, William, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -<i>Letters and Leadership,</i> <a href="#Page_12">12</a><br /> -Lincoln, Abraham, <a href="#Page_103">103</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Lindsay, Vachel, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br /> -<i>Little Review,</i> <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br /> -Loeb, Jacques, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a><br /> -London, Jack, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Longfellow, H. W., <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -Lowell, Amy, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br /> -Lowell, James Russell, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -Loveman, Robert, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a><br /> -<br /> -Mabie, Hamilton Wright, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a><br /> -McClure, John, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a><br /> -<i>McClure's,</i> <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -MacGrath, Harold, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Maeterlinck, Maurice, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Mallarmé, Stephen, <a href="#Page_61">61</a><br /> -<i>Man: An Adaptive Mechanism,</i> <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a><br /> -Mansfield, Richard, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a><br /> -Marden, Orison Swett, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Markham, Edwin, <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -Martin, E. S., <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Mason, Walt, <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -Matthews, Brander, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> -<i>Mechanistic View of War and Peace, A,</i> <a href="#Page_191">191</a><br /> -Merrill, Stuart, <a href="#Page_46">46</a><br /> -<i>Metropolitan,</i> <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Mitchell, Donald G., <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Moore, George, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -More, Paul Elmer, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a><br /> -Morris, Gouverneur, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> -<i>My Antonia,</i> <a href="#Page_42">42</a><br /> -<i>My Book and I,</i> <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br /> -<i>My Neighbors,</i> <a href="#Page_147">147</a><br /> -<i>Mysterious Stranger, The,</i> <a href="#Page_53">53</a><br /> -<br /> -<i>Nation,</i> <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a><br /> -Nietzsche, F. W., <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a><br /> -<i>Night Life in Chicago,</i> <a href="#Page_224">224</a><br /> -Nordfeldt, Bror, <a href="#Page_206">206</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Norris, Charles G., <a href="#Page_55">55</a><br /> -Norris, Frank, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a><br /> -Norris, Kathleen, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -Northcliffe, Lord, <a href="#Page_66">66</a><br /> -Noyes, Alfred, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a><br /> -<br /> -O'Brien, Edward J., <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> -O'Neill, Eugene, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -Oppenheim, E. Phillips, <a href="#Page_35">35</a><br /> -Oppenheim, James, <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -O'Sullivan, Vincent, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -<br /> -Parmelee, Maurice, <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> -<i>Parsifal,</i> <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br /> -Perry, Bliss, <a href="#Page_21">21</a><br /> -<i>Personality and Conduct,</i> <a href="#Page_216">216</a><br /> -Phelps, Wm. Lyon, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Phillips, David Graham, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Poe, Edgar Allan, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a> <i>et seq.,</i> -<a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a> <i>et seq.,</i> <a href="#Page_162">162</a><br /> -<i>Poetic Principle, The,</i> <a href="#Page_61">61</a><br /> -<i>Poetry: a Magazine of Verse,</i> <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a><br /> -Porter, Eleanor H., <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Pound, Ezra, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> -Prescott, W. H., <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a><br /> -Puritanism, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -<br /> -Ransome, Arthur,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -Rathenau, Walther von, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> -Reading, Lord, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br /> -Reese, Lizette Woodworth, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -Repplier, Agnes, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -Ricardo, David, <a href="#Page_75">75</a><br /> -<i>Ride of the Valkyrie, The,</i> <a href="#Page_198">198</a><br /> -Rideout, Henry Milner, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Riley, James Whitcomb, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Rinehart, Mary Roberts, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Rockefeller, John D., <a href="#Page_74">74</a><br /> -Rolland, Romain, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br /> -Roosevelt, Theodore, <a href="#Page_102">102</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Rossetti, Christina, <a href="#Page_180">180</a><br /> -<br /> -Saintsbury, George, <a href="#Page_60">60</a><br /> -Sandburg, Carl, <a href="#Page_52">52</a><br /> -Sargent, John, <a href="#Page_207">207</a><br /> -<i>Saturday Evening Post,</i> <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Scheffauer, Herman George, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> -Schubert, Franz, <a href="#Page_200">200</a><br /> -Schumann, Robert, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> -Shakespeare, Wm, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br /> -Shaw, George Bernard, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a><br /> -<i>Shelburne Essays,</i> <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Sherman, S. P., <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Sisson documents, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a><br /> -Spingarn, J. E., <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br /> -Stanton, Frank L., <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a><br /> -Stearns, Harold, <a href="#Page_100">100</a><br /> -<i>Sterbelied, Das,</i> <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> -Sterling, George, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -Stratton-Porter, Gene, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Strauss, Johann, <a href="#Page_205">205</a><br /> -Strauss, Richard, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a><br /> -Strawinsky, Igor, <a href="#Page_201">201</a><br /> -Sudermann, Hermann, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a><br /> -Sumner, William Graham, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br /> -Sunday, Billy, <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br /> -<br /> -Tarkington, Booth, <a href="#Page_33">33</a><br /> -Teasdale, Sara, <a href="#Page_30">30</a><br /> -<i>Tendencies in Modern American Poetry,</i> <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /> -Thayer, William Roscoe, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a> <i>et seq.</i><br /> -<i>Theodore Roosevelt,</i> <a href="#Page_106">106</a><br /> -Thomas, Augustus, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -Thoreau, Henry David, <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br /> -<i>Times Book Review,</i> New York, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a><br /> -Townsend, E. 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P., <a href="#Page_60">60</a><br /> -Wilson, Harry Leon, <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -Wilson, Woodrow, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a> <i>et seq.,</i> <a href="#Page_145">145</a><br /> -Wister, Owen, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -Woodberry, George, E., <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br /> -Wright, Harold Bell, <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br /> -<br /> -Zangwill, Israel, <a href="#Page_93">93</a> -</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PREJUDICES, SECOND SERIES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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L. Mencken - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Prejudices, Second Series - -Author: H. L. Mencken - -Release Date: November 7, 2016 [EBook #53467] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PREJUDICES, SECOND SERIES *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...) -Images generously made available by the Internet Archive. - - - - - -PREJUDICES - -SECOND SERIES - -By H. L. MENCKEN - - - -JONATHAN CAPE - -11 GOWER STREET - -LONDON - -1921 - - - - - CONTENTS - - I THE NATIONAL LETTERS, 9 - - 1. Prophets and Their Visions, 9 - 2. The Answering Fact, 14 - 3. The Ashes of New England, 18 - 4. The Ferment Underground, 25 - 5. In the Literary Abattoir, 32 - 6. Underlying Causes, 39 - 7. The Lonesome Artist, 54 - 8. The Cultural Background, 65 - 9. Under the Campus Pump, 78 - 10. The Intolerable Burden, 87 - 11. Epilogue, 98 - - II ROOSEVELT: AN AUTOPSY, 102 - - III THE SAHARA OF THE BOZART, 136 - - IV THE DIVINE AFFLATUS, 155 - - V SCIENTIFIC EXAMINATION OF A POPULAR VIRTUE, 172 - - VI EXEUNT OMNES, 180 - - VII THE ALLIED ARTS, 194 - - 1. On Music-Lovers, 194 - 2. Opera, 197 - 3. The Music of To-morrow, 201 - 4. Tempo di Valse, 204 - 5. The Puritan as Artist, 206 - 6. The Human Face, 206 - 7. The Cerebral Mime, 208 - - VIII THE CULT OF HOPE, 211 - - IX THE DRY MILLENNIUM, 219 - - 1. The Holy War, 219 - 2. The Lure of Babylon, 222 - 3. Cupid and Well-Water, 225 - 4. The Triumph of Idealism, 226 - - X APPENDIX ON A TENDER THEME, 229 - - 1. The Nature of Love, 229 - 2. The Incomparable Buzzsaw, 236 - 3. Women as Spectacles, 238 - 4. Woman and the Artist, 240 - 5. Martyrs, 243 - 6. The Burnt Child, 244 - 7. The Supreme Comedy, 244 - 8. A Hidden Cause, 245 - 9. Bad Workmanship, 245 - - - - -PREJUDICES: SECOND SERIES - - - - -I. THE NATIONAL LETTERS - - - - -1 - - -_Prophets and Their Visions_ - - -It is convenient to begin, like the gentlemen of God, with a glance at -a text or two. The first, a short one, is from Ralph Waldo Emerson's -celebrated oration, "The American Scholar," delivered before the Phi -Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge on August 31st, 1837. Emerson was then -thirty-four years old and almost unknown in his own country:, though -he had already published "Nature" and established his first contacts -with Landor and Carlyle. But "The American Scholar" brought him into -instant notice at home, partly as man of letters but more importantly -as seer and prophet, and the fame thus founded has endured without much -diminution, at all events in New England, to this day. Oliver Wendell -Holmes, giving words to what was undoubtedly the common feeling, -hailed the address as the intellectual declaration of independence of -the American people, and that judgment, amiably passed on by three -generations of pedagogues, still survives in the literature books. I -quote from the first paragraph: - - Our day of dependence, our long apprenticeship to the - learning of other lands, draws to a close.... Events, - actions arise, that must be sung, that will sing themselves. - Who can doubt that poetry will revive and lead in a new age, - as the star in the constellation Harp, which now flames - in our zenith, astronomers announce, shall one day be the - pole-star for a thousand years? - -This, as I say, was in 1837. Thirty-three years later, in 1870, Walt -Whitman echoed the prophecy in his even more famous "Democratic -Vistas." What he saw in his vision and put into his gnarled and gasping -prose was - - a class of native authors, literatuses, far different, far - higher in grade, than any yet known, sacerdotal, modern, - fit to cope with our occasions, lands, permeating the whole - mass of American morality, taste, belief, breathing into - it a new breath of life, giving it decision, affecting - politics far more than the popular superficial suffrage, - with results inside and underneath the elections of - Presidents or Congress--radiating, begetting appropriate - teachers, schools, manners, and, as its grandest result, - accomplishing, (what neither the schools nor the churches - and their clergy have hitherto accomplished, and without - which this nation will no more stand, permanently, soundly, - than a house will stand without a substratum,) a religious - and moral character beneath the political and productive and - intellectual bases of the States. - -And out of the vision straightway came the prognostication: - - The promulgation and belief in such a class or order--a - new and greater literatus order--its possibility, (nay, - certainty,) underlies these entire speculations.... Above - all previous lands, a great original literature is sure to - become the justification and reliance, (in some respects the - sole reliance,) of American democracy. - -Thus Whitman in 1870, the time of the first draft of "Democratic -Vistas." He was of the same mind, and said so, in 1888, four years -before his death. I could bring up texts of like tenor in great number, -from the years before 1837, from those after 1888, and from every -decade between. The dream of Emerson, though the eloquence of its -statement was new and arresting, embodied no novel projection of the -fancy; it merely gave a sonorous _Wald-horn_ tone to what had been -dreamed and said before. You will find almost the same high hope, the -same exuberant confidence in the essays of the elder Channing and -in the "Lectures on American Literature" of Samuel Lorenzo Knapp, -LL.D., the first native critic of beautiful letters--the primordial -tadpole of all our later Mores, Brownells, Phelpses, Mabies, Brander -Matthewses and other such grave and glittering fish. Knapp believed, -like Whitman long after him, that the sheer physical grandeur of the -New World would inflame a race of bards to unprecedented utterance. -"What are the Tibers and Scamanders," he demanded, "measured by the -Missouri and the Amazon? Or what the loveliness of Illysus or Avon by -the Connecticut or the Potomack? Whenever a nation wills it, prodigies -are born." That is to say, prodigies literary and ineffable as well as -purely material--prodigies aimed, in his own words, at "the olympick -crown" as well as at mere railroads, ships, wheatfields, droves of -hogs, factories and money. Nor were Channing and Knapp the first of -the haruspices. Noah Webster, the lexicographer, who "taught millions -to spell but not one to sin," had seen the early starlight of the same -Golden Age so early as 1789, as the curious will find by examining -his "Dissertations on the English Language," a work fallen long since -into undeserved oblivion. Nor was Whitman, taking sober second thought -exactly a century later, the last of them. Out of many brethren of our -own day, extravagantly articulate in print and among the chautauquas, -I choose one--not because his hope is of purest water, but precisely -because, like Emerson, he dilutes it with various discreet where-ases. -He is Van Wyck Brooks, a young man far more intelligent, penetrating -and hospitable to fact than any of the reigning professors--a critic -who is sharply differentiated from them, indeed, by the simple -circumstance that he has information and sense. Yet this extraordinary -Mr. Brooks, in his "Letters and Leadership," published in 1918, -rewrites "The American Scholar" in terms borrowed almost bodily -from "Democratic Vistas"--that is to say, he prophesies with Emerson -and exults with Whitman. First there is the Emersonian doctrine of -the soaring individual made articulate by freedom and realizing "the -responsibility that lies upon us, each in the measure of his own gift." -And then there is Whitman's vision of a self-interpretative democracy, -forced into high literary adventures by Joseph Conrad's "obscure inner -necessity," and so achieving a "new synthesis adaptable to the unique -conditions of our life." And finally there is the specific prediction, -the grandiose, Adam Forepaugh mirage: "We shall become a luminous -people, dwelling in the light and sharing our light." ... - -As I say, the roll of such soothsayers might be almost endlessly -lengthened. There is, in truth, scarcely a formal discourse upon the -national letters (forgetting, perhaps, Barrett Wendell's sour threnody -upon the New England _Aufklärung)_ that is without some touch of this -previsional exultation, this confident hymning of glories to come, -this fine assurance that American literature, in some future always -ready to dawn, will burst into so grand a flowering that history will -cherish its loveliest blooms even above such salient American gifts to -culture as the moving-picture, the phonograph, the New Thought and the -bi-chloride tablet. If there was ever a dissenter from the national -optimism, in this as in other departments, it was surely Edgar Allan -Poe--without question the bravest and most original, if perhaps also -the least orderly and judicious, of all the critics that we have -produced. And yet even Poe, despite his general habit of disgust and -dismay, caught a flash or two of that engaging picture--even Poe, for -an instant, in 1846, thought that he saw the beginnings of a solid -and autonomous native literature, its roots deep in the soil of the -republic--as you will discover by turning to his forgotten essay on J. -G. C. Brainard, a thrice-forgotten doggereleer of Jackson's time. Poe, -of course, was too cautious to let his imagination proceed to details; -one feels that a certain doubt, a saving peradventure or two, played -about the unaccustomed vision as he beheld it. But, nevertheless, he -unquestionably beheld it.... - - - - -2 - - -_The Answering Fact_ - - -Now for the answering fact. How has the issue replied to these -visionaries? It has replied in a way that is manifestly to the -discomfiture of Emerson as a prophet, to the dismay of Poe as a -pessimist disarmed by transient optimism, and to the utter collapse -of Whitman. We have, as every one knows, produced no such "new and -greater literatus order" as that announced by old Walt. We have given -a gaping world no books that "radiate," and surely none intelligibly -comparable to stars and constellations. We have achieved no prodigies -of the first class, and very few of the second class, and not many of -the third and fourth classes. Our literature, despite several false -starts that promised much, is chiefly remarkable, now as always, for -its respectable mediocrity. Its typical great man, in our own time, has -been Howells, as its typical great man a generation ago was Lowell, -and two generations ago, Irving. Viewed largely, its salient character -appears as a sort of timorous flaccidity, an amiable hollowness. -In bulk it grows more and more formidable, in ease and decorum it -makes undoubted progress, and on the side of mere technic, of the -bald capacity to write, it shows an ever-widening competence. But -when one proceeds from such agencies and externals to the intrinsic -substance, to the creative passion within, that substance quickly -reveals itself as thin and watery, and that passion fades to something -almost puerile. In all that mass of suave and often highly diverting -writing there is no visible movement toward a distinguished and -singular excellence, a signal national quality, a ripe and stimulating -flavor, or, indeed, toward any other describable goal. _What_ one -sees is simply a general irresolution, a pervasive superficiality. -There is no sober grappling with fundamentals, but only a shy sporting -on the surface; there is not even any serious approach, such as -Whitman dreamed of, to the special experiences and emergencies of the -American people. When one turns to any other national literature--to -Russian literature, say, or French, or German or Scandinavian--one -is conscious immediately of a definite attitude toward the primary -mysteries of existence, the unsolved and ever-fascinating problems -at the bottom of human life, and of a definite preoccupation with -some of them, and a definite way of translating their challenge into -drama. These attitudes and preoccupations raise a literature above -mere poetizing and tale-telling; they give it dignity and importance; -above all, they give it national character. But it is precisely here -that the literature of America, and especially the later literature, -is most colorless and inconsequential. As if paralyzed by the national -fear of ideas, the democratic distrust of whatever strikes beneath -the prevailing platitudes, it evades all resolute and honest dealing -with what, after all, must be every healthy literature's elementary -materials. One is conscious of no brave and noble earnestness in it, of -no generalized passion for intellectual and spiritual adventure, of no -organized determination to think things out. What is there is a highly -self-conscious and insipid correctness, a bloodless respectability, a -submergence of matter in manner--in brief, what is there is the feeble, -uninspiring quality of German painting and English music. - -It was so in the great days and it is so to-day. There has always -been hope and there has always been failure. Even the most optimistic -prophets of future glories have been united, at all times, in their -discontent with the here and now. "The mind of this country," said -Emerson, speaking of what was currently visible in 1837, "is taught -to aim at low objects.... There is no work for any but the decorous -and the complaisant.... Books are written ... by men of talent ... who -start wrong, who set out from accepted dogmas, not from their own sight -of principles." And then, turning to the way out: "The office of the -scholar (_i.e.,_ of Whitman's 'literatus') is to cheer, to raise and to -guide men by showing them _facts amid appearances._" Whitman himself, -a full generation later, found that office still unfilled. "Our -fundamental want to-day in the United States," he said, "with closest, -amplest reference to present conditions, and to the future, is of a -class, and the clear idea of a class, of native authors, literatuses, -far different, far higher in grade, than any yet known"--and so on, as -I have already quoted him. And finally, to make an end of the prophets, -there is Brooks, with nine-tenths of his book given over, not to his -prophecy--it is crowded, indeed, into the last few pages--but to a -somewhat heavy mourning over the actual scene before him. On the side -of letters, the æsthetic side, the side of ideas, we present to the -world at large, he says, "the spectacle of a vast, undifferentiated -herd of good-humored animals"--Knights of Pythias, Presbyterians, -standard model Ph.D.'s, readers of the _Saturday Evening Post,_ -admirers of Richard Harding Davis and O. Henry, devotees of Hamilton -Wright Mabie's "white list" of books, members of the Y. M. C. A. or the -Drama League, weepers at chautauquas, wearers of badges, 100 per cent, -patriots, children of God. Poe I pass over; I shall turn to him again -later on. Nor shall I repeat the parrotings of Emerson and Whitman in -the jeremiads of their innumerable heirs and assigns. What they all -establish is what is already obvious: that American thinking, when -it concerns itself with beautiful letters as when it concerns itself -with religious dogma or political theory, is extraordinarily timid and -superficial--that it evades the genuinely serious problems of life and -art as if they were stringently taboo--that the outward virtues it -undoubtedly shows are always the virtues, not of profundity, not of -courage, not of originality, but merely those of an emasculated and -often very trashy dilettantism. - - - - -3 - - -_The Ashes of New England_ - - -The current scene is surely depressing enough. What one observes -is a literature in three layers, and each inordinately doughy and -uninspiring--each almost without flavor or savor. It is hard to say, -with much critical plausibility, which layer deserves to be called -the upper, but for decorum's sake the choice may be fixed upon that -which meets with the approval of the reigning Lessings. This is the -layer of the novels of the late Howells, Judge Grant, Alice Brown and -the rest of the dwindling survivors of New England _Kultur,_ of the -brittle, academic poetry of Woodberry and the elder Johnson, of the -tea-party essays of Crothers, Miss Repplier and company, and of the -solemn, highly judicial, coroner's inquest criticism of More, Brownell, -Babbitt and their imitators. Here we have manner, undoubtedly. The -thing is correctly done; it is never crude or gross; there is in -it a faint perfume of college-town society. But when this highly -refined and attenuated manner is allowed for what remains is next to -nothing. One never remembers a character in the novels of these aloof -and de-Americanized Americans; one never encounters an idea in their -essays; one never carries away a line out of their poetry. It is -literature as an academic exercise for talented grammarians, almost as -a genteel recreation for ladies and gentlemen of fashion--the exact -equivalent, in the field of letters, of eighteenth century painting and -German _Augenmusik._ - -What ails it, intrinsically, is a dearth of intellectual audacity and -of æsthetic passion. Running through it, and characterizing the work -of almost every man and woman producing it, there is an unescapable -suggestion of the old Puritan suspicion of the fine arts as such--of -the doctrine that they offer fit asylum for good citizens only when -some ulterior and superior purpose is carried into them. This purpose, -naturally enough, most commonly shows a moral tinge. The aim of poetry, -it appears, is to fill the mind with lofty thoughts--not to give it -joy, but to give it a grand and somewhat gaudy sense of virtue. The -essay is a weapon against the degenerate tendencies of the age. The -novel, properly conceived, is a means of uplifting the spirit; its aim -is to inspire, not merely to satisfy the low curiosity of man in man. -The Puritan, of course, is not entirely devoid of æsthetic feeling. He -has a taste for good form; he responds to style; he is even capable -of something approaching a purely æsthetic emotion. But he fears this -æsthetic emotion as an insinuating distraction from his chief business -in life: the sober consideration of the all-important problem of -conduct. Art is a temptation, a seduction, a Lorelei, and the Good -Man may safely have traffic with it only when it is broken to moral -uses--in other words, when its innocence is pumped out of it, and it -is purged of gusto. It is precisely this gusto that one misses in all -the work of the New England school, and in all the work of the formal -schools that derive from it. One observes in such a fellow as Dr. Henry -Van Dyke an excellent specimen of the whole clan. He is, in his way, -a genuine artist. He has a hand for pretty verses. He wields a facile -rhetoric. He shows, in indiscreet moments, a touch of imagination. -But all the while he remains a sound Presbyterian, with one eye on -the devil. He is a Presbyterian first and an artist second, which is -just as comfortable as trying to be a Presbyterian first and a chorus -girl second. To such a man it must inevitably appear that a Molière, a -Wagner, a Goethe or a Shakespeare was more than a little bawdy. - -The criticism that supports this decaying caste of literary Brahmins -is grounded almost entirely upon ethical criteria. You will spend a -long while going through the works of such typical professors as More, -Phelps, Boynton, Burton, Perry, Brownell and Babbitt before ever you -encounter a purely æsthetic judgment upon an æsthetic question. It -is almost as if a man estimating daffodils should do it in terms of -artichokes. Phelps' whole body of "we church-goers" criticism--the most -catholic and tolerant, it may be said in passing, that the faculty can -show--consists chiefly of a plea for correctness, and particularly -for moral correctness; he never gets very far from "the axiom of the -moral law." Brownell argues eloquently for standards that would bind -an imaginative author as tightly as a Sunday-school super-intendent -is bound by the Ten Commandments and the Mann Act. Sherman tries to -save Shakespeare for the right-thinking by proving that he was an Iowa -Methodist--a member of his local Chamber of Commerce, a contemner of -Reds, an advocate of democracy and the League of Nations, a patriotic -dollar-a-year-man during the Armada scare. Elmer More devotes himself, -year in and year out, to denouncing the Romantic movement, _i. e.,_ -the effort to emancipate the artist from formulæ and categories, and -so make him free to dance with arms and legs. And Babbitt, to make -an end, gives over his days and his nights to deploring Rousseau's -anarchistic abrogation of "the veto power" over the imagination, -leading to such "wrongness" in both art and life that it threatens -"to wreck civilization." In brief, the alarms of schoolmasters. Not -many of them deal specifically with the literature that is in being. -It is too near to be quite nice. To More or Babbitt only death can -atone for the primary offense of the artist. But what they preach -nevertheless has its echoes contemporaneously, and those echoes, in the -main, are woefully falsetto. I often wonder what sort of picture of -These States is conjured up by foreigners who read, say, Crothers, Van -Dyke, Babbitt, the later Winston Churchill, and the old maids of the -Freudian suppression school. How can such a foreigner, moving in those -damp, asthmatic mists, imagine such phenomena as Roosevelt, Billy -Sunday, Bryan, the Becker case, the I. W. W., Newport, Palm Beach, the -University of Chicago, Chicago itself--the whole, gross, glittering, -excessively dynamic, infinitely grotesque, incredibly stupendous drama -of American life? - -As I have said, it is not often that the _ordentlichen Professoren_ -deign to notice contemporary writers, even of their own austere kidney. -In all the Shelburne Essays there is none on Howells, or on Churchill, -or on Mrs. Wharton; More seems to think of American literature as -expiring with Longfellow and Donald G. Mitchell. He has himself hinted -that in the department of criticism of criticism there enters into -the matter something beyond mere aloof ignorance. "I soon learned (as -editor of the pre-Bolshevik _Nation),_" he says, "that it was virtually -impossible to get fair consideration for a book written by a scholar -not connected with a university from a reviewer so connected." This -class consciousness, however, should not apply to artists, who are -admittedly inferior to professors, and it surely does not show itself -in such men as Phelps and Spingarn, who seem to be very eager to prove -that they are not professorial. Yet Phelps, in the course of a long -work on the novel, pointedly omits all mention of such men as Dreiser, -and Spingarn, as the aforesaid Brooks has said, "appears to be less -inclined even than the critics with whom he is theoretically at war -to play an active, public part in the secular conflict of darkness -and light." When one comes to the _Privat-Dozenten_ there is less -remoteness, but what takes the place of it is almost as saddening. To -Sherman and Percy Boynton the one aim of criticism seems to be the -enforcement of correctness--in Emerson's phrase, the upholding of "some -great decorum, some fetish of a government, some ephemeral trade, or -war, or man"--e. g., Puritanism, democracy, monogamy, the League of -Nations, the Wilsonian piffle. Even among the critics who escape the -worst of this schoolmastering frenzy there is some touch of the heavy -"culture" of the provincial schoolma'm. For example, consider Clayton -Hamilton, M.A., vice-president of the National Institute of Arts and -Letters. Here are the tests he proposes for dramatic critics, _i. -e.,_ for gentlemen chiefly employed in reviewing such characteristic -American compositions as the Ziegfeld Follies, "Up in Mabel's Room," -"Ben-Hur" and "The Witching Hour": - - 1. Have you ever stood bareheaded in the nave of Amiens? - - 2. Have you ever climbed to the Acropolis by moonlight? - - 3. Have you ever walked with whispers into the hushed - presence of the Frari Madonna of Bellini? - -What could more brilliantly evoke an image of the eternal Miss Birch, -blue veil flying and Baedeker in hand, plodding along faithfully -through the interminable corridors and catacombs of the Louvre, -the while bands are playing across the river, and young bucks in -three-gallon hats are sparking the gals, and the Jews and harlots -uphold the traditions of French _hig leef_ at Longchamps, and American -deacons are frisked and debauched up on martyrs' hill? The banality of -it is really too exquisite to be borne; the lack of humor is almost -that of a Fifth avenue divine. One seldom finds in the pronunciamentoes -of these dogged professors, indeed, any trace of either Attic or Gallic -salt. When they essay to be jocose, the result is usually simply an -elephantine whimsicality, by the chautauqua out of the _Atlantic -Monthly._ Their satire is mere ill-nature. One finds it difficult to -believe that they have ever read Lewes, or Hazlitt, or, above all, -Saintsbury. I often wonder, in fact, how Saintsbury would fare, an -unknown man, at the hands of, say, Brownell or More. What of his -iconoclastic gayety, his boyish weakness for tweaking noses and pulling -whiskers, his obscene delight in slang?... - - - - -4 - - -_The Ferment Underground_ - - -So much for the top layer. The bottom layer is given over to the -literature of Greenwich Village, and by Greenwich Village, of course, -I mean the whole of the advanced wing in letters, whatever the scene -of its solemn declarations of independence and forlorn hopes. Miss Amy -Lowell is herself a fully-equipped and automobile Greenwich Village, -domiciled in Boston amid the crumbling gravestones of the New England -_intelligentsia,_ but often in waspish joy-ride through the hinterland. -Vachel Lindsay, with his pilgrim's staff, is another. There is a third -in Chicago, with _Poetry: A Magazine of Verse_ as its Exhibit A; it -is, in fact, the senior of the Village fornenst Washington Square. -Others you will find in far-flung factory towns, wherever there is a -Little Theater, and a couple of local Synges and Chekovs to supply its -stage. St. Louis, before Zoë Akins took flight, had the busiest of -all these Greenwiches, and the most interesting. What lies under the -whole movement is the natural revolt of youth against the pedagogical -Prussianism of the professors. The oppression is extreme, and so the -rebellion is extreme. Imagine a sentimental young man of the provinces, -awaking one morning to the somewhat startling discovery that he is -full of the divine afflatus, and nominated by the hierarchy of hell -to enrich the literature of his fatherland. He seeks counsel and aid. -He finds, on consulting the official treatises on that literature, -that its greatest poet was Longfellow. He is warned, reading More and -Babbitt, that the literatus who lets feeling get into his compositions -is a psychic fornicator, and under German influences. He has formal -notice from Sherman that Puritanism is the lawful philosophy of the -country, and that any dissent from it is treason. He gets the news, -plowing through the New York _Times Book Review,_ the _Nation_ (so far -to the left in its politics, but hugging the right so desperately in -letters!) the _Bookman,_ the _Atlantic_ and the rest, that the salient -artists of the living generation are such masters as Robert Underwood -Johnson, Owen Wister, James Lane Allen, George E. Woodberry, Hamlin -Garland, William Roscoe Thayer and Augustus Thomas, with polite bows -to Margaret Deland, Mary Johnston and Ellen Glasgow. It slowly dawns -upon him that Robert W. Chambers is an academician and Theodore Dreiser -isn't, that Brian Hooker is and George Sterling isn't, that Henry -Sydnor Harrison is and James Branch Cabell isn't, that "Chimmie Fadden" -Townsend is and Sherwood Anderson isn't. - -Is it any wonder that such a young fellow, after one or two sniffs -of that prep-school fog, swings so vastly backward that one finds -him presently in corduroy trousers and a velvet jacket, hammering -furiously upon a pine table in a Macdougal street cellar, his mind -full of malicious animal magnetism against even so amiable an old -maid as Howells, and his discourse full of insane hair-splittings -about _vers libre,_ futurism, spectrism, vorticism, _Expressionismus, -héliogabalisme?_ The thing, in truth, is in the course of nature. -The Spaniards who were outraged by the Palmerism of Torquemada did -not become members of the Church of England; they became atheists. -The American colonists, in revolt against a bad king, did not set up -a good king; they set up a democracy, and so gave every honest man a -chance to become a rogue on his own account. Thus the young literatus, -emerging from the vacuum of Ohio or Arkansas. An early success, as we -shall see, tends to halt and moderate him. He finds that, after all, -there is still a place for him, a sort of asylum for such as he, not -over-populated or very warmly-heated, but nevertheless quite real. But -if his sledding at the start is hard, if the corrective birch finds him -while he is still tender, then he goes, as Andrew Jackson would say, -the whole hog, and another voice is added to the raucous bellowing of -the literary Reds. - -I confess that the spectacle gives me some joy, despite the fact -that the actual output of the Village is seldom worth noticing. What -commonly engulfs and spoils the Villagers is their concern with mere -technique. Among them, it goes without saying, are a great many -frauds--poets whose yearning to write is unaccompanied by anything -properly describable as capacity, dramatists whose dramas are simply -Schnitzler and well-water, workers in prose fiction who gravitate -swiftly and inevitably to the machine-made merchandise of the cheap -magazines--in brief, American equivalents of the bogus painters of the -Boul' Mich'. These pretenders, having no ideas, naturally try to make -the most of forms. Half the wars in the Village are over form; content -is taken for granted, or forgotten altogether. The extreme leftists, -in fact, descend to a meaningless gibberish, both in prose and in -verse; it is their last defiance to intellectualism. This childish -concentration upon externals unfortunately tends to debauch the small -minority that is of more or less genuine parts; the good are pulled in -by the bad. As a result, the Village produces nothing that justifies -all the noise it makes. I have yet to hear of a first-rate book coming -out of it, or a short story of arresting quality, or even a poem of -any solid distinction. As one of the editors of a magazine which -specializes in the work of new authors I am in an exceptional position -to report. Probably nine-tenths of the stuff written in the dark dens -and alleys south of the arch comes to my desk soon or late, and I go -through all of it faithfully. It is, in the overwhelming main, jejune -and imitative. The prose is quite without distinction, either in matter -or in manner. The verse seldom gets beyond a hollow audaciousness, not -unlike that of cubist painting. It is not often, indeed, that even -personality is in it; all of the Villagers seem to write alike. "Unless -one is an expert in some detective method," said a recent writer in -_Poetry,_ "one is at a loss to assign correctly the ownership of -much free verse--that is, if one plays fairly and refuses to look at -the signature until one has ventured a guess. It is difficult, for -instance, to know whether Miss Lowell is writing Mr. Bynner's verse, or -whether he is writing hers." Moreover, this monotony keeps to a very -low level. There is no poet in the movement who has produced anything -even remotely approaching the fine lyrics of Miss Reese, Miss Teasdale -and John McClure, and for all its war upon the _cliché_ it can show -nothing to equal the _cliché-free_ beauty of Robert Loveman's "Rain -Song." In the drama the Village has gone further. In Eugene O'Neill, -Rita Wellman and Zoë Akins it offers dramatists who are obviously many -cuts above the well-professored mechanicians who pour out of Prof. Dr. -Baker's _Ibsenfabrik_ at Cambridge. But here we must probably give -the credit, not to any influence residing within the movement itself, -but to mere acts of God. Such pieces as O'Neill's one-acters, Miss -Wellman's "The Gentile Wife" and Miss Akins' extraordinary "Papa" lie -quite outside the Village scheme of things. There is no sign of formal -revolt in them. They are simply first-rate work, done miraculously in a -third-rate land. - -But if the rebellion is thus sterile of direct results, and, in more -than one aspect, fraudulent and ridiculous, it is at all events an -evidence of something not to be disregarded, and that something is -the gradual formulation of a challenge to the accepted canons in -letters and to the accepted canon lawyers. The first hoots come from -a tatterdemalion horde of rogues and vagabonds without the gates, -but soon or late, let us hope, they will be echoed in more decorous -quarters, and with much greater effect. The Village, in brief, is an -earnest that somewhere or other new seeds are germinating. Between the -young tutor who launches into letters with imitations of his seminary -chief's imitations of Agnes Repplier's imitations of Charles Lamb, and -the young peasant who tries to get his honest exultations into free -verse there can be no hesitant choice: the peasant is, by long odds, -the sounder artist, and, what is more, the sounder American artist. -Even the shy and somewhat stagey carnality that characterizes the -Village has its high symbolism and its profound uses. It proves that, -despite repressions unmatched in civilization in modern times, there is -still a sturdy animality in American youth, and hence good health. The -poet hugging his Sonia in a Washington square beanery, and so giving -notice to all his world that he is a devil of a fellow, is at least a -better man than the emasculated stripling in a Y. M. C. A. gospel-mill, -pumped dry of all his natural appetites and the vacuum filled with -double-entry book-keeping, business economics and auto-erotism. In -so foul a nest of imprisoned and fermenting sex as the United States, -plain fornication becomes a mark of relative decency. - - - - -5 - - -_In the Literary Abattoir_ - - -But the theme is letters, not wickedness. The upper and lower layers -have been surveyed. There remains the middle layer, the thickest and -perhaps the most significant of the three. By the middle layer I mean -the literature that fills the magazines and burdens the book-counters -in the department-stores--the literature adorned by such artists as -Richard Harding Davis, Rex Beach, Emerson Hough, O. Henry, James -Whitcomb Riley, Augustus Thomas, Robert W. Chambers, Henry Sydnor -Harrison, Owen Johnson, Cyrus Townsend Brady, Irvin Cobb and Mary -Roberts Rinehart--in brief, the literature that pays like a bucket-shop -or a soap-factory, and is thus thoroughly American. At the bottom this -literature touches such depths of banality that it would be difficult -to match it in any other country. The "inspirational" and patriotic -essays of Dr. Frank Crane, Orison Sweet Marden, Porter Emerson Browne, -Gerald Stanley Lee, E. S. Martin, Ella Wheeler Wilcox and the Rev. Dr. -Newell Dwight Hillis, the novels of Harold Bell Wright, Eleanor H. -Porter and Gene Stratton-Porter, and the mechanical sentimentalities -in prose and verse that fill the cheap fiction magazines--this stuff -has a native quality that is as unmistakable as that of Mother's Day, -Billy-Sundayism or the Junior Order of United American Mechanics. It -is the natural outpouring of a naïve and yet half barbarous people, -full of delight in a few childish and inaccurate ideas. But it would -be a grave error to assume that the whole of the literature of the -middle layer is of the same infantile quality. On the contrary, a -great deal of it--for example, the work of Mrs. Rinehart, and that -of Corra Harris, Gouverneur Morris, Harold MacGrath and the late O. -Henry--shows an unmistakably technical excellence, and even a certain -civilized sophistication in point of view. Moreover, this literature is -constantly graduating adept professors into something finer, as witness -Booth Tarkington, Zona Gale, Ring W. Lardner and Montague Glass. S. L. -Clemens came out of forty years ago. Nevertheless, its general tendency -is distinctly in the other direction. It seduces by the power of money, -and by the power of great acclaim no less. One constantly observes -the collapse and surrender of writers who started out with aims far -above that of the magazine nabob. I could draw up a long, long list of -such victims: Henry Milner Rideout, Jack London, Owen Johnson, Chester -Bailey Fernald, Hamlin Garland, Will Levington Comfort, Stephen French -Whitman, James Hopper, Harry Leon Wilson, and so on. They had their -fore-runner, in the last generation, in Bret Harte. It is, indeed, -a characteristic American phenomenon for a young writer to score a -success with novel and meritorious work, and then to yield himself to -the best-seller fever, and so disappear down the sewers. Even the man -who struggles to emerge again is commonly hauled back. For example, -Louis Joseph Vance, Rupert Hughes, George Bronson-Howard, and, to -go back a few years, David Graham Phillips and Elbert Hubbard--all -men flustered by high aspiration, and yet all pulled down by the -temptations below. Even Frank Norris showed signs of yielding. The -pull is genuinely powerful. Above lies not only isolation, but also a -dogged and malignant sort of opposition. Below, as Morris has frankly -admitted, there is the place at Aiken, the motor-car, babies, money in -the bank, and the dignity of an important man. - -It is a commonplace of the envious to put all the blame upon the -_Saturday Evening Post,_ for in its pages many of the Magdalens of -letters are to be found, and out of its bulging coffers comes much -of the lure. But this is simply blaming the bull for the sins of all -the cows. The _Post,_ as a matter of fact, is a good deal less guilty -than such magazines as the _Cosmopolitan, Hearst's, McClure's_ and -the _Metropolitan,_ not to mention the larger women's magazines. In -the _Post_ one often discerns an effort to rise above the level of -shoe-drummer fiction. It is edited by a man who, almost alone among -editors of the great periodicals of the country, is himself a writer -of respectable skill. It has brought out (after lesser publications -unearthed them) a member of authors of very solid talents, notably -Glass, Lardner and E. W. Howe. It has been extremely hospitable to men -not immediately comprehensible to the mob, for example, Dreiser and -Hergesheimer. Most of all, it has avoided the Barnum-like exploitation -of such native bosh-mongers as Crane, Hillis and Ella Wheeler -Wilcox, and of such exotic mountebanks as D'Annunzio, Hall Caine and -Maeterlinck. In brief, the _Post_ is a great deal better than ever -Greenwich Village and the Cambridge campus are disposed to admit. It -is the largest of all the literary Hog Islands, but it is by no means -the worst. Appealing primarily to the great masses of right-thinking -and unintelligent Americans, it must necessarily print a great deal -of preposterous tosh, but it flavors the mess with not a few things -of a far higher quality, and at its worst it is seldom downright -idiotic. In many of the other great magazines one finds stuff that -it would be difficult to describe in any other words. It is gaudily -romantic, furtively sexual, and full of rubber-stamp situations and -personages--a sort of amalgam of the worst drivel of Marie Corelli, -Elinor Glyn, E. Phillips Oppenheim, William Le Quex and Hall Caine. -This is the literature of the middle layer--the product of the national -Rockefellers and Duponts of letters. This is the sort of thing that the -young author of facile pen is encouraged to manufacture. This is the -material of the best sellers and the movies. - -Of late it is the movies that have chiefly provoked its composition: -the rewards they offer are even greater than those held out by the -commercial book-publishers and the train-boy magazines. The point of -view of an author responsive to such rewards was recently set forth -very naively in the _Authors' League Bulletin._ This author undertook, -in a short article, to refute the fallacies of an unknown who ventured -to protest against the movies on the ground that they called only for -bald plots, elementary and generally absurd, and that all the rest of a -sound writer's equipment--"the artistry of his style, the felicity of -his apt expression, his subtlety and thoroughness of observation and -comprehension and sympathy, the illuminating quality of his analysis -of motive and character, even the fundamental skillful development of -the bare plot"--was disdained by the Selznicks, Goldfishes, Zukors and -other such _entrepreneurs,_ and by the overwhelming majority of their -customers. I quote from the reply: - - There are some conspicuous word merchants who deal in the - English language, but the general public doesn't clamor - for their wares. They write for the "thinking class." - The élite, the discriminating. As a rule, they scorn the - crass commercialism of the magazines and movies and such - catch-penny devices. However, literary masterpieces live - because they have been and will be read, not by the few, but - by the many. That was true in the time of Homer, and even - to-day the first move made by an editor when he receives a - manuscript, or a gentle reader when he buys a book, or a - T. B. M. when he sinks into an orchestra chair is to look - around for John Henry Plot. If Mr. Plot is too long delayed - in arriving or doesn't come at all, the editor usually sends - regrets, the reader yawns and the tired business man falls - asleep. It's a sad state of affairs and awful tough on art, - but it can't be helped. - -Observe the lofty scorn of mere literature--the superior irony at the -expense of everything beyond the bumping of boobs. Note the sound -judgment as to the function and fate of literary masterpieces, e. g., -"Endymion," "The Canterbury Tales," "Faust," "Typhoon." Give your -eye to the chaste diction--"John Henry Plot," "T. B. M.," "awful -tough," and so on. No doubt you will at once assume that this curious -counterblast to literature was written by some former bartender now -engaged in composing scenarios for Pearl White and Theda Bara. But it -was not. It was written and signed by the president of the Authors' -League of America. - -Here we have, unconsciously revealed, the secret of the depressing -badness of what may be called the staple fiction of the country--the -sort of stuff that is done by the Richard Harding Davises, Rex Beaches, -Houghs, McCutcheons, and their like, male and female. The worse of it -is not that it is addressed primarily to shoe-drummers and shop-girls; -the worst of it is that it is written by authors who _are,_ to all -intellectual intents and purposes, shoe-drummers and shop-girls. -American literature, even on its higher levels, seldom comes out of -the small and lonesome upper classes of the people. An American author -with traditions behind him and an environment about him comparable to -those, say, of George Moore, or Hugh Walpole, or E. F. Benson is and -always has been relatively rare. On this side of the water the arts, -like politics and religion, are chiefly in the keeping of persons of -obscure origin, defective education and elemental tastes. Even some -of the most violent upholders of the New England superstition are -aliens to the actual New England heritage; one discovers, searching -"Who's Who in America," that they are recent fugitives from the six-day -sock and saleratus _Kultur_ of the cow and hog States. The artistic -merchandise produced by liberated yokels of that sort is bound to show -its intellectual newness, which is to say, its deficiency in civilized -culture and sophistication. It is, on the plane of letters, precisely -what evangelical Christianity is on the plane of religion, to wit, -the product of ill-informed, emotional and more or less pushing and -oafish folk. Life, to such Harvardized peasants, is not a mystery; it -is something absurdly simple, to be described with surety and in a -few words. If they set up as critics their criticism is all a matter -of facile labeling, chiefly ethical; find the pigeon-hole, and the -rest is easy. If they presume to discuss the great problems of human -society, they are equally ready with their answers: draw up and pass -a harsh enough statute, and the corruptible will straightway put on -incorruption. And if, fanned by the soft breath of beauty, they go into -practice as creative artists, as poets, as dramatists, as novelists, -then one learns from them that we inhabit a country that is the model -and despair of other states, that its culture is coextensive with human -culture and enlightenment, and that every failure to find happiness -under that culture, is the result of sin. - - - - -6 - - -_Underlying Causes_ - - -Here is one of the fundamental defects of American fiction--perhaps -the one character that sets it off sharply from all other known kinds -of contemporary fiction. It habitually exhibits, not a man of delicate -organization in revolt against the inexplicable tragedy of existence, -but a man of low sensibilities and elemental desires yielding himself -gladly to his environment, and so achieving what, under a third-rate -civilization, passes for success. To get on: this is the aim. To weigh -and reflect, to doubt and rebel: this is the thing to be avoided. -I describe the optimistic, the inspirational, the Authors' League, -the popular magazine, the peculiarly American school. In character -creation its masterpiece is the advertising agent who, by devising -some new and super-imbecile boob-trap, puts his hook-and-eye factory -"on the map," ruins all other factories, marries the daughter of his -boss, and so ends as an eminent man. Obviously, the drama underlying -such fiction--what Mr. Beach would call its John Henry Plot--is false -drama, Sunday-school drama, puerile and disgusting drama. It is the -sort of thing that awakens a response only in men who are essentially -unimaginative, timorous and degraded--in brief, in democrats, bagmen, -yahoos. The man of reflective habit cannot conceivably take any -passionate interest in the conflicts it deals with. He doesn't want -to marry the daughter of the owner of the hook-and-eye factory; he -would probably burn down the factory itself if it ever came into his -hands. What interests this man is the far more poignant and significant -conflict between a salient individual and the harsh and meaningless -fiats of destiny, the unintelligible mandates and vagaries of God. His -hero is not one who yields and wins, but one who resists and fails. - -Most of these conflicts, of course, are internal, and hence do not -make themselves visible in the overt melodrama of the Beaches, Davises -and Chamberses. A superior man's struggle in the world is not with -exterior lions, trusts, margraves, policemen, rivals in love, German -spies, radicals and tornadoes, but with the obscure, atavistic impulses -within him--the impulses, weaknesses and limitations that war with his -notion of what life should be. Nine times out of ten he succumbs. Nine -times out of ten he must yield to the dead hand. Nine times out of ten -his aspiration is almost infinitely above his achievement. The result -is that we see him sliding downhill--his ideals breaking up, his hope -petering out, his character in decay. Character in decay is thus the -theme of the great bulk of superior fiction. One has it in Dostoievsky, -in Balzac, in Hardy, in Conrad, in Flaubert, in Zola, in Turgenieff, -in Goethe, in Sudermann, in Bennett, and, to come home, in Dreiser. -In nearly all first-rate novels the hero is defeated. In perhaps a -majority he is completely destroyed. The hero of the inferior--_i. e.,_ -the typically American--novel engages in no such doomed and fateful -combat. His conflict is not with the inexplicable ukases of destiny, -the limitations of his own strength, the dead hand upon him, but -simply with the superficial desires of his elemental fellow men. He -thus has a fair chance of winning--and in bad fiction that chance is -always converted into a certainty. So he marries the daughter of the -owner of the factory and eventually gobbles the factory itself. His -success gives thrills to persons who can imagine no higher aspiration. -He embodies their optimism, as the other hero embodies the pessimism of -more introspective and idealistic men. He is the protagonist of that -great majority which is so inferior that it is quite unconscious of its -inferiority. - -It is this superficiality of the inferior man, it seems to me, that -is the chief hallmark of the American novel. Whenever one encounters -a novel that rises superior to it the thing takes on a subtle but -unmistakable air of foreignness--for example, Frank Norris' "Vandover -and the Brute," Hergesheimer's "The Lay Anthony" and Miss Cather's -"My Antonia," or, to drop to short stories, Stephen Crane's "The Blue -Hotel" and Mrs. Wharton's "Ethan Frome." The short story is commonly -regarded, at least by American critics, as a preëminently American -form; there are even patriots who argue that Bret Harte invented it. -It meets very accurately, in fact, certain characteristic demands of -the American temperament: it is simple, economical and brilliantly -effective. Yet the same hollowness that marks the American novel also -marks the American short story. Its great masters, in late years, have -been such cheese-mongers as Davis, with his servant-girl romanticism, -and O. Henry, with his smoke-room and variety show smartness. In the -whole canon of O. Henry's work you will not find a single recognizable -human character; his people are unanimously marionettes; he makes -Mexican brigands, Texas cowmen and New York cracksmen talk the same -highly ornate Broadwayese. The successive volumes of Edward J. -O'Brien's "Best Short-Story" series throw a vivid light upon the -feeble estate of the art in the land. O'Brien, though his æsthetic -judgments are ludicrous, at least selects stories that are thoroughly -representative; his books are trade successes because the crowd is -undoubtedly with him. He has yet to discover a single story that even -the most naïve professor would venture to mention in the same breath -with Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness," or Andrieff's "Silence," or -Sudermann's "Das Sterbelied," or the least considerable tale by Anatole -France. In many of the current American makers of magazine short -stories--for example, Gouverneur Morris--one observes, as I have said, -a truly admirable technical skill. They have mastered the externals of -the form. They know how to get their effects. But in content their work -is as hollow as a jug. Such stuff has no imaginable relation to life -as men live it in the world. It is as artificial as the heroic strut -and romantic eyes of a moving-picture actor. - -I have spoken of the air of foreignness that clings to certain -exceptional American compositions. In part it is based upon a -psychological trick--upon the surprise which must inevitably seize upon -any one who encounters a decent piece of writing in so vast a desert -of mere literacy. But in part it is grounded soundly enough on the -facts. The native author of any genuine force and originality is almost -invariably found to be under strong foreign influences, either English -or Continental. It was so in the earliest days. Freneau, the poet of -the Revolution, was thoroughly French in blood and traditions. Irving, -as H. R. Haweis has said, "took to England as a duck takes to water," -and was in exile seventeen years. Cooper, with the great success of -"The Last of the Mohicans" behind him, left the country in disgust -and was gone for seven years. Emerson, Bryant, Lowell, Hawthorne and -even Longfellow kept their eyes turned across the water; Emerson, in -fact, was little more than an importer and popularizer of German and -French ideas. Bancroft studied in Germany; Prescott, like Irving, -was enchanted by Spain. Poe, unable to follow the fashion, invented -mythical travels to save his face--to France, to Germany, to the Greek -isles. The Civil War revived the national consciousness enormously, -but it did not halt the movement of _émigrés._ Henry James, in the -seventies, went to England, Bierce and Bret Harte followed him, and -even Mark Twain, absolutely American though he was, was forever pulling -up stakes and setting out for Vienna, Florence or London. Only poverty -tied Whitman to the soil; his audience, for many years, was chiefly -beyond the water, and there, too, he often longed to be. This distaste -for the national scene is often based upon a genuine alienness. The -more, indeed, one investigates the ancestry of Americans who have won -distinction in the fine arts, the more one discovers tempting game for -the critical Know Nothings. Whitman was half Dutch, Harte was half -Jew, Poe was partly German, James had an Irish grand-father, Howells -was largely Irish and German, Dreiser is German and Hergesheimer is -Pennsylvania Dutch. Fully a half of the painters discussed in John G. -van Dyke's "American Painting and Its Tradition" were of mixed blood, -with the Anglo-Saxon plainly recessive. And of the five poets singled -out for encomium by Miss Lowell in "Tendencies in Modern American -Poetry" one is a Swede, two are partly German, one was educated in the -German language, and three of the five exiled themselves to England -as soon as they got out of their nonage. The exiles are of all sorts: -Frank Harris, Vincent O'Sullivan, Ezra Pound, Herman Scheffauer, T. -S. Eliot, Henry B. Fuller, Stuart Merrill, Edith Wharton. They go to -England, France, Germany, Italy--anywhere to escape. Even at home the -literatus is perceptibly foreign in his mien. If he lies under the -New England tradition he is furiously colonial--more English than the -English. If he turns to revolt, he is apt to put on a French hat and a -Russion red blouse. _The Little Review,_ the organ of the extreme wing -of _révoltés,_ is so violently exotic that several years ago, during -the plupatriotic days of the war, some of its readers protested. With -characteristic lack of humor it replied with an American number--and -two of the stars of that number bore the fine old Anglo-Saxon names of -Ben Hecht and Eisa von Freytag-Loringhoven. - -This tendency of American literature, the moment it begins to show -enterprise, novelty and significance, to radiate an alien smell is not -an isolated phenomenon. The same smell accompanies practically all -other sorts of intellectual activity in the republic. Whenever one -hears that a new political theory is in circulation, or a scientific -heresy, or a movement toward rationalism in religion, it is always -safe to guess that some discontented stranger or other has a hand in -it. In the newspapers and on the floor of Congress a new heterodoxy is -always denounced forthwith as a product of foreign plotting, and here -public opinion undoubtedly supports both the press and the politicians, -and with good reason. The native culture of the country--that is, -the culture of the low caste Anglo-Saxons who preserve the national -tradition--is almost completely incapable of producing ideas. It is -a culture that roughly corresponds to what the culture of England -would be if there were no universities over there, and no caste of -intellectual individualists and no landed aristocracy--in other words, -if the tone of the national thinking were set by the non-conformist -industrials, the camorra of Welsh and Scotch political scoundrels, -and the town and country mobs. As we shall see, the United States has -not yet produced anything properly describable as an aristocracy, and -so there is no impediment to the domination of the inferior orders. -Worse, the Anglo-Saxon strain, second-rate at the start, has tended to -degenerate steadily to lower levels--in New England, very markedly. -The result is that there is not only a great dearth of ideas in the -land, but also an active and relentless hostility to ideas. The chronic -suspiciousness of the inferior man here has full play; never in modern -history has there been another civilization showing so vast a body of -prohibitions and repressions, in both conduct and thought. The second -result is that intellectual experimentation is chiefly left to the -immigrants of the later migrations, and to the small sections of the -native population that have been enriched with their blood. For such a -pure Anglo-Saxon as Cabell to disport himself in the field of ideas is -a rarity in the United States--and no exception to the rule that I have -just mentioned, for Cabell belongs to an aristocracy that is now almost -extinct, and has no more in common with the general population than -a Baltic baron has with the indigenous herd of Letts and Esthonians. -All the arts in America are thoroughly exotic. Music is almost wholly -German or Italian, painting is French, literature may be anything from -English to Russian, architecture (save when it becomes a mere branch -of engineering) is a maddening phantasmagoria of borrowings. Even -so elemental an art as that of cookery shows no native development, -and is greatly disesteemed by Americans of the Anglo-Saxon majority; -any decent restaurant that one blunders upon in the land is likely -to be French, and if not French, then Italian or German or Chinese. -So with the sciences: they have scarcely any native development. -Organized scientific research began in the country with the founding -of the Johns Hopkins University, a bald imitation of the German -universities, and long held suspect by native opinion. Even after its -great success, indeed, there was rancorous hostility to its scheme of -things on chauvinistic grounds, and some years ago efforts were begun -to Americanize it, with the result that it is now sunk to the level -of Princeton, Amherst and other such glorified high-schools, and is -dominated by native savants who would be laughed at in any Continental -university. Science, oppressed by such assaults from below, moves out -of the academic grove into the freer air of the great foundations, -where the pursuit of the shy fact is uncontaminated by football and -social pushing. The greatest of these foundations is the Rockefeller -Institute. Its salient men are such investigators as Flexner, Loeb and -Carrel--all of them Continental Jews. - -Thus the battle of ideas in the United States is largely carried on -under strange flags, and even the stray natives on the side of free -inquiry have to sacrifice some of their nationality when they enlist. -The effects of this curious condition of affairs are both good and -evil. The good ones are easily apparent. The racial division gives the -struggle a certain desperate earnestness, and even bitterness, and so -makes it the more inviting to lively minds. It was a benefit to the -late D. C. Gilman rather than a disadvantage that national opinion -opposed his traffic with Huxley and the German professors in the early -days of the Johns Hopkins; the stupidity of the opposition stimulated -him, and made him resolute, and his resolution, in the long run, was of -inestimable cultural value. Scientific research in America, indeed, was -thus set securely upon its legs precisely because the great majority -of right-thinking Americans were violently opposed to it. In the same -way it must be obvious that Dreiser got something valuable out of -the grotesque war that was carried on against him during the greater -war overseas because of his German name--a _jehad_ fundamentally -responsible for the suppression of "The 'Genius.'" The chief danger -that he ran six or seven years ago was the danger that he might be -accepted, explained away, and so seduced downward to the common level. -The attack of professional patriots saved him from that calamity. -More, it filled him with a keen sense of his isolation, and stirred -up the vanity that was in him as it is in all of us, and so made him -cling with new tenacity to the very peculiarities that differentiate -him from his inferiors. Finally, it is not to be forgotten that, -without this rebellion of immigrant iconoclasts, the whole body of the -national literature would tend to sink to the 100% American level of -such patriotic literary business men as the president of the Authors' -League. In other words, we must put up with the æsthetic Bolshevism of -the Europeans and Asiatics who rage in the land, for without them we -might not have any literature at all. - -But the evils of the situation are not to be gainsaid. One of them I -have already alluded to: the tendency of the beginning literatus, once -he becomes fully conscious of his foreign affiliations, to desert the -republic forthwith, and thereafter view it from afar, and as an actual -foreigner. More solid and various cultures lure him; he finds himself -uncomfortable at home. Sometimes, as in the case of Henry James, he -becomes a downright expatriate, and a more or less active agent of -anti-American feeling; more often, he goes over to the outlanders -without yielding up his theoretical citizenship, as in the cases of -Irving, Harris, Pound and O'Sullivan. But all this, of course, works -relatively light damage, for not many native authors are footloose -enough to indulge in any such physical desertion of the soil. Of much -more evil importance is the tendency of the cultural alienism that I -have described to fortify the uncontaminated native in his bilious -suspicion of all the arts, and particularly of all artists. The news -that the latest poet to flutter the dovecotes is a Jew, or that the -last novelist mauled by comstockery has a German or Scandinavian -or Russian name, or that the critic newly taken in sacrilege is a -partisan of Viennese farce or of the French moral code or of English -literary theory--this news, among a people so ill-informed, so horribly -well-trained in flight from bugaboos, and so savagely suspicious of -the unfamiliar in ideas, has the inevitable effect of stirring up -opposition that quickly ceases to be purely æsthetic objection, and -so becomes increasingly difficult to combat. If Dreiser's name were -Tompkins or Simpson, there is no doubt whatever that he would affright -the professors a good deal less, and appear less of a hobgoblin to -the _intelligentsia_ of the women's clubs. If Oppenheim were less -palpably levantine, he would come much nearer to the popularity of -Edwin Markham and Walt Mason. And if Cabell kept to the patriotic -business of a Southern gentleman, to wit, the praise of General Robert -E. Lee, instead of prowling the strange and terrible fields of mediæval -Provence, it is a safe wager that he would be sold openly over the -counter instead of stealthily behind the door. - -In a previous work I have discussed this tendency in America to -estimate the artist in terms of his secular character. During the -war, when all of the national defects in intelligence were enormously -accentuated, it went to ludicrous lengths. There were then only authors -who were vociferous patriots and thus geniuses, and authors who kept -their dignity and were thus suspect and without virtue. By this gauge -Chambers became the superior of Dreiser and Cabell, and Joyce Kilmer -and Amy Lowell were set above Sandburg and Oppenheim. The test was -even extended to foreigners: by it H. G. Wells took precedence of -Shaw, and Blasco Ibáñez became a greater artist than Romain Rolland. -But the thing is not peculiar to war times; when peace is densest it -is to be observed. The man of letters, pure and simple, is a rarity -in America. Almost always he is something else--and that something -else commonly determines his public eminence. Mark Twain, with only -his books to recommend him, would probably have passed into obscurity -in middle age; it was in the character of a public entertainer, not -unrelated to Coxey, Dr. Mary Walker and Citizen George Francis Train, -that he wooed and won his country. The official criticism of the land -denied him any solid literary virtue to the day of his death, and even -to-day the campus critics and their journalistic valets stand aghast -before "The Mysterious Stranger" and "What is Man?" Emerson passed -through almost the same experience. It was not as a man of letters that -he was chiefly thought of in his time, but as the prophet of a new -cult, half religious, half philosophical, and wholly unintelligible to -nine-tenths of those who discussed it. The first author of a handbook -of American literature to sweep away the codfish Moses and expose -the literary artist was the Polish Jew, Leon Kellner, of Czernowitz. -So with Whitman and Poe--both hobgoblins far more than artists. So, -even, with Howells: it was as the exponent of a dying culture that he -was venerated, not as the practitioner of an art. Few actually read -his books. His celebrity, of course, was real enough, but it somehow -differed materially from that of a pure man of letters--say Shelley, -Conrad, Hauptmann, Hardy or Synge. That he was himself keenly aware of -the national tendency to judge an artist in terms of the citizen was -made plain at the time of the Gorky scandal, when he joined Clemens in -an ignominious desertion of Gorky, scared out of his wits by the danger -of being manhandled for a violation of the national pecksniffery. -Howells also refused to sign the Dreiser Protest. The case of Frank -Harris is one eloquently in point. Harris has written, among other -books, perhaps the best biography ever done by an American. Yet his -politics keep him in a sort of Coventry and the average American critic -would no more think of praising him than of granting Treitschke any -merit as an historian. - - - - -7 - - -_The Lonesome Artist_ - - -Thus falsely judged by standards that have no intelligible appositeness -when applied to an artist, however accurately they may weigh a -stock-broker or a Presbyterian elder, and forced to meet not only -the hunkerous indifference of the dominant mob but also the bitter -and disingenuous opposition of the classes to which he might look -reasonably for understanding and support, the American author is forced -into a sort of social and intellectual vacuum, and lives out his days, -as Henry James said of Hawthorne, "an alien everywhere, an æsthetic -solitary." - -The wonder is that, in the face of so metallic and unyielding a front, -any genuine artists in letters come to the front at all. But they -constantly emerge; the first gestures are always on show; the prodigal -and gorgeous life of the country simply forces a sensitive minority to -make some attempt at representation and interpretation, and out of many -trying there often appears one who can. The phenomenon of Dreiser is -not unique. He had his forerunners in Fuller and Frank Norris and he -has his _compagnons du voyage_ in Anderson, Charles G. Norris and more -than one other. But the fact only throws up his curious isolation in a -stronger light. It would be difficult to imagine an artist of his sober -purpose and high accomplishment, in any civilized country, standing -so neglected. The prevailing criticism, when it cannot dispose of him -by denying that he exists--in the two chief handbooks of latter-day -literature by professors he is not even mentioned!--seeks to dispose -of him by arraying the shoddy fury of the mob against him. When he -was under attack by the Comstocks, more than one American critic gave -covert aid to the common enemy, and it was with difficulty that the -weight of the Authors' League was held upon his side. More help for -him, in fact, came from England, and quite voluntarily, than could be -drummed up for him at home. No public sense of the menace that the -attack offered to free speech and free art was visible; it would have -made a nine-days' sensation for any layman of public influence to -have gone to his rescue, as would have certainly happened in France, -England or Germany. As for the newspaper-reading mob, it probably went -unaware of the business altogether. When Arnold Bennett, landing in -New York some time previously, told the reporters that Dreiser was the -American he most desired to meet, the news was quite unintelligible to -perhaps nine readers out of ten: they had no more heard _of_ Dreiser -than their fathers had heard of Whitman in 1875. - -So with all the rest. I have mentioned Harris. It would be difficult -to imagine Rolland meeting such a fate in France or Shaw in England as -he has met in the United States. O'Sullivan, during the war, came home -with "A Good Girl" in his pocket. The book was republished here--and -got vastly less notice than the latest piece of trade-goods by Kathleen -Norris. Fuller, early in his career, gave it up as hopeless. Norris -died vainly battling for the young Dreiser. An Abraham Cahan goes -unnoticed. Miss Cather, with four sound books behind her, lingers -in the twilight of an esoteric reputation. Cabell, comstocked, is -apprehended by his country only as a novelist to be bought by stealth -and read in private. When Hugh Walpole came to America a year or two -ago he favored the newspapers, like Bennett before him, with a piece -of critical news that must have puzzled all readers save a very small -minority. Discussing the living American novelists worth heeding, he -nominated three--and of them only one was familiar to the general -run of novel-buyers, or had ever been mentioned by a native critic of -the apostolic succession. Only the poets of the land seem to attract -the notice of the professors, and no doubt this is largely because -most of the more salient of them--notably Miss Lowell and Lindsay--are -primarily press-agents. Even so, the attention that they get is seldom -serious. The only professor that I know of who has discussed the -matter in precise terms holds that Alfred Noyes is the superior of -all of them. Moreover, the present extraordinary interest in poetry -stops short with a few poets, and one of its conspicuous phenomena is -its lack of concern with the poets outside the movement, some of them -unquestionably superior to any within. - -Nor is this isolation of the artist in America new. The contemporary -view of Poe and Whitman was almost precisely like the current view of -Dreiser and Cabell. Both were neglected by the Brahmins of their time, -and both were regarded hostilely by the great body of right-thinking -citizens. Poe, indeed, was the victim of a furious attack by Rufus W. -Griswold, the Hamilton Wright Mabie of the time, and it set the tone -of native criticism for years. Whitman, living, narrowly escaped going -to jail as a public nuisance. One thinks of Hawthorne and Emerson -as writers decently appreciated by their contemporaries, but it is -not to be forgotten that the official criticism of the era saw no -essential difference between Hawthorne and Cooper, and that Emerson's -reputation, to the end of his life, was far more that of a theological -prophet and ethical platitudinarian, comparable to Lyman Abbott or -Frank Crane, than that of a literary artist, comparable to Tennyson -or Matthew Arnold. Perhaps Carlyle understood him, but who in America -understood him? To this day he is the victim of gross misrepresentation -by enthusiasts who read into him all sorts of flatulent bombast, -as Puritanism is read into the New Testament by Methodists. As for -Hawthorne, his extraordinary physical isolation during his lifetime was -but the symbol of a complete isolation of the spirit, still surviving. -If his preference for the internal conflict as opposed to the external -act were not sufficient to set him off from the main stream of American -speculation, there would always be his profound ethical skepticism--a -state of mind quite impossible to the normal American, at least of -Anglo-Saxon blood. Hawthorne, so far as I know, has never had a single -professed follower in his own country. Even his son, attempting to -carry on his craft, yielded neither to his meticulous method nor to his -detached point of view. In the third generation, with infinite irony, -there is a grand-daughter who is a reviewer of books for the New York -_Times,_ which is almost as if Wagner should have a grand-daughter -singing in the operas of Massenet. - -Of the four indubitable masters thus named, Hawthorne, Emerson, Whitman -and Poe, only the last two have been sufficiently taken into the -consciousness of the country to have any effect upon its literature, -and even here that influence has been exerted only at second-hand, -and against very definite adverse pressure. It would certainly seem -reasonable for a man of so forceful a habit of mind as Poe, and of such -prodigal and arresting originality, to have founded a school, but a -glance at the record shows that he did nothing of the sort. Immediately -he was dead, the shadows of the Irving tradition closed around his -tomb, and for nearly thirty years thereafter all of his chief ideas -went disregarded in his own country. If, as the literature books -argue, Poe was the father of the American short story, then it was a -posthumous child, and had step-fathers who did their best to conceal -its true parentage. When it actually entered upon the vigorous life -that we know to-day Poe had been dead for a generation. Its father, -at the time of its belated adolescence, seemed to be Bret Harte--and -Harte's debt to Dickens was vastly more apparent, first and last, than -his debt to Poe. What he got from Poe was essential; it was the inner -structure of the modern short story, the fundamental devices whereby a -mere glimpse at events could be made to yield brilliant and seemingly -complete images. But he himself was probably largely unaware of this -indebtedness. A man little given to critical analysis, and incompetent -for it when his own work was under examination, he saw its externals -much more clearly than he saw its intrinsic organization, and these -externals bore the plain marks of Dickens. It remained for one of his -successors, Ambrose Bierce, to bridge belatedly the space separating -him from Poe, and so show the route that he had come. And it remained -for foreign criticism, and particularly for French criticism, to lift -Poe himself to the secure place that he now holds. It is true enough -that he enjoyed, during his lifetime, a certain popular reputation, -and that he was praised by such men as N. P. Willis and James Russell -Lowell, but that reputation was considerably less than the fame of men -who were much his inferiors, and that praise, especially in Lowell's -case, was much corrupted by reservations. Not many native critics of -respectable position, during the 50's and 60's, would have ranked him -clearly above, say, Irving or Cooper, or even above Longfellow, his old -enemy. A few partisans argued for him, but in the main, as Saintsbury -has said, he was the victim of "extreme and almost incomprehensible -injustice" at the hands of his countrymen. It is surely not without -significance that it took ten years to raise money enough to put a -cheap and hideous tombstone upon his neglected grave, that it was -not actually set up until he had been dead twenty-six years, that no -contemporary American writer took any part in furthering the project, -and that the only one who attended the final ceremony was Whitman. - -It was Baudelaire's French translation of the prose tales and -Mallarmé's translation of the poems that brought Poe to Valhalla. The -former, first printed in 1856, founded the Poe cult in France, and -during the two decades following it flourished amazingly, and gradually -extended to England and Germany. It was one of the well-springs, in -fact, of the whole so-called decadent movement. If Baudelaire, the -father of that movement, "cultivated hysteria with delight and terror," -he was simply doing what Poe had done before him. Both, reacting -against the false concept of beauty as a mere handmaiden of logical -ideas, sought its springs in those deep feelings and inner experiences -which lie beyond the range of ideas and are to be interpreted only -as intuitions. Emerson started upon the same quest, but was turned -off into mazes of contradiction and unintelligibility by his ethical -obsession?--the unescapable burden of his Puritan heritage. But Poe -never wandered from the path. You will find in "The Poetic Principle" -what is perhaps the clearest statement of this new and sounder concept -of beauty that has ever been made--certainly it is clearer than any -ever made by a Frenchman. But it was not until Frenchmen had watered -the seed out of grotesque and vari-colored pots that it began to -sprout. The tide of Poe's ideas, set in motion in France early in -the second half of the century, did not wash England until the last -decade, and in America, save for a few dashes of spray, it has yet to -show itself. There is no American writer who displays the influence -of this most potent and original of Americans so clearly as whole -groups of Frenchmen display it, and whole groups of Germans, and -even a good many Englishmen. What we have from Poe at first hand is -simply a body of obvious yokel-shocking in the _Black Cat_ manner, -with the tales of Ambrose Bierce as its finest flower--in brief, an -imitation of Poe's externals without any comprehension whatever of his -underlying aims and notions. What we have from him at second-hand is a -somewhat childish Maeterlinckism, a further dilution of Poe-and-water. -This Maeterlinckism, some time ago, got itself intermingled with the -Whitmanic stream flowing back to America through the channel of French -Imagism, with results destructive to the sanity of earnest critics -and fatal to the gravity of those less austere. It is significant -that the critical writing of Poe, in which there lies most that was -best in him, has not come back; no normal American ever thinks of -him as a critic, but only as a poet, as a raiser of goose-flesh, or -as an immoral fellow. The cause thereof is plain enough. The French, -instead of borrowing his critical theory directly, deduced it afresh -from his applications of it; it became criticism _of_ him rather than -_by_ him. Thus his own speculations have lacked the authority of -foreign approval, and have consequently made no impression. The weight -of native opinion is naturally against them, for they are at odds, -not only with its fundamental theories, but also with its practical -doctrine that no criticism can be profound and respectable which is not -also dull. - -"Poe," says Arthur Ransome, in his capital study of the man and the -artist, "was like a wolf chained by the leg among a lot of domestic -dogs." The simile here is somewhat startling, and Ransome, in a -footnote, tries to ameliorate it: the "domestic dogs" it refers to -were magnificoes of no less bulk than Longfellow, Whittier, Holmes and -Emerson. In the case of Whitman, the wolf was not only chained, but -also muzzled. Nothing, indeed, could be more amazing than the hostility -that surrounded him at home until the very end of his long life. True -enough, it was broken by certain feeble mitigations. Emerson, in -1855, praised him--though later very eager to forget it and desert -him, as Clemens and Howells, years afterward, deserted Gorky. Alcott, -Thoreau, Lowell and even Bryant, during his brief Bohemian days, -were polite to him. A group of miscellaneous enthusiasts gradually -gathered about him, and out of this group emerged at least one man of -some distinction, John Burroughs. Young adventurers of letters--for -example, Huneker--went to see him and hear him, half drawn by genuine -admiration and half by mere deviltry. But the general tone of the -opinion that beat upon him, the attitude of domestic criticism, was -unbrokenly inimical; he was opposed by misrepresentation and neglect. -"The prevailing range of criticism on my book," he wrote in "A -Backward Glance on My Own Road" in 1884, "has been either mockery or -denunciation--and ... I have been the marked object of two or three -(to me pretty serious) official bufferings." "After thirty years -of trial," he wrote in "My Book and I," three years later, "public -criticism on the book and myself as author of it shows marked anger -and contempt more than anything else." That is, at home. Abroad he -was making headway all the while, and long years afterward, by way of -France and England, he began to force his way into the consciousness -of his countrymen. What could have been more ironical than the solemn -celebrations of Whitman's centenary that were carried off in various -American universities in 1919? One can picture the old boy rolling with -homeric mirth in hell. Imagine the fate of a university don of 1860, -or 1870, or 1880, or even 1890 who had ventured to commend "Leaves of -Grass" to the young gentlemen of his seminary! He would have come to -grief as swiftly as that Detroit pedagogue of day before yesterday who -brought down the Mothers' Legion upon him by commending "Jurgen." - - - - -8 - - -_The Cultural Background_ - - -So far, the disease. As to the cause, I have delivered a few hints. -I now describe it particularly. It is, in brief, a defect in the -general culture of the country--one reflected, not only in the national -literature, but also in the national political theory, the national -attitude toward religion and morals, the national habit in all -departments of thinking. It is the lack of a civilized aristocracy, -secure in its position, animated by an intelligent curiosity, skeptical -of all facile generalizations, superior to the sentimentality of the -mob, and delighting in the battle of ideas for its own sake. - -The word I use, despite the qualifying adjective, has got itself -meanings, of course, that I by no means intend to convey. Any mention -of an aristocracy, to a public fed upon democratic fustian, is bound -to bring up images of stock-brokers' wives lolling obscenely in opera -boxes, or of haughty Englishmen slaughtering whole generations of -grouse in an inordinate and incomprehensible manner, or of Junkers -with tight waists elbowing American schoolmarms off the sidewalks of -German beer towns, or of perfumed Italians coming over to work their -abominable magic upon the daughters of breakfast-food and bathtub -kings. Part of this misconception, I suppose, has its roots in the -gaudy imbecilities of the yellow press, but there is also a part that -belongs to the general American tradition, along with the oppression of -minorities and the belief in political panaceas. Its depth and extent -are constantly revealed by the naïve assumption that the so-called -fashionable folk of the large cities--chiefly wealthy industrials in -the interior-decorator and country-club stage of culture--constitute an -aristocracy, and by the scarcely less remarkable assumption that the -peerage of England is identical with the gentry--that is, that such -men as Lord Northcliffe, Lord Iveagh and even Lord Reading are English -gentlemen, and of the ancient line of the Percys. - -Here, as always, the worshiper is the father of the gods, and no less -when they are evil than when they are benign. The inferior man must -find himself superiors, that he may marvel at his political equality -with them, and in the absence of recognizable superiors _de facto_ he -creates superiors _de jure._ The sublime principle of one man, one -vote must be translated into terms of dollars, diamonds, fashionable -intelligence; the equality of all men before the law must have clear -and dramatic proofs. Sometimes, perhaps, the thing goes further and is -more subtle. The inferior man needs an aristocracy to demonstrate, not -only his mere equality, but also his actual superiority. The society -columns in the newspapers may have some such origin: they may visualize -once more the accomplished journalist's understanding of the mob mind -that he plays upon so skillfully, as upon some immense and cacophonous -organ, always going _fortissimo._ What the inferior man and his wife -see in the sinister revels of those amazing first families, I suspect, -is often a massive witness to their own higher rectitude--to their -relative innocence of cigarette-smoking, poodle-coddling, child-farming -and the more abstruse branches of adultery--in brief, to their firmer -grasp upon the immutable axioms of Christian virtue, the one sound -boast of the nether nine-tenths of humanity in every land under the -cross. - -But this bugaboo aristocracy, as I hint, is actually bogus, and the -evidence of its bogusness lies in the fact that it is insecure. One -gets into it only onerously, but out of it very easily. Entrance is -effected by dint of a long and bitter straggle, and the chief incidents -of that struggle are almost intolerable humiliations. The aspirant -must school and steel himself to sniffs and sneers; he must see the -door slammed upon him a hundred times before ever it is thrown open -to him. To get in at all he must show a talent for abasement--and -abasement makes him timorous. Worse, that timorousness is not cured -when he succeeds at last. On the contrary, it is made even more -tremulous, for what he faces within the gates is a scheme of things -made up almost wholly of harsh and often unintelligible taboos, -and the penalty for violating even the least of them is swift and -disastrous. He must exhibit exactly the right social habits, appetites -and prejudices, public and private. He must harbor exactly the right -political enthusiasms and indignations. He must have a hearty taste -for exactly the right sports. His attitude toward the fine arts must -be properly tolerant and yet not a shade too eager. He must read and -like exactly the right books, pamphlets and public journals. He must -put up at the right hotels when he travels. His wife must patronize -the right milliners. He himself must stick to the right haberdashery. -He must live in the right neighborhood. He must even embrace the right -doctrines of religion. It would ruin him, for all opera box and society -column purposes, to set up a plea for justice to the Bolsheviki, or -even for ordinary decency. It would ruin him equally to wear celluloid -collars, or to move to Union Hill, N. J., or to serve ham and cabbage -at his table. And it would ruin him, too, to drink coffee from his -saucer, or to marry a chambermaid with a gold tooth, or to join the -Seventh Day Adventists. Within the boundaries of his curious order -he is worse fettered than a monk in a cell. Its obscure conception of -propriety, its nebulous notion that this or that is honorable, hampers -him in every direction, and very narrowly. What he resigns when he -enters, even when he makes his first deprecating knock at the door, is -every right to attack the ideas that happen to prevail within. Such -as they are, he must accept them without question. And as they shift -and change in response to great instinctive movements (or perhaps, -now and then, to the punished but not to be forgotten revolts of -extraordinary rebels) he must shift and change with them, silently and -quickly. To hang back, to challenge and dispute, to preach reforms and -revolutions--these are crimes against the brummagen Holy Ghost of the -order. - -Obviously, that order cannot constitute a genuine aristocracy, in -any rational sense. A genuine aristocracy is grounded upon very much -different principles. Its first and most salient character is its -interior security, and the chief visible evidence of that security is -the freedom that goes with it--not only freedom in act, the divine -right of the aristocrat to do what he jolly well pleases, so long as he -does not violate the primary guarantees and obligations of his class, -but also and more importantly freedom in thought, the liberty to try -and err, the right to be his own man. It is the instinct of a true -aristocracy, not to punish eccentricity by expulsion, but to throw a -mantle of protection about it--to safeguard it from the suspicions and -resentments of the lower orders. Those lower orders are inert, timid, -inhospitable to ideas, hostile to changes, faithful to a few maudlin -superstitions. All progress goes on on the higher levels. It is there -that salient personalities, made secure by artificial immunities, -may oscillate most widely from the normal track. It is within that -entrenched fold, out of reach of the immemorial certainties of the -mob, that extraordinary men of the lower orders may find their city -of refuge, and breathe a clear air. This, indeed, is at once the -hall-mark and the justification of an aristocracy--that it is beyond -responsibility to the general masses of men, and hence superior to both -their degraded longings and their no less degraded aversions. It is -nothing if it is not autonomous, curious, venturesome, courageous, and -everything if it is. It is the custodian of the qualities that make for -change and experiment; it is the class that organizes danger to the -service of the race; it pays for its high prerogatives by standing in -the forefront of the fray. - -No such aristocracy, it must be plain, is now on view in the United -States. The makings of one were visible in the Virginia of the later -eighteenth century, but with Jefferson and Washington the promise -died. In New England, it seems to me, there was never any aristocracy, -either in being or in nascency: there was only a theocracy that -degenerated very quickly into a plutocracy on the one hand and a caste -of sterile _Gelehrten_ on the other--the passion for God splitting -into a lust for dollars and a weakness for mere words. Despite the -common notion to the contrary--a notion generated by confusing -literacy with intelligence--New England has never shown the slightest -sign of a genuine enthusiasm for ideas. It began its history as a -slaughter-house of ideas, and it is to-day not easily distinguishable -from a cold-storage plant. Its celebrated adventures in mysticism, once -apparently so bold and significant, are now seen to have been little -more than an elaborate hocus-pocus--respectable Unitarians shocking the -peasantry and scaring the horned cattle in the fields by masquerading -in the robes of Rosicrucians. The ideas that it embraced in those -austere and far-off days were stale, and when it had finished with them -they were dead: to-day one hears of Jakob Böhme almost as rarely as one -hears of Allen G. Thurman. So in politics. Its glory is Abolition--an -English invention, long under the interdict of the native plutocracy. -Since the Civil War its six states have produced fewer political ideas, -as political ideas run in the Republic, than any average county in -Kansas or Nebraska. Appomattox seemed to be a victory for New England -idealism. It was actually a victory for the New England plutocracy, -and that plutocracy has dominated thought above the Housatonic ever -since. The sect of professional idealists has so far dwindled that it -has ceased to be of any importance, even as an opposition. When the -plutocracy is challenged now, it is challenged by the proletariat. - -Well, what is on view in New England is on view in all other parts -of the nation, sometimes with ameliorations, but usually with the -colors merely exaggerated. What one beholds, sweeping the eye over -the land, is a culture that, like the national literature, is in -three layers--the plutocracy on top, a vast mass of undifferentiated -human blanks at the bottom, and a forlorn _intelligentsia_ gasping -out a precarious life between. I need not set out at any length, I -hope, the intellectual deficiencies of the plutocracy--its utter -failure to show anything even remotely resembling the makings of -an aristocracy. It is badly educated, it is stupid, it is full of -low-caste superstitions and indignations, it is without decent -traditions or informing vision; above all, it is extraordinarily -lacking in the most elemental independence and courage. Out of this -class comes the grotesque fashionable society of our big towns, -already described. Imagine a horde of peasants incredibly enriched -and with almost infinite power thrust into their hands, and you will -have a fair picture of its habitual state of mind. It shows all -the stigmata of inferiority--moral certainty, cruelty, suspicion -of ideas, fear. Never did it function more revealingly than in the -late _pogrom_ against the so-called Reds, _i. e.,_ against humorless -idealists who, like Andrew Jackson, took the platitudes of democracy -quite seriously. The machinery brought to bear upon these feeble and -scattered fanatics would have almost sufficed to repel an invasion by -the united powers of Europe. They were hunted out of their sweat-shops -and coffee-houses as if they were so many Carranzas or Ludendorffs, -dragged to jail to the tooting of horns, arraigned before quaking -judges on unintelligible charges, condemned to deportation without the -slightest chance to defend them: selves, torn from their dependent -families, herded into prison-ships, and then finally dumped in a snow -waste, to be rescued and fed by the Bolsheviki. And what was the -theory at the bottom of all these astounding proceedings? So far as -it can be reduced to comprehensible terms it was much less a theory -than a fear--a shivering, idiotic, discreditable fear of a mere -banshee--an overpowering, paralyzing dread that some extra-eloquent -Red, permitted to emit his balderdash unwhipped, might eventually -convert a couple of courageous men, and that the courageous men, filled -with indignation against the plutocracy, might take to the highroad, -burn down a nail-factory or two, and slit the throat of some virtuous -profiteer. In order to lay this fear, in order to ease the jangled -nerves of the American successors to the Hapsburgs and Hohenzollerns, -all the constitutional guarantees of the citizen were suspended, the -statute-books were burdened with laws that surpass anything heard of -in the Austria of Maria Theresa, the country was handed over to a -frenzied mob of detectives, informers and _agents provocateurs_--and -the Reds departed laughing loudly, and were hailed by the Bolsheviki as -innocents escaped from an asylum for the criminally insane. - -Obviously, it is out of reason to look for any hospitality to ideas -in a class so extravagantly fearful of even the most palpably absurd -of them. Its philosophy is firmly grounded upon the thesis that the -existing order must stand forever free from attack, and not only -from attack, but also from mere academic criticism, and its ethics -are as firmly grounded upon the thesis that every attempt at any -such criticism is a proof of moral turpitude. Within its own ranks, -protected by what may be regarded as the privilege of the order, -there is nothing to take the place of this criticism. A few feeble -platitudes by Andrew Carnegie and a book of moderate merit by John D. -Rockefeller's press-agent constitute almost the whole of the interior -literature of ideas. In other countries the plutocracy has often -produced men of reflective and analytical habit, eager to rationalize -its instincts and to bring it into some sort of relationship to the -main streams of human thought. The case of David Ricardo at once comes -to mind. There have been many others: John Bright, Richard Cobden, -George Grote, and, in our own time, Walther von Rathenau. But in -the United States no such phenomenon has been visible. There was a -day, not long ago, when certain young men of wealth gave signs of an -unaccustomed interest in ideas on the political side, but the most they -managed to achieve was a banal sort of Socialism, and even this was -abandoned in sudden terror when the war came, and Socialism fell under -suspicion of being genuinely international--in brief, of being honest -under the skin. Nor has the plutocracy of the country ever fostered an -inquiring spirit among its intellectual valets and footmen, which is -to say, among the gentlemen who compose headlines and leading articles -for its newspapers. What chiefly distinguishes the daily press of the -United States from the press of all other countries pretending to -culture is not its lack of truthfulness or even its lack of dignity -and honor, for these deficiencies are common to the newspapers -everywhere, but its incurable fear of ideas, its constant effort to -evade the discussion of fundamentals by translating all issues into -a few elemental fears, its incessant reduction of all reflection to -mere emotion. It is, in the true sense, never well-informed. It is -seldom intelligent, save in the arts of the mob-master. It is never -courageously honest. Held harshly to a rigid correctness of opinion by -the plutocracy that controls it with less and less attempt at disguise, -and menaced on all sides by censorships that it dare not flout, it -sinks rapidly into formalism and feebleness. Its yellow section is -perhaps its most respectable section, for there the only vestige of the -old free journalist survives. In the more conservative papers one finds -only a timid and petulant animosity to all questioning of the existing -order, however urbane and sincere--a pervasive and ill-concealed dread -that the mob now heated up against the orthodox hobgoblins may suddenly -begin to unearth hobgoblins of its own, and so run amok. For it is upon -the emotions of the mob, of course, that the whole comedy is played. -Theoretically the mob is the repository of all political wisdom and -virtue; actually it is the ultimate source of all political power. Even -the plutocracy cannot make war upon it openly, or forget the least -of its weaknesses. The business of keeping it in order must be done -discreetly, warily, with delicate technique. In the main that business -consists of keeping alive its deep-seated fears--of strange faces, of -unfamiliar ideas, of unhackneyed gestures, of untested liberties and -responsibilities. The one permanent emotion of the inferior man, as of -all the simpler mammals, is fear--fear of the unknown, the complex, -the inexplicable. What he wants beyond everything else is safety. -His instincts incline him toward a society so organized that it will -protect him at all hazards, and not only against perils to his hide -but also against assaults upon his mind--against the need to grapple -with unaccustomed problems, to weigh ideas, to think things out for -himself, to scrutinize the platitudes upon which his everyday thinking -is based. Content under kaiserism so long as it functions efficiently, -he turns, when kaiserism falls, to some other and perhaps worse form -of paternalism, bringing to its benign tyranny only the docile tribute -of his pathetic allegiance. In America it is the newspaper that is his -boss. From it he gets support for his elemental illusions. In it he -sees a visible embodiment of his own wisdom and consequence. Out of it -he draws fuel for his simple moral passion, his congenital suspicion of -heresy, his dread of the unknown. And behind the newspaper stands the -plutocracy, ignorant, unimaginative and timorous. - -Thus at the top and at the bottom. Obviously, there is no aristocracy -here. One finds only one of the necessary elements, and that only in -the plutocracy, to wit, a truculent egoism. But where is intelligence? -Where are ease and surety of manner? Where are enterprise and -curiosity? Where, above all, is courage, and in particular, moral -courage--the capacity for independent thinking, for difficult problems, -for what Nietzsche called the joys of the labyrinth? As well look for -these things in a society of half-wits. Democracy, obliterating the old -aristocracy, has left only a vacuum in its place; in a century and a -half it has failed either to lift up the mob to intellectual autonomy -and dignity or to purge the plutocracy of its inherent stupidity and -swinishness. It is precisely here, the first and favorite scene of the -Great Experiment, that the culture of the individual has been reduced -to the most rigid and absurd regimentation. It is precisely here, of -all civilized countries, that eccentricity in demeanor and opinion -has come to bear the heaviest penalties. The whole drift of our law -is toward the absolute prohibition of all ideas that diverge in the -slightest from the accepted platitudes, and behind that drift of law -there is a far more potent force of growing custom, and under that -custom there is a national philosophy which erects conformity into -the noblest of virtues and the free functioning of personality into a -capital crime against society. - - - - -9 - - -_Under the Campus Pump_ - - -But there remain the _intelligentsia,_ the free spirits in the middle -ground, neither as anæsthetic to ideas as the plutocracy on the one -hand nor as much the slaves of emotion as the proletariat on the other. -Have I forgotten them? I have not. But what actually reveals itself -when this small brotherhood of the superior is carefully examined? -What reveals itself, it seems to me, is a gigantic disappointment. -Superficially, there are all the marks of a caste of learned and -sagacious men--a great book-knowledge, a laudable diligence, a certain -fine reserve and sniffishness, a plain consciousness of intellectual -superiority, not a few gestures that suggest the aristocratic. But -under the surface one quickly discovers that the whole thing is little -more than play-acting, and not always very skillful. Learning is there, -but not curiosity. A heavy dignity is there, but not much genuine -self-respect. Pretentiousness is there, but not a trace of courage. -Squeezed between the plutocracy on on side and the mob on the other, -the _intelligentsia_ face the eternal national problem of maintaining -their position, of guarding themselves against challenge and attack, -of keeping down suspicion. They have all the attributes of knowledge -save the sense of power. They have all the qualities of an aristocracy -save the capital qualities that arise out of a feeling of security, of -complete independence, of absolute immunity to onslaught from above -and below. In brief, the old bogusness hangs about them, as about the -fashionable aristocrats of the society columns. They are safe so long -as they are good, which is to say, so long as they neither aggrieve the -plutocracy nor startle the proletariat. Immediately they fall into -either misdemeanor all their apparent dignity vanishes, and with it all -of their influence, and they become simply somewhat ridiculous rebels -against a social order that has no genuine need of them and is disposed -to tolerate them only when they are not obtrusive. - -For various reasons this shadowy caste is largely made up of men who -have official stamps upon their learning--that is, of professors, -of doctors of philosophy; outside of academic circles it tends to -shade off very rapidly into a half-world of isolated anarchists. One -of those reasons is plain enough: the old democratic veneration for -mere schooling, inherited from the Puritans of New England, is still -in being, and the mob, always eager for short cuts in thinking, is -disposed to accept a schoolmaster without looking beyond his degree. -Another reason lies in the fact that the higher education is still -rather a novelty in the country, and there have yet to be developed -any devices for utilizing learned men in any trade save teaching. Yet -other reasons will suggest themselves. Whatever the ramification of -causes, the fact is plain that the pedagogues have almost a monopoly -of what passes for the higher thinking in the land. Not only do they -reign unchallenged in their own chaste grove; they also penetrate to -all other fields of ratiocination, to the almost complete exclusion of -unshrived rivals. They dominate the weeklies of opinion; they are to -the fore in every review; they write nine-tenths of the serious books -of the country; they begin to invade the newspapers; they instruct and -exhort the yokelry from the stump; they have even begun to penetrate -into the government. One cannot turn in the United States without -encountering a professor. There is one on every municipal commission. -There is one in every bureau of the federal government. There is one at -the head of every intellectual movement. There is one to explain every -new mystery. Professors appraise all works of art, whether graphic, -tonal or literary. Professors supply the brain power for agriculture, -diplomacy, the control of dependencies and the distribution of -commodities. A professor was until lately sovereign of the country, and -pope of the state church. - -So much for their opportunity. What, now, of their achievement? -I answer as one who has had thrown upon him, by the impenetrable -operations of fate, the rather thankless duties of a specialist in the -ways of pedagogues, a sort of professor of professors. The job has got -me enemies. I have been accused of carrying on a defamatory _jehad_ -against virtuous and laborious men; I have even been charged with doing -it in the interest of the Wilhelmstrasse, the White Slave Trust and the -ghost of Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. Nothing could be more absurd. -All my instincts are on the side of the professors. I esteem a man -who devotes himself to a subject with hard diligence; I esteem even -more a man who puts poverty and a shelf of books above profiteering -and evenings of jazz; I am naturally monkish. Moreover, there are more -Ph.D.'s on my family tree than even a Boston bluestocking can boast; -there was a whole century when even the most ignorant of my house was -at least _Juris utriusque Doctor._ But such predispositions should not -be permitted to color sober researches. What I have found, after long -and arduous labors, is a state of things that is surely not altogether -flattering to the _Gelehrten_ under examination. What I have found, -in brief, is that pedagogy turned to general public uses is almost -as timid and flatulent as journalism--that the professor, menaced by -the timid dogmatism of the plutocracy above him and the incurable -suspiciousness of the mob beneath him, is almost invariably inclined -to seek his own security in a mellifluous inanity--that, far from -being a courageous spokesman of ideas and an apostle of their free -dissemination, in politics, in the fine arts, in practical ethics, he -comes close to being the most prudent and skittish of all men concerned -with them--in brief, that he yields to the prevailing correctness of -thought in all departments, north, east, south and west, and is, in -fact, the chief exponent among us of the democratic doctrine that -heresy is not only a mistake, but also a crime. - -A philosophy is not put to much of a test in ordinary times, for in -ordinary times philosophies are permitted to lie like sleeping dogs. -When it shows its inward metal is when the band begins to play. The -turmoils of the late lamentable war, it seems to me, provided for -such a trying out of fundamental ideas and attitudes upon a colossal -scale. The whole thinking of the world was thrown into confusion; all -the worst fears and prejudices of ignorant and emotional men came to -the front; it was a time, beyond all others in modern history, when -intellectual integrity was subjected to a cruel strain. How did the -_intelligentsia_ of These States bear up under that strain? What -was the reaction of our learned men to the challenge of organized -hysteria, mob fear, incitement to excess, downright insanity? How did -they conduct themselves in that universal whirlwind? They conducted -themselves, I fear, in a manner that must leave a brilliant question -mark behind their claim to independence and courage, to true knowledge -and dignity, to ordinary self-respect--in brief, to every quality that -belongs to the authentic aristocrat. They constituted themselves, -not a restraining influence upon the mob run wild, but the loudest -spokesmen of its worst imbecilities. They fed it with bogus history, -bogus philosophy, bogus idealism, bogus heroics. They manufactured -blather for its entertainment. They showed themselves to be as naïve -as so many Liberty Loan orators, as emotional, almost, as the spy -hunters, and as disdainful of the ordinary intellectual decencies -as the editorial writers. I accumulated, in those great days, for -the instruction and horror of posterity, a very large collection -of academic arguments, expositions and pronunciamentos; it fills a -trunk, and got me heavily into debt to three clipping-bureaux. Its -contents range from solemn hymns of hate in the learned (and even -the theological) reviews and such official donkeyisms as the formal -ratification of the so-called Sisson documents down to childish -harangues to student-bodies, public demands that the study of the enemy -language and literature be prohibited by law, violent denunciations of -all enemy science as negligible and fraudulent, vitriolic attacks upon -enemy magnificos, and elaborate proofs that the American Revolution -was the result of a foul plot hatched in the Wilhelmstrasse of the -time, to the wanton injury of two loving bands of brothers. I do not -exaggerate in the slightest. The proceedings of Mr. Creel's amazing -corps of "twenty-five hundred American historians" went further than -anything I have described. And in every far-flung college town, in -every one-building "university" on the prairie, even the worst efforts -of those "historians" were vastly exceeded. - -But I am forgetting the like phenomena on the other side of the bloody -chasm? I am overlooking the darker crimes of the celebrated German -professors? Not at all. Those crimes against all reason and dignity, -had they been committed in fact, would not be evidence in favor of the -Americans in the dock: the principle of law is too well accepted to -need argument. But I venture to deny them, and out of a very special -and singular knowledge, for I seem to be one of the few Americans who -has ever actually read the proclamations of the German professors: -all the most indignant critics of them appear to have accepted -second-hand accounts of their contents. Having suffered the onerous -labor of reading them, I now offer sworn witness to their relative -mildness. Now and then one encounters in them a disconcerting bray. -Now and then one weeps with sore heart. Now and then one is bogged in -German made wholly unintelligible by emotion. But taking them as they -stand, and putting them fairly beside the corresponding documents of -American vintage, one is at once struck by their comparative suavity -and decorum, their freedom from mere rhetoric and fustian--above all, -by their effort to appeal to reason, such as it is, rather than to -emotion. No German professor, from end to end of the war, put his hand -to anything as transparently silly as the Sisson documents. No German -professor essayed to prove that the Seven Years' War was caused by -Downing Street. No German professor argued that the study of English -would corrupt the soul. No German professor denounced Darwin as an -ignoramus and Lister as a scoundrel. Nor was anything of the sort done, -so far as I know, by any French professor. Nor even by any reputable -English professor. All such honorable efforts on behalf of correct -thought in war-time were monopolized by American professors. And if -the fact is disputed, then I threaten upon some future day, when the -stealthy yearning to forget has arisen, to print my proofs in parallel -columns--the most esteemed extravagances of the German professors -in one column and the corresponding masterpieces of the American -professors in the other. - -I do not overlook, of course, the self-respecting men who, in the -midst of all the uproar, kept their counsel and their dignity. A small -minority, hard beset and tested by the fire! Nor do I overlook the -few sentimental fanatics who, in the face of devastating evidence to -the contrary, proceeded upon the assumption that academic freedom was -yet inviolable, and so got themselves cashiered, and began posturing -in radical circles as martyrs, the most absurd of men. But I think I -draw a fair picture of the general. I think I depict with reasonable -accuracy the typical response of the only recognizable _intelligentsia_ -of the land to the first great challenge to their aristocratic -aloofness--the first test in the grand manner of their freedom alike -from the bellicose imbecility of the plutocracy and the intolerable -fears and childish moral certainties of the mob. That test exposed them -shamelessly. It revealed their fast allegiance to the one thing that is -the antithesis of all free inquiry, of all honest hospitality to ideas, -of all intellectual independence and integrity. They proved that they -were correct--and in proving it they threw a brilliant light upon many -mysteries of our national culture. - - - - -10 - - -_The Intolerable Burden_ - - -Among others, upon the mystery of our literature--its faltering -feebleness, its lack of genuine gusto, its dearth of salient -personalities, its general air of poverty and imitation: What ails -the beautiful letters of the Republic, I repeat, is what ails the -general culture of the Republic--the lack of a body of sophisticated -and civilized public opinion, independent of plutocratic control -and superior to the infantile philosophies of the mob--a body of -opinion showing the eager curiosity, the educated skepticism and the -hospitality to ideas of a true aristocracy. This lack is felt by the -American author, imagining him to have anything new to say, every day -of his life. He can hope for no support, in ordinary cases, from the -mob: it is too suspicious of all ideas. He can hope for no support -from the spokesmen of the plutocracy: they are too diligently devoted -to maintaining the intellectual _status quo._ He turns, then, to -the _intelligentsia_--and what he finds is correctness! In his two -prime functions, to represent the life about him accurately and to -criticize it honestly, he sees that correctness arrayed against him. -His representation is indecorous, unlovely, too harsh to be borne. His -criticism is in contumacy to the ideals upon which the whole structure -rests. So he is either attacked vigorously as an anti-patriot whose -babblings ought to be put down by law, or enshrouded in a silence which -commonly disposes of him even more effectively. - -Soon or late, of course, a man of genuine force and originality is -bound to prevail against that sort of stupidity. He will unearth an -adherent here and another there; in the long run they may become -numerous enough to force some recognition of him, even from the -most immovable exponents of correctness. But the business is slow, -uncertain, heart-breaking. It puts a burden upon the artist that -ought not to be put upon him. It strains beyond reason his diligence -and passion. A man who devotes his life to creating works of the -imagination, a man who gives over all his strength and energy to -struggling with problems that are essentially delicate and baffling and -pregnant with doubt--such a man does not ask for recognition as a mere -reward for his industry; he asks for it as a necessary _help_ to his -industry; he needs it as he needs decent subsistence and peace of mind. -It is a grave damage to the artist and a grave loss to the literature -when such a man as Poe has to seek consolation among his inferiors, -and such a man as the Mark Twain of "What Is Man?" is forced to -conceal his most profound beliefs, and such men as Dreiser and Cabell -are exposed to incessant attacks by malignant stupidity. The notion -that artists flourish upon adversity and misunderstanding, that they -are able to function to the utmost in an atmosphere of indifference -or hostility--this notion is nine-tenths nonsense. If it were true, -then one would never hear of painters going to France or of musicians -going to Germany. What the artist actually needs is comprehension -of his aims and ideals by men he respects--not necessarily approval -of his products, but simply an intelligent sympathy for him in the -great agony of creation. And that sympathy must be more than the mere -fellow-feeling of other craftsmen; it must come, in large part, out of -a connoisseurship that is beyond the bald trade interest; it must have -its roots in the intellectual curiosity of an aristocracy of taste. -Billroth, I believe, was more valuable to Brahms than even Schumann. -His eager interest gave music-making a solid dignity. His championship -offered the musician a visible proof that his labors had got for him a -secure place in a civilized and stable society, and that he would be -judged by his peers, and safeguarded against the obtuse hostility of -his inferiors. - -No such security is thrown about an artist in America. It is not that -the country lacks the standards that Dr. Brownell pleads for; it is -that its standards are still those of a primitive and timorous society. -The excesses of Comstockery are profoundly symbolical. What they show -is the moral certainty of the mob in operation against something that -is as incomprehensible to it as the theory of least squares, and what -they show even more vividly is the distressing lack of any automatic -corrective of that outrage--of any firm and secure body of educated -opinion, eager to hear and test all intelligible ideas and sensitively -jealous of the right to discuss them freely. When "The Genius" was -attacked by the Comstocks, it fell to my lot to seek assistance for -Dreiser among the _intelligentsia._ I found them almost unanimously -disinclined to lend a hand. A small number permitted themselves to be -induced, but the majority held back, and not a few, as I have said, -actually offered more or less furtive aid to the Comstocks. I pressed -the matter and began to unearth reasons. It was, it appeared, dangerous -for a member of the _intelligentsia,_ and particularly for a member -of the academic _intelligentsia,_ to array himself against the mob -inflamed--against the moral indignation of the sort of folk who devour -vice reports and are converted by the Rev. Billy Sunday! If he came -forward, he would have to come forward alone. There was no organized -support behind him. No instinctive urge of class, no prompting of -a great tradition, moved him to speak out for artistic freedom ... -England supplied the lack. Over there they have a mob too, and -something akin to Comstockery, and a cult of hollow correctness--but -they also have a caste that stands above all that sort of thing, and -out of that caste came aid for Dreiser. - -England is always supplying the lack--England, or France, or Germany, -or some other country, but chiefly England. "My market and my -reputation," said Prescott in 1838, "rest principally with England." -To Poe, a few years later, the United States was "a literary colony -of Great Britain." And there has been little change to this day. The -English leisure class, says Prof. Dr. Veblen, is "for purposes of -reputable usage the upper leisure class of this country." Despite all -the current highfalutin about melting pots and national destinies the -United States remains almost as much an English colonial possession, -intellectually and spiritually, as it was on July 3, 1776. The American -social pusher keeps his eye on Mayfair; the American literatus dreams -of recognition by the London weeklies; the American don is lifted to -bliss by the imprimatur of Oxford or Cambridge; even the American -statesman knows how to cringe to Downing Street. Most of the essential -policies of Dr. Wilson between 1914 and 1920--when the realistic -English, finding him no longer useful, incontinently dismissed -him--were, to all intents and purposes, those of a British colonial -premier. He went into the Peace Conference willing to yield everything -to English interests, and he came home with a treaty that was so -extravagantly English that it fell an easy prey to the anti-English -minority, ever alert for the makings of a bugaboo to scare the plain -people. What lies under all this subservience is simple enough. The -American, for all his braggadocio, is quite conscious of his intrinsic -inferiority to the Englishman, on all cultural counts. He may put -himself first as a man of business, as an adventurer in practical -affairs or as a pioneer in the applied arts and sciences, but in -all things removed from the mere pursuit of money and physical ease -he well understands that he belongs at the second table. Even his -recurrent attacks of Anglophobia are no more than Freudian evidences -of his inferiority complex. He howls in order to still his inner -sense of inequality, as he howls against imaginary enemies in order -to convince himself that he is brave and against fabulous despotisms -in order to prove that he is free. The Englishman is never deceived -by this hocus-pocus. He knows that it is always possible to fetch -the rebel back into camp by playing upon his elemental fears and -vanities. A few dark threats, a few patronizing speeches, a few Oxford -degrees, and the thing is done. More, the English scarcely regard -it as hunting in the grand manner; it is a business of subalterns. -When, during the early stages of the war, they had occasion to woo -the American _intelligentsia,_ what agents did they choose? Did they -nominate Thomas Hardy, Joseph Conrad, George Moore and company? Nay, -they nominated Conan Doyle, Coningsby Dawson, Alfred Noyes, Ian Hay, -Chesterton, Kipling, Zangwill and company. In the choice there was high -sagacity and no little oblique humor--as there was a bit later in the -appointment of Lord Reading and Sir Auckland Geddes to Washington. The -valuation they set upon the _aluminados_ of the Republic was exactly -the valuation they were in the habit of setting, at home, upon MM. of -the Free Church Federation. They saw the eternal green-grocer beneath -the master's gown and mortarboard. Let us look closely and we shall see -him, too. - -The essence of a self-reliant and autonomous culture is an unshakable -egoism. It must not only regard itself as the peer of any other -culture; it must regard itself as the superior of any other. You will -find this indomitable pride in the culture of any truly first-rate -nation: France, Germany or England. But you will not find it in the -so-called culture of America. Here the decadent Anglo-Saxon majority -still looks obediently and a bit wistfully toward the motherland. -No good American ever seriously questions an English judgment on an -æsthetic question, or even on an ethical, philosophical or political -question. There is, in fact, seldom any rational reason why he should: -it is almost always more mature, more tolerant, more intelligent than -any judgment hatched at home. Behind it lies a settled scheme of -things, a stable point of view, the authority of a free intellectual -aristocracy, the pride of tradition and of power. The English are -sure-footed, well-informed, persuasive. It is beyond their imagination -that any one should seriously challenge them. In this over-grown and -oafish colony there is no such sureness. The American always secretly -envies the Englishman, even when he professes to flout him. The -Englishman never envies the American. - -The extraordinary colonist, moved to give utterance to the ideas -bubbling within him, is thus vastly handicapped, for he must submit -them to the test of a culture that, in the last analysis, is never -quite his own culture, despite its dominance. Looking within himself, -he finds that he is different, that he diverges from the English -standard, that he is authentically American--and to be authentically -American is to be officially inferior. He thus faces dismay at -the very start: support is lacking when he needs it most. In the -motherland--in any motherland, in any wholly autonomous nation--there -is a class of men like himself, devoted to translating the higher -manifestations of the national spirit into ideas--men differing -enormously among themselves, but still united in common cause against -the lethargy and credulity of the mass. But in a colony that class, -if it exists at all, lacks coherence and certainty; its authority -is not only disputed by the inertia and suspiciousness of the lower -orders, but also by the superior authority overseas; it is timorous and -fearful of challenge. Thus it affords no protection to an individual -of assertive originality, and he is forced to go as a suppliant to a -quarter in which nothing is his by right, but everything must go by -favor--in brief to a quarter where his very application must needs be -regarded as an admission of his inferiority. The burden of proof upon -him is thus made double. Obviously, he must be a man of very strong -personality to surmount such obstacles triumphantly. Such strong men, -of course, sometimes appear in a colony, but they always stand alone; -their worst opposition is at home. For a colonial of less vigorous soul -the battle is almost hopeless. Either he submits to subordination and -so wears docilely the inferior badge of a praiseworthy and tolerated -colonist, or he deserts the minority for the far more hospitable and -confident majority, and so becomes a mere mob-artist. - -Examples readily suggest themselves. I give you Poe and Whitman as men -strong enough to weather the adverse wind. The salient thing about each -of these men was this: that his impulse to self-expression, the force -of his "obscure, inner necessity," was so powerful that it carried him -beyond all ordinary ambitions and prudences--in other words, that the -ego functioned so heroically that it quite disregarded the temporal -welfare of the individual. Neither Poe nor Whitman made the slightest -concession to what was the predominant English taste, the prevailing -English authority, of his time. And neither yielded in the slightest -to the maudlin echoes of English notions that passed for ideas in the -United States; in neither will you find any recognizable reflection -of the things that Americans were saying and doing all about them. -Even Whitman, preaching democracy, preached a democracy that not one -actual democrat in a hundred thousand could so much as imagine. What -happened? _Imprimis,_ English authority, at the start, dismissed them -loftily; they were, at best, simply rare freaks from the colonies. -Secondly, American stupidity, falling into step, came near overlooking -them altogether. The accident that maintained them was an accident -of personality and environment. They happened to be men accustomed -to social isolation and of the most meager wants, and it was thus -difficult to deter them by neglect and punishment. So they stuck to -their guns--and presently they were "discovered," as the phrase is, by -men of a culture wholly foreign to them and perhaps incomprehensible -to them, and thereafter, by slow stages, they began to win a slow -and reluctant recognition in England (at first only from rebels and -iconoclasts), and finally even in America. That either, without French -prompting, would have come to his present estate I doubt very much. And -in support of that doubt I cite again the fact that Poe's high talents -as a critic, not having interested the French, have never got their -deserts either in England or at home. - -It is lesser men that we chiefly have to deal with in this world, -and it is among lesser men that the lack of a confident intellectual -viewpoint in America makes itself most evident. Examples are numerous -and obvious. On the one hand, we have Fenimore Cooper first making a -cringing bow for English favor, and then, on being kicked out, joining -the mob against sense; he wrote books so bad that even the Americans of -1830 admired them. On the other hand, we nave Henry James, a deserter -made by despair; one so depressed by the tacky company at the American -first table that he preferred to sit at the second table of the -English. The impulse was, and is common; it was only the forthright -act that distinguished him. And in the middle ground, showing both -seductions plainly, there is Mark Twain--at one moment striving his -hardest for the English _imprimatur,_ and childishly delighted by every -favorable gesture; at the next, returning to the native mob as its -premier clown-monkey-shining at banquets, cavorting in the newspapers, -shrinking poltroonishly from his own ideas, obscenely eager to give -no offense. A much greater artist than either Poe or Whitman, so I -devoutly believe, but a good deal lower as a man. The ultimate passion -was not there; the decent householder always pulled the ear of the -dreamer. His fate has irony in it. In England they patronize him: he -is, for an American, not so bad. In America, appalled by his occasional -ascents to honesty, his stray impulses to be wholly himself, the -dunderheads return him to arm's length, his old place, and one of the -most eminent of them, writing in the New York _Times,_ argues piously -that it is impossible to imagine him actually believing the commonplace -heresies he put into "What Is Man?" - - - - -11 - - -_Epilogue_ - - -I have described the disease. Let me say at once that I have no remedy -to offer. I simply set down a few ideas, throw out a few hints, -attempt a few modest inquiries into causes. Perhaps my argument -often turns upon itself: the field is weed-grown and paths are hard -to follow. It may be that insurmountable natural obstacles stand -in the way of the development of a distinctively American culture, -grounded upon a truly egoistic nationalism and supported by a native -aristocracy. After all, there is no categorical imperative that ordains -it. In such matters, when the conditions are right, nature often -arranges a division of labor. A nation shut in by racial and linguistic -isolation--a Sweden, a Holland or a France--is forced into autonomy by -sheer necessity; if it is to have any intellectual life at all it must -develop its own. But that is not our case. There is England to hold -up the torch for us, as France holds it up for Belgium, and Spain for -Latin America, and Germany for Switzerland. It is our function, as the -younger and less confident partner, to do the simpler, rougher parts of -the joint labor--to develop the virtues of the more elemental orders -of men: industry, piety, docility, endurance, assiduity and ingenuity -in practical affairs--the wood-hewing and water-drawing of the race. -It seems to me that we do all this very well; in these things we are -better than the English. But when it comes to those larger and more -difficult activities which concern only the superior minority, and are, -in essence, no more than products of its efforts to _demonstrate_ its -superiority--when it comes to the higher varieties of speculation and -self-expression, to the fine arts and the game of ideas--then we fall -into a bad second place. Where we stand, intellectually, is where the -English non-conformists stand; like them, we are marked by a fear of -ideas as disturbing and corrupting. Our art is imitative and timorous. -Our political theory is hopelessly sophomoric and superficial; even -English Toryism and Russian Bolshevism are infinitely more profound -and penetrating. And of the two philosophical systems that we have -produced, one is so banal that it is now imbedded in the New Thought, -and the other is so shallow that there is nothing in it either to -puzzle or to outrage a school-marm. - -Nevertheless, hope will not down, and now and then it is supported -by something rather more real than mere desire. One observes an -under-current of revolt, small but vigorous, and sometimes it exerts -its force, not only against the superficial banality but also against -the fundamental flabbiness, the intrinsic childishness of the Puritan -_Anschauung._ The remedy for that childishness is skepticism, and -already skepticism shows itself: in the iconoclastic political realism -of Harold Stearns, Waldo Frank and company, in the groping questions -of Dreiser, Cabell and Anderson, in the operatic rebellions of the -Village. True imagination, I often think, is no more than a function -of this skepticism. It is the dull man who is always sure, and the sure -man who is always dull. The more a man dreams, the less he believes. A -great literature is thus chiefly the product of doubting and inquiring -minds in revolt against the immovable certainties of the nation. -Shakespeare, at a time of rising democratic feeling in England, flung -the whole force of his genius against democracy. Cervantes, at a time -when all Spain was romantic, made a headlong attack upon romance. -Goethe, with Germany groping toward nationalism, threw his influences -on the side of internationalism. The central trouble with America is -conformity, timorousness, lack of enterprise and audacity. A nation -of third-rate men, a land offering hospitality only to fourth-rate -artists. In Elizabethan England they would have bawled for democracy, -in the Spain of Cervantes they would have yelled for chivalry, and in -the Germany of Goethe they would have wept and beat their breasts for -the Fatherland. To-day, as in the day of Emerson, they set the tune.... -But into the singing there occasionally enters a discordant note. On -some dim to-morrow, perhaps, perchance, peradventure, they may be -challenged. - - - - -II. ROOSEVELT: AN AUTOPSY - - -One thinks of Dr. Woodrow Wilson's biography of George Washington as -of one of the strangest of all the world's books. Washington: the -first, and perhaps also the last American gentleman. Wilson: the -self-bamboozled Presbyterian, the right-thinker, the great moral -statesman, the perfect model of the Christian cad. It is as if the -Rev. Dr. Billy Sunday should do a biography of Charles Darwin--almost -as if Dr. Wilson himself should dedicate his senility to a life of -the Chevalier Bayard, or the Cid, or Christ.... But such phenomena, -of course, are not actually rare in the republic; here everything -happens that is forbidden by the probabilities and the decencies. The -chief native critic of beautiful letters, for a whole generation, was -a Baptist clergyman; he was succeeded by a literary Wall Street man, -who gave way, in turn, to a soviet of ninth-rate pedagogues; this -very curious apostolic succession I have already discussed. The dean -of the music critics, even to-day, is a translator of grand opera -libretti, and probably one of the worst that ever lived. Return, -now, to political biography. Who can think of anything in American -literature comparable to Morley's life of Gladstone, or Trevelyan's -life of Macaulay, or Carlyle's Frederick, or even Winston Churchill's -life of his father? I dredge my memory hopelessly; only William Graham -Sumner's study of Andrew Jackson emerges--an extraordinarily astute and -careful piece of work by one of the two most underestimated Americans -of his generation, the other being Daniel Coit Gilman. But where is the -first-rate biography of Washington--sound, fair, penetrating, honest, -done by a man capable of comprehending the English gentry of the -eighteenth century? And how long must we wait for adequate treatises -upon Jefferson, Hamilton, Sam Adams, Aaron Burr, Henry Clay, Calhoun, -Webster, Sumner, Grant, Sherman, Lee? - -Even Lincoln is yet to be got vividly between the covers of a book. -The Nicolay-Hay work is quite impossible; it is not a biography, but -simply a huge storehouse of biographical raw materials; whoever can -read it can also read the official Records of the Rebellion. All the -other standard lives of old Abe--for instance, those of Lamon, Herndon -and Weil, Stoddard, Morse and Miss Tarbell--fail still worse; when -they are not grossly preachy and disingenuous they are trivial. So far -as I can make out, no genuinely scientific study of the man has ever -been attempted. The amazing conflict of testimony about him remains a -conflict; the most elemental facts are yet to be established; he grows -vaguer and more fabulous as year follows year. One would think that, by -this time, the question of his religious views (to take one example) -ought to be settled, but apparently it is not, for no longer than a -year ago there came a reverend author, Dr. William E. Barton, with a -whole volume upon the subject, and I was as much in the dark after -reading it as I had been before I opened it. All previous biographers, -it appeared by this author's evidence, had either dodged the problem, -or lied. The official doctrine, in this as in other departments, is -obviously quite unsound. One hears in the Sunday-schools that Abe was -an austere and pious fellow, constantly taking the name of God in -whispers, just as one reads in the school history-books that he was a -shining idealist, holding all his vast powers by the magic of an inner -and ineffable virtue. Imagine a man getting on in American politics, -interesting and enchanting the boobery, sawing off the horns of other -politicians, elbowing his way through primaries and conventions, by the -magic of virtue! As well talk of fetching the mob by hawking exact and -arctic justice! Abe, in fact, must have been a fellow highly skilled -at the great democratic art of gum-shoeing. I like to think of him as -one who defeated such politicians as Stanton, Douglas and Sumner with -their own weapons--deftly leading them into ambuscades, boldly pulling -their noses, magnificently ham-stringing and horn-swoggling them--in -brief, as a politician of extraordinary talents, who loved the game for -its own sake, and had the measure of the crowd. His official portraits, -both in prose and in daguerreotype, show him wearing the mien of a -man about to be hanged; one never sees him smiling. Nevertheless, one -hears that, until he emerged from Illinois, they always put the women, -children and clergy to bed when he got a few gourds of corn aboard, -and it is a matter of unescapable record that his career in the State -Legislature was indistinguishable from that of a Tammany Nietzsche. - -But, as I say, it is hopeless to look for the real man in the -biographies of him: they are all full of distortion, chiefly pious -and sentimental. The defect runs through the whole of American -political biography, and even through the whole of American history. -Nearly all our professional historians are poor men holding college -posts, and they are ten times more cruelly beset by the ruling -politico-plutocratic-social oligarchy than ever the Prussian professors -were by the Hohenzollerns. Let them diverge in the slightest from what -is the current official doctrine, and they are turned out of their -chairs with a ceremony suitable for the expulsion of a drunken valet. -During the recent war a herd of two thousand and five hundred such -miserable slaves was organized by Dr. Creel to lie for their country, -and they at once fell upon the congenial task of rewriting American -history to make it accord with the ideas of H. P. Davison, Admiral -Sims, Nicholas Murray Butler, the Astors, Barney Baruch and Lord -Northcliffe. It was a committee of this herd that solemnly pledged the -honor of American scholarship to the authenticity of the celebrated -Sisson documents.... - -In the face of such acute miliary imbecility it is not surprising to -discover that all of the existing biographies of the late Colonel -Roosevelt--and they have been rolling off the presses at a dizzy rate -since his death--are feeble, inaccurate, ignorant and preposterous. I -have read, I suppose, at least ten of these tomes during the past year -or so, and in all of them I have found vastly more gush than sense. -Lawrence Abbott's "Impressions of Theodore Roosevelt" and William -Roscoe Thayer's "Theodore Roosevelt" may well serve as specimens. -Abbott's book is the composition, not of an unbiased student of the -man, but of a sort of groom of the hero. He is so extremely eager to -prove that Roosevelt was the perfect right-thinker, according to the -transient definitions of right-thinking, that he manages to get a -flavor of dubiousness into his whole chronicle. I find myself doubting -him even when I know that he is honest and suspect that he is right. -As for Thayer, all he offers is a hasty and hollow pot-boiler--such a -work as might have been well within the talents of, say, the late Murat -Halstead or the editor of the New York _Times._ This Thayer has been -heavily praised of late as the Leading American Biographer, and one -constantly hears that some new university has made him _Legum Doctor,_ -or that he has been awarded a medal by this or that learned society, or -that the post has brought him a new ribbon from some literary potentate -in foreign parts. If, in fact, he is actually the cock of the walk in -biography, then all I have said against American biographers is too -mild and mellow. What one finds in his book is simply the third-rate -correctness of a Boston colonial. Consider, for example, his frequent -discussions of the war--a necessity in any work on Roosevelt. In -England there is the mob's view of the war, and there is the view of -civilized and intelligent men, _e. g.,_ Lansdowne, Loreburn, Austin -Harrison, Morel, Keynes, Haldane, Hirst, Balfour, Robert Cecil. In -New England, it would appear, the two views coalesce, with the first -outside. There is scarcely a line on the subject in Thayer's book that -might not have been written by Horatio Bottomley.... - -Obviously, Roosevelt's reaction to the war must occupy a large part -of any adequate biography of him, for that reaction was probably more -comprehensively typical of the man than any other business of his -life. It displayed not only his whole stock of political principles, -but also his whole stock of political tricks. It plumbed, on the one -hand, the depths of his sagacity, and on the other hand the depths of -his insincerity. Fundamentally, I am convinced, he was quite out of -sympathy with, and even quite unable to comprehend the body of doctrine -upon which the Allies, and later the United States, based their case. -To him it must have seemed insane when it was not hypocritical, and -hypocritical when it was not insane. His instincts were profoundly -against a new loosing of democratic fustian upon the world; he believed -in strongly centralized states, founded upon power and devoted to -enterprises far transcending mere internal government; he was an -imperialist of the type of Cecil Rhodes, Treitschke and Delcassé. But -the fortunes of domestic politics jockeyed him into the position of -standing as the spokesman of an almost exactly contrary philosophy. The -visible enemy before him was Wilson. What he wanted as a politician -was something that he could get only by wresting it from Wilson, and -Wilson was too cunning to yield it without making a tremendous fight, -chiefly by chicane--whooping for peace while preparing for war, playing -mob fear against mob fear, concealing all his genuine motives and -desires beneath clouds of chautauqual rhetoric, leading a mad dance -whose tune changed at every swing. Here was an opponent that more than -once puzzled Roosevelt, and in the end flatly dismayed him. Here was a -mob-master with a technique infinitely more subtle and effective than -his own. So lured into an unequal combat, the Rough Rider got bogged in -absurdities so immense that only the democratic anæsthesia to absurdity -saved him. To make any progress at all he was forced into fighting -against his own side. He passed from the scene bawling piteously for a -cause that, at bottom, it is impossible to imagine him believing in, -and in terms of a philosophy that was as foreign to his true faith as -it was to the faith of Wilson. In the whole affair there was a colossal -irony. Both contestants were intrinsically frauds. - -The fraudulence of Wilson is now admitted by all save a few survivors -of the old corps of official press-agents, most of them devoid of -both honesty and intelligence. No unbiased man, in the presence of -the revelations of Bullitt, Keynes and a hundred other witnesses, and -of the Russian and Shantung performances, and of innumerable salient -domestic phenomena, can now believe that the _Doctor dulcifluus_ was -ever actually in favor of any of the brummagem ideals he once wept -for, to the edification of a moral universe. They were, at best, no -more than ingenious _ruses de guerre,_ and even in the day of their -widest credit it was the Espionage Act and the Solicitor-General to -the Postoffice, rather than any plausibility in their substance, -that got them their credit. In Roosevelt's case the imposture is -less patent; he died before it was fully unmasked. What is more, his -death put an end to whatever investigation of it was under way, for -American sentimentality holds that it is indecent to inquire into the -weaknesses of the dead, at least until all the flowers have withered -on their tombs. When, a year ago, I ventured in a magazine article to -call attention to Roosevelt's philosophical kinship to the Kaiser I -received letters of denunciation from all parts of the United States, -and not a few forthright demands that I recant on penalty of lynch law. -Prudence demanded that I heed these demands. We live in a curious and -often unsafe country. Haled before a Roosevelt judge for speeding my -automobile, or spitting on the sidewalk, or carrying a jug, I might -have been railroaded for ten years under some constructive corollary -of the Espionage Act. But there were two things that supported me -in my contumacy to the departed. One was a profound reverence for -and fidelity to the truth, sometimes almost amounting to fanaticism. -The other was the support of my venerable brother in epistemology, -the eminent Iowa right-thinker and patriot, Prof. Dr. S. P. Sherman. -Writing in the _Nation,_ where he survives from more seemly days than -these, Prof. Dr. Sherman put the thing in plain terms. "With the -essentials in the religion of the militarists of Germany," he said, -"Roosevelt was utterly in sympathy." - -Utterly? Perhaps the adverb is a bit too strong. There was in the man -a certain instinctive antipathy to the concrete aristocrat and in -particular to the aristocrat's private code--the product, no doubt, -of his essentially _bourgeois_ origin and training. But if he could -not go with the Junkers all the way, he could at least go the whole -length of their distrust of the third order--the undifferentiated -masses of men below. Here, I daresay, he owed a lot to Nietzsche. He -was always reading German books, and among them, no doubt, were "Also -sprach Zarathustra" and "Jenseits von Gut und Böse." In fact, the -echoes were constantly sounding in his own harangues. Years ago, as an -intellectual exercise while confined to hospital, I devised and printed -a give-away of the Rooseveltian philosophy in parallel columns--in one -column, extracts from "The Strenuous Life"; in the other, extracts -from Nietzsche. The borrowings were numerous and unescapable. Theodore -had swallowed Friedrich as a peasant swallows Peruna--bottle, cork, -label and testimonials. Worse, the draft whetted his appetite, and -soon he was swallowing the Kaiser of the _Garde-Kavallerie-mess_ -and battleship-launching speeches--another somewhat defective -Junker. In his palmy days it was often impossible to distinguish his -politico-theological bulls from those of Wilhelm; during the war, -indeed, I suspect that some of them were boldly lifted' by the British -press bureau, and palmed off as felonious imprudences out of Potsdam. -Wilhelm was his model in _Weltpolitik,_ and in sociology, exegetics, -administration, law, sport and connubial polity no less. Both roared -for doughty armies, eternally prepared--for the theory that the way to -prevent war is to make all conceivable enemies think twice, thrice, -ten times. Both dreamed of gigantic navies, with battleships as long -as Brooklyn Bridge. Both preached incessantly the duty of the citizen -to the state, with the soft pedal upon the duty of the state to the -citizen. Both praised the habitually gravid wife. Both delighted in -the armed pursuit of the lower fauna. Both heavily patronized the -fine arts. Both were intimates of God, and announced His desires with -authority. Both believed that all men who stood opposed to them were -prompted by the devil and would suffer for it in hell. - -If, in fact, there was any difference between them, it was all in favor -of Wilhelm. For one thing, he made very much fewer speeches; it took -some colossal event, such as the launching of a dreadnaught or the -birthday of a colonel-general, to get him upon his legs; the Reichstag -was not constantly deluged with his advice and upbraiding. For another -thing, he was a milder and more modest man--one more accustomed, let us -say, to circumstance and authority, and hence less intoxicated by the -greatness of his state. Finally, he had been trained to think, not only -of his own immediate fortunes, but also of the remote interests of a -family that, in his most expansive days, promised to hold the throne -for many years, and so he cultivated a certain prudence, and even a -certain ingratiating suavity. He could, on occasion, be extremely -polite to an opponent. But Roosevelt was never polite to an opponent; -perhaps a gentleman, by American standards, he was surely never a -gentle man. In a political career of nearly forty years he was never -even fair to an opponent. All of his gabble about the square deal was -merely so much protective coloration, easily explicable on elementary -Freudian grounds. No man, facing Roosevelt in the heat of controversy, -ever actually got a square deal. He took extravagant advantages; he -played to the worst idiocies of the mob; he hit below the belt almost -habitually. One never thinks of him as a duelist, say of the school -of Disraeli, Palmerston and, to drop a bit, Blaine. One always thinks -of him as a glorified longshoreman engaged eternally in cleaning out -bar-rooms--and not too proud to gouge when the inspiration came to -him, or to bite in the clinches, or to oppose the relatively fragile -brass knuckles of the code with chair-legs, bung-starters, cuspidors, -demijohns, and ice-picks. - -Abbott and Thayer, in their books, make elaborate efforts to depict -their hero as one born with a deep loathing of the whole Prussian -scheme of things, and particularly of the Prussian technique in combat. -Abbott even goes so far as to hint that the attentions of the Kaiser, -during Roosevelt's historic tour of Europe on his return from Africa, -were subtly revolting to him. Nothing could be more absurd. Prof. Dr. -Sherman, in the article I have mentioned, blows up that nonsense by -quoting from a speech made by the tourist in Berlin--a speech arguing -for the most extreme sort of militarism in a manner that must have made -even some of the Junkers blow their noses dubiously. The disproof need -not be piled up; the America that Roosevelt dreamed of was always a -sort of swollen Prussia, truculent without and regimented within. There -was always a clank of the saber in his discourse; he could not discuss -the tamest matter without swaggering in the best dragoon fashion. -Abbott gets into yet deeper waters when he sets up the doctrine that -the invasion of Belgium threw his darling into an instantaneous and -tremendous fit of moral indignation, and that the curious delay in the -public exhibition thereof, so much discussed since, was due to his -(Abbott's) fatuous interference--a _faux pas_ later regretted with much -bitterness. Unluckily, the evidence he offers leaves me full of doubts. -What the doctrine demands that one believe is simply this: that the man -who, for mere commercial advantage and (in Frederick's famous phrase) -"to make himself talked of in the world," tore up the treaty of 1848 -between the United States and Colombia (_geb._ New Granada), whereby -the United States forever guaranteed the "sovereignty and ownership" -of the Colombians in the isthmus of Panama--that this same man, -thirteen years later, was horrified into a fever when Germany, facing -powerful foes on two fronts, tore up the treaty of 1832, guaranteeing, -not the sovereignty, but the bald neutrality of Belgium--a neutrality -already destroyed, according to the evidence before the Germans, by -Belgium's own acts. - -It is hard, without an inordinate strain upon the credulity, to -believe any such thing, particularly in view of the fact that this -instantaneous indignation of the most impulsive and vocal of men was -diligently concealed for at least six weeks, with reporters camped upon -his doorstep day and night, begging him to say the very thing that -he left so darkly unsaid. Can one imagine Roosevelt, with red-fire -raging within him and sky-rockets bursting in his veins, holding his -peace for a month and a half? I have no doubt whatever that Abbott, -as he says, desired to avoid embarrassing Dr. Wilson--but think of -Roosevelt showing any such delicacy! For one, I am not equal to the -feat. All that unprecedented reticence, in fact, is far more readily -explicable on other and less lofty grounds. What really happened I -presume to guess. My guess is that Roosevelt, like the great majority -of other Americans, was _not_ instantly and automatically outraged by -the invasion of Belgium. On the contrary, he probably viewed it as a -regrettable, but not unexpected or unparalleled device of war--if -anything, as something rather thrillingly gaudy and effective--a fine -piece of virtuosity, pleasing to a military connoisseur. But then came -the deluge of Belgian atrocity stories, and the organized campaign to -enlist American sympathies. It succeeded very quickly. By the middle of -August the British press bureau was in full swing; by the beginning of -September the country was flooded with inflammatory stuff; six weeks -after the war opened it was already hazardous for a German in America -to state his country's case. Meanwhile, the Wilson administration had -declared for neutrality, and was still making a more or less sincere -effort to practice it, at least on the surface. Here was Roosevelt's -opportunity, and he leaped to it with sure instinct. On the one side -was the adminstration that he detested, and that all his self-interest -(e. g., his yearning to get back his old leadership and to become -President again in 1917) prompted him to deal a mortal blow, and on the -other side was a ready-made issue, full of emotional possibilities, -stupendously pumped up by extremely clever propaganda, and so far -unembraced by any other rabble-rouser of the first magnitude. Is it -any wonder that he gave a whoop, jumped upon his cayuse, and began -screaming for war? In war lay the greatest chance of his life. In war -lay the confusion and destruction of Wilson, and the melodramatic -renaissance of the Rough Rider, the professional hero, the national -Barbarossa. - -In all this, of course, I strip the process of its plumes and spangles, -and expose a chain of causes and effects that Roosevelt himself, if he -were alive, would denounce as grossly contumelious to his native purity -of spirit--and perhaps in all honesty. It is not necessary to raise -any doubts as to that honesty. No one who has given any study to the -developement and propagation of political doctrine in the United States -can have failed to notice how the belief in issues among politicians -tends to run in exact ratio to the popularity of those issues. Let the -populace begin suddenly to swallow a new panacea or to take fright at -a new bugaboo, and almost instantly nine-tenths of the master-minds -of politics begin to believe that the panacea is a sure cure for -all the malaises of, the republic, and the bugaboo an immediate and -unbearable menace to all law, order and domestic tranquillity. At the -bottom of this singular intellectual resilience, of course, there is a -good deal of hard calculation; a man must keep up with the procession -of crazes, or his day is swiftly done. But in it there are also -considerations a good deal more subtle, and maybe less discreditable. -For one thing, a man devoted professionally to patriotism and the -wisdom of the fathers is very apt to come to a resigned sort of -acquiescence in all the doctrinaire rubbish that lies beneath the -national scheme of things--to believe, let us say, if not that the -plain people are gifted with an infallible sagacity, then at least -that they have an inalienable right to see their follies executed. -Poll-parroting nonsense as a matter of daily routine, the politician -ends by assuming that it is sense, even though he doesn't believe -it. For another thing, there is the contagion of mob enthusiasm--a -much underestimated murrain. We all saw what it could do during the -war--college professors taking their tune from the yellow journals, -the rev. clergy performing in the pulpit like so many Liberty Loan -orators in five-cent moving-picture houses, hysteria grown epidemic -like the influenza. No man is so remote and arctic that he is wholly -safe from that contamination; it explains many extravagant phenomena of -a democratic society; in particular, it explains why the mob leader is -so often a victim to his mob. - -Roosevelt, a perfectly typical politician, devoted to the trade, not -primarily because he was gnawed by ideals, but because he frankly -enjoyed its rough-and-tumble encounters and its gaudy rewards, was -probably moved in both ways--and also by the hard calculation that -I have mentioned. If, by any ineptness of the British press-agents, -tear-squeezers and orphan-exhibitors, indignation over the invasion -of Belgium had failed to materialize--if, worse still, some gross -infringement of American rights by the English had caused it to be -forgotten completely--if, finally, Dr. Wilson had been whooping for war -with the populace firmly against him--in such event it goes without -saying that the moral horror of Dr. Roosevelt would have stopped short -at a very low amperage, and that he would have refrained from making it -the center of his polity. But with things as they were, lying neatly to -his hand, he permitted it to take on an extraordinary virulence, and -before long all his old delight in German militarism had been converted -into a lofty detestation of German militarism, and its chief spokesman -on this side of the Atlantic became its chief opponent. Getting rid -of that old delight, of course, was not easily achieved. The concrete -enthusiasm could be throttled, but the habit of mind remained. Thus -one beheld the curious spectacle of militarism belabored in terms of -militarism--of the Kaiser arraigned in unmistakably _kaiserliche_ tones. - -Such violent swallowings and regurgitations were no novelties to the -man. His whole political career was marked, in fact, by performances -of the same sort. The issues that won him most votes were issues that, -at bottom, he didn't believe in; there was always a mental reservation -in his rhetoric. He got into politics, not as a tribune of the plain -people, but as an amateur reformer of the snobbish type common in the -eighties, by the _Nation_ out of the Social Register. He was a young -Harvard man scandalized by the discovery that his town was run by -men with such names as Michael O'Shaunnessy and Terence Googan--that -his social inferiors were his political superiors. His sympathies -were essentially anti-democratic. He had a high view of his private -position as a young fellow of wealth and education. He believed in -strong centralization--the concentration of power in a few hands, the -strict regimentation of the nether herd, the abandonment of democratic -platitudes. His heroes were such Federalists as Morris and Hamilton; he -made his first splash in the world by writing about them and praising -them. Worse, his daily associations were with the old Union League -crowd of high-tariff Republicans--men almost apoplectically opposed -to every movement from below--safe and sane men, highly conservative -and suspicious men--the profiteers of peace, as they afterward became -the profiteers of war. His early adventures in politics were not -very fortunate, nor did they reveal any capacity for leadership. -The bosses of the day took him in rather humorously, played him for -what they could get out of him, and then turned him loose. In a few -years he became disgusted and went West. Returning after a bit, he -encountered catastrophe: as a candidate for Mayor of New York he was -drubbed unmercifully. He went back to the West. He was, up to this -time, a comic figure--an anti-politician victimized by politicians, a -pseudo-aristocrat made ridiculous by the mob-masters he detested. - -But meanwhile something was happening that changed the whole color of -the political scene, and was destined, eventually, to give Roosevelt -his chance. That something was a shifting in what might be called -the foundations of reform. Up to now it had been an essentially -aristocratic movement--superior, sniffish and anti-democratic. But -hereafter it took on a strongly democratic color and began to adopt -democratic methods. More, the change gave it new life. What Harvard, -the Union League Club and the _Nation_ had failed to accomplish, -the plain people now undertook to accomplish. This invasion of -the old citadel of virtue was first observed in the West, and its -manifestations out there must have given Roosevelt a good deal more -disquiet than satisfaction. It is impossible to imagine him finding -anything to his taste in the outlandish doings of the Populists, the -wild schemes of the pre-Bryan dervishes. His instincts were against -all that sort of thing. But as the movement spread toward the East it -took on a certain urbanity, and by the time it reached the seaboard -it had begun to be quite civilized. With this new brand of reform -Roosevelt now made terms. It was full of principles that outraged all -his pruderies, but it at least promised to work. His entire political -history thereafter, down to the day of his death, was a history of -compromises with the new forces--of a gradual yielding, for strategic -purposes, to ideas that were intrinsically at odds with his congenital -prejudices. When, after a generation of that sort of compromising, the -so-called Progressive party was organized and he seized the leadership -of it from the Westerners who had founded it, he performed a feat -of wholesale englutination that must forever hold a high place upon -the roll of political prodigies. That is to say, he swallowed at one -gigantic gulp, and out of the same herculean jug, the most amazing -mixture of social, political and economic perunas ever got down by -one hero, however valiant, however athirst--a cocktail made up of all -the elixirs hawked among the boobery in his time, from woman suffrage -to the direct primary, and from the initiative and referendum to the -short ballot, and from prohibition to public ownership, and from -trust-busting to the recall of judges. - -This homeric achievement made him the head of the most tatterdemalion -party ever seen in American politics--a party composed of such -incompatible ingredients and hung together so loosely that it began -to disintegrate the moment it was born. In part it was made up of -mere disordered enthusiasts--believers in anything and everything, -pathetic victims of the credulity complex, habitual followers of -jitney messiahs, incurable hopers and snufflers. But in part it was -also made up of rice converts like Roosevelt himself--men eager for -office, disappointed by the old parties, and now quite willing to -accept any aid that half-idiot doctrinaires could give them. I have no -doubt that Roosevelt himself, carried away by the emotional storms of -the moment and especially by the quasi-religious monkey-shines that -marked the first Progressive convention, gradually convinced himself -that at least some of the doctrinaires, in the midst of all their -imbecility, yet preached a few ideas that were workable, and perhaps -even sound. But at bottom he was against them, and not only in the -matter of their specific sure cures, but also in the larger matter of -their childish faith in the wisdom and virtue of the plain people. -Roosevelt, for all his fluent mastery of democratic counter-words, -democratic gestures and all the rest of the armamentarium of the -mob-master, had no such faith in his heart of hearts. He didn't believe -in democracy; he believed simply in government. His remedy for all -the great pangs and longings of existence was not a dispersion of -authority, but a hard concentration of authority. He was not in favor -of unlimited experiment; he was in favor of a rigid control from -above, a despotism of inspired prophets and policemen. He was not for -democracy as his followers understood democracy, and as it actually is -and must be; he was for a paternalism of the true Bismarckian pattern, -almost of the Napoleonic or Ludendorffian pattern--a paternalism -concerning itself with all things, from the regulation of coal-mining -and meat-packing to the regulation of spelling and marital rights. His -instincts were always those of the property-owning Tory, not those -of the romantic Liberal. All the fundamental objects of Liberalism ---free speech, unhampered enterprise, the least possible governmental -interference--were abhorrent to him. Even when, for campaign purposes, -he came to terms with the Liberals his thoughts always ranged far -afield. When he tackled the trusts the thing that he had in his mind's -eye was not the restoration of competition but the subordination of -all private trusts to one great national trust, with himself at its -head. And when he attacked the courts it was not because they put their -own prejudice before the law but because they refused to put _his_ -prejudices before the law. - -In all his career no one ever heard him make an argument for the rights -of the citizen; his eloquence was always expended in expounding the -duties of the citizen. I have before me a speech in which he pleaded -for "a spirit of kindly justice toward every man and woman," but that -seems to be as far as he ever got in that direction--and it was the -gratuitous justice of the absolute monarch that he apparently had in -mind, not the autonomous and inalienable justice of a free society. -The duties of the citizen, as he understood them, related not only to -acts, but also to thoughts. There was, to his mind, a simple body of -primary doctrine, and dissent from it was the foulest of crimes. No -man could have been more bitter against opponents, or more unfair to -them, or more ungenerous. In this department, indeed, even so gifted -a specialist in dishonorable controversy as Dr. Wilson has seldom -surpassed him. He never stood up to a frank and chivalrous debate. -He dragged herrings across the trail. He made seductive faces at the -gallery. He capitalized his enormous talents as an entertainer, his -rank as a national hero, his public influence and consequence. The -two great law-suits in which he was engaged were screaming burlesques -upon justice. He tried them in the newspapers before ever they were -called; he befogged them with irrelevant issues; his appearances in -court were not the appearances of a witness standing on a level with -other witnesses, but those of a comedian sure of his crowd. He was, in -his dealings with concrete men as in his dealings with men in the mass, -a charlatan of the very highest skill--and there was in him, it goes -without saying, the persuasive charm of the charlatan as well as the -daring deviousness, the humanness of naïveté as well as the humanness -of chicane. He knew how to woo--and not only boobs. He was, for all his -ruses and ambuscades, a jolly fellow. - -It seems to be forgotten that the current American theory that -political heresy should be put down by force, that a man who disputes -whatever is official has no rights in law or equity, that he is lucky -if he fares no worse than to lose his constitutional benefits of free -speech, free assemblage and the use of the mails--it seems to be -forgotten that this theory was invented, not by Dr. Wilson, but by -Roosevelt. Most Liberals, I suppose, would credit it, if asked, to -Wilson. He has carried it to extravagant lengths; he is the father -superior of all the present advocates of it; he will probably go -down into American history as its greatest prophet. But it was first -clearly stated, not in any Wilsonian bull to the right-thinkers of all -lands, but in Roosevelt's proceedings against the so-called Paterson -anarchists. You will find it set forth at length in an opinion prepared -for him by his Attorney-General, Charles J. Bonaparte, another curious -and almost fabulous character, also an absolutist wearing the false -whiskers of a democrat. Bonaparte furnished the law, and Roosevelt -furnished the blood and iron. It was an almost ideal combination; -Bonaparte had precisely the touch of Italian finesse that the Rough -Rider always lacked. Roosevelt believed in the Paterson doctrine--in -brief, that the Constitution does not throw its cloak around -heretics--to the end of his days. In the face of what he conceived to -be contumacy to revelation his fury took on a sort of lyrical grandeur. -There was nothing too awful for the culprit in the dock. Upon his head -were poured denunciations as violent as the wildest interdicts of a -mediæval pope. - -The appearance of such men, of course, is inevitable under a democracy. -Consummate showmen, they arrest the wonder of the mob, and so put -its suspicions to sleep. What they actually believe is of secondary -consequence; the main thing is what they say; even more, the way -they say it. Obviously, their activity does a great deal of damage -to the democratic theory, for they are standing refutations of the -primary doctrine that the common folk choose their leaders wisely. -They damage it again in another and more subtle way. That is to say, -their ineradicable contempt for the minds they must heat up and -bamboozle leads them into a fatalism that shows itself in a cynical -and opportunistic politics, a deliberate avoidance of fundamentals. -The policy of a democracy thus becomes an eternal improvisation, -changing with the private ambitions of its leaders and the transient -and often unintelligible emotions of its rank and file. Roosevelt, -incurably undemocratic in his habits of mind, often found it difficult -to gauge those emotional oscillations. The fact explains his frequent -loss of mob support, his periodical journeys into Coventry. There were -times when his magnificent talents as a public comedian brought the -proletariat to an almost unanimous groveling at his feet, but there -were also times when he puzzled and dismayed it, and so awakened its -hostility. When he assaulted Wilson on the neutrality issue, early -in 1915, he made a quite typical mistake. That mistake consisted in -assuming that public indignation over the wrongs of the Belgians would -maintain itself at a high temperature--that it would develop rapidly -into a demand for intervention. Roosevelt made himself the spokesman -of that demand, and then found to his consternation that it was -waning--that the great masses of the plain people, prospering under -the Wilsonian neutrality, were inclined to preserve it, at no matter -what cost to the Belgians. In 1915, after the _Lusitania_ affair, -things seemed to swing his way again, and he got vigorous support from -the British press bureau. But in a few months he found himself once -more attempting to lead a mob that was fast slipping away. Wilson, a -very much shrewder politician, with little of Roosevelt's weakness for -succumbing to his own rhetoric, discerned the truth much more quickly -and clearly. In 1916 he made his campaign for reëlection on a flatly -anti-Roosevelt peace issue, and not only got himself reëlected, but -also drove Roosevelt out of the ring. - -What happened thereafter deserves a great deal more careful study than -it will ever get from the timorous eunuchs who posture as American -historians. At the moment, it is the official doctrine in England, -where the thing is more freely discussed than at home, that Wilson was -forced into the war by an irresistible movement from below--that the -plain people compelled him to abandon neutrality and move reluctantly -upon the Germans. Nothing could be more untrue. The plain people, -at the end of 1916, were in favor of peace, and they believed that -Wilson was in favor of peace. How they were gradually worked up to -complaisance and then to enthusiasm and then to hysteria and then to -acute mania--this is a tale to be told in more leisurely days and by -historians without boards of trustees on their necks. For the present -purpose it is sufficient to note that the whole thing was achieved so -quickly and so neatly that its success left Roosevelt surprised and -helpless. His issue had been stolen from directly under his nose. He -was left standing daunted and alone, a boy upon a burning deck. It took -him months to collect his scattered wits, and even then his attack upon -the administration was feeble and ineffective. To the plain people it -seemed a mere ill-natured snapping at a successful rival, which in fact -it was, and so they paid no heed to it, and Roosevelt found himself -isolated once more. Thus he passed from the scene in the shadows, a -broken politician and a disappointed man. - -I have a notion that he died too soon. His best days were probably -not behind him, but ahead of him. Had he lived ten years longer, he -might have enjoyed a great rehabilitation, and exchanged his old -false leadership of the inflammatory and fickle mob for a sound and -true leadership of the civilized minority. For the more one studies -his mountebankeries as mob-master, the more one is convinced that -there was a shrewd man beneath the motley, and that his actual beliefs -were anything but nonsensical. The truth of them, indeed, emerges -more clearly day by day. The old theory of a federation of free and -autonomous states has broken down by its own weight, and we are moved -toward centralization by forces that have long been powerful and are -now quite irresistible. So with the old theory of national isolation: -it, too, has fallen to pieces. The United States can no longer hope -to lead a separate life in the world, undisturbed by the pressure of -foreign aspirations. We came out of the war to find ourselves hemmed in -by hostilities that no longer troubled to conceal themselves, and if -they are not as close and menacing to-day as those that have hemmed in -Germany for centuries they are none the less plainly there and plainly -growing. Roosevelt, by whatever route of reflection or intuition, -arrived at a sense of these facts at a time when it was still somewhat -scandalous to state them, and it was the capital effort of his life -to reconcile them, in some dark way or other, to the prevailing -platitudes, and so get them heeded. To-day no one seriously maintains, -as all Americans once maintained, that the states can go on existing -together as independent commonwealths, each with its own laws, its own -legal theory and its own view of the common constitutional bond. And -to-day no one seriously maintains, as all Americans once maintained, -that the nation may safely potter on without adequate means of defense. -However unpleasant it may be to contemplate, the fact is plain that -the American people, during the next century, will have to fight to -maintain their place in the sun. - -Roosevelt lived just long enough to see his notions in these directions -take on life, but not long enough to see them openly adopted. To the -extent of his prevision he was a genuine leader of the nation, and -perhaps in the years to come, when his actual ideas are disentangled -from the demagogic fustian in which he had to wrap them, his more -honest pronunciamentoes will be given canonical honors, and he will be -ranked among the prophets. He saw clearly more than one other thing -that was by no means obvious to his age--for example, the inevitability -of frequent wars under the new world-system of extreme nationalism; -again, the urgent necessity, for primary police ends, of organizing the -backward nations into groups of vassals, each under the hoof of some -first-rate power; yet again, the probability of the breakdown of the -old system of free competition; once more, the high social utility of -the Spartan virtues and the grave dangers of sloth and ease; finally, -the incompatibility of free speech and democracy. I do not say that -he was always quite honest, even when he was most indubitably right. -But in so far as it was possible for him to be honest and exist at all -politically, he inclined toward the straightforward thought and the -candid word. That is to say, his instinct prompted him to tell the -truth, just as the instinct of Dr. Wilson prompts him to shift and -dissimulate. What ailed him was the fact that his lust for glory, when -it came to a struggle, was always vastly more powerful than his lust -for the eternal verities. Tempted sufficiently, he would sacrifice -anything and everything to get applause. Thus the statesman was -debauched by the politician, and the philosopher was elbowed out of -sight by the popinjay. - -Where he failed most miserably was in his remedies. A remarkably -penetrating diagnostician, well-read, unprejudiced and with a touch -of genuine scientific passion, he always stooped to quackery when he -prescribed a course of treatment. For all his sensational attacks upon -the trusts, he never managed to devise a scheme to curb them--and -even when he sought to apply the schemes of other men he invariably -corrupted the business with timorousness and insincerity. So with -his campaign for national preparedness. He displayed the disease -magnificently, but the course of medication that he proposed was -vague and unconvincing; it was not, indeed, without justification -that the plain people mistook his advocacy of an adequate army for -a mere secret yearning to prance upon a charger at the head of huge -hordes. So, again, with his eloquent plea for national solidarity -and an end of hyphenism. The dangers that he pointed out were very -real and very menacing, but his plan for abating them only made them -worse. His objurgations against the Germans surely accomplished -nothing; the hyphenate of 1915 is still a hyphenate in his heart--with -bitter and unforgettable grievances to support him. Roosevelt, very -characteristically, swung too far. In denouncing German hyphenism so -extravagantly he contrived to give an enormous impetus to English -hyphenism, a far older and more perilous malady. It has already gone -so far that a large and influential party endeavors almost openly -to convert the United States into a mere vassal state of England's. -Instead of national solidarity following the war, we have only a -revival of Know-Nothingism; one faction of hyphenates tries to -exterminate another faction. Roosevelt's error here was one that he -was always making. Carried away by the ease with which he could heat -up the mob, he tried to accomplish instantly and by _force majeure_ -what could only be accomplished by a long and complex process, with -more good will on both sides than ever so opinionated and melodramatic -a pseudo-Junker was capable of. But though he thus made a mess of the -cure, he was undoubtedly right about the disease. - -The talented Sherman, in the monograph that I have praised, argues -that the chief contribution of the dead gladiator to American life was -the example of his gigantic gusto, his delight in toil and struggle, -his superb aliveness. The fact is plain. What he stood most clearly -in opposition to was the superior pessimism of the three Adams -brothers--the notion that the public problems of a democracy are -unworthy the thought and effort of a civilized and self-respecting -man--the sad error that lies in wait for all of us who hold ourselves -above the general. Against this suicidal aloofness Roosevelt always -hurled himself with brave effect. Enormously sensitive and resilient, -almost pathological in his appetite for activity, he made it plain to -every one that the most stimulating sort of sport imaginable was to -be obtained in fighting, not for mere money, but for ideas. There was -no aristocratic reserve about him. He was not, in fact, an aristocrat -at all, but a quite typical member of the upper _bourgeoisie;_ his -people were not _patroons_ in New Amsterdam, but simple traders; he was -himself a social pusher, and eternally tickled by the thought that he -had had a Bonaparte in his cabinet. The marks of the thoroughbred were -simply not there. The man was blatant, crude, overly confidential, -devious, tyrannical, vainglorious, sometimes quite childish. One often -observed in him a certain pathetic wistfulness, a reaching out for -a grand manner that was utterly beyond him. But the sweet went with -the bitter. He had all the virtues of the fat and complacent burgher. -His disdain of affectation and prudery was magnificent. He hated all -pretension save his own pretension. He had a sound respect for hard -effort, for loyalty, for thrift, for honest achievement. - -His worst defects, it seems to me, were the defects of his race and -time. Aspiring to be the leader of a nation of third-rate men, he had -to stoop to the common level. When he struck out for realms above that -level he always came to grief: this was the "unsafe" Roosevelt, the -Roosevelt who was laughed at, the Roosevelt retired suddenly to cold -storage. This was the Roosevelt who, in happier times and a better -place, might have been. Well, one does what one can. - - - - -III. THE SAHARA OF THE BOZART - - -Alas, for the South! Her books have grown fewer-- -She never was much given to literature. - - -In the lamented J. Gordon Coogler, author of these elegaic lines, -there was the insight of a true poet. He was the last bard of Dixie, -at least in the legitimate line. Down there a poet is now almost as -rare as an oboe-player, a dry-point etcher or a metaphysician. It is, -indeed, amazing to contemplate so vast a vacuity. One thinks of the -interstellar spaces, of the colossal reaches of the now mythical ether. -Nearly the whole of Europe could be lost in that stupendous region of -fat farms, shoddy cities and paralyzed cerebrums: one could throw in -France, Germany and Italy, and still have room for the British Isles. -And yet, for all its size and all its wealth and all the "progress" -it babbles of, it is almost as sterile, artistically, intellectually, -culturally, as the Sahara Desert. There are single acres in Europe that -house more first-rate men than all the states south of the Potomac; -there are probably single square miles in America. If the whole of the -late Confederacy were to be engulfed by a tidal wave to-morrow, the -effect upon the civilized minority of men in the world would be but -little greater than that of a flood on the Yang-tse-kiang. It would -be impossible in all history to match so complete a drying-up of a -civilization. - -I say a civilization because that is what, in the old days, the South -had, despite the Baptist and Methodist barbarism that reigns down there -now. More, it was a civilization of manifold excellences--perhaps -the best that the Western Hemisphere has ever seen--undoubtedly the -best that These States have ever seen. Down to the middle of the last -century, and even beyond, the main hatchery of ideas on this side of -the water was across the Potomac bridges. The New England shopkeepers -and theologians never really developed a civilization; all they ever -developed was a government. They were, at their best, tawdry and tacky -fellows, oafish in manner and devoid of imagination; one searches the -books in vain for mention of a salient Yankee gentleman; as well look -for a Welsh gentleman. But in the south there were men of delicate -fancy, urbane instinct and aristocratic manner--in brief, superior -men--in brief, gentry. To politics, their chief diversion, they brought -active and original minds. It was there that nearly all the political -theories we still cherish and suffer under came to birth. It was there -that the crude dogmatism of New England was refined and humanized. It -was there, above all, that some attention was given to the art of -living--that life got beyond and above the state of a mere infliction -and became an exhilarating experience. A certain noble spaciousness -was in the ancient southern scheme of things. The _Ur-_Confederate had -leisure. He liked to toy with ideas. He was hospitable and tolerant. He -had the vague thing that we call culture. - -But consider the condition of his late empire to-day. The picture -gives one the creeps. It is as if the Civil War stamped out every last -bearer of the torch, and left only a mob of peasants on the field. One -thinks of Asia Minor, resigned to Armenians, Greeks and wild swine, of -Poland abandoned to the Poles. In all that gargantuan paradise of the -fourth-rate there is not a single picture gallery worth going into, or -a single orchestra capable of playing the nine symphonies of Beethoven, -or a single opera-house, or a single theater devoted to decent plays, -or a single public monument (built since the war) that is worth looking -at, or a single workshop devoted to the making of beautiful things. -Once you have counted Robert Loveman (an Ohioan by birth) and John -McClure (an Oklahoman) you will not find a single southern poet above -the rank of a neighborhood rhymester. Once you have counted James -Branch Cabell (a lingering survivor of the _ancien régime:_ a scarlet -dragonfly imbedded in opaque amber) you will not find a single southern -prose writer who can actually write. And once you have--but when you -come to critics, musical composers, painters, sculptors, architects -and the like, you will have to give it up, for there is not even a bad -one between the Potomac mud-flats and the Gulf. Nor an historian. Nor -a sociologist. Nor a philosopher. Nor a theologian. Nor a scientist. -In all these fields the south is an awe-inspiring blank--a brother to -Portugal, Serbia and Esthonia. - -Consider, for example, the present estate and dignity of Virginia--in -the great days indubitably the premier American state, the mother of -Presidents and statesmen, the home of the first American university -worthy of the name, the _arbiter elegantiarum_ of the western world. -Well, observe Virginia to-day. It is years since a first-rate man, -save only Cabell, has come out of it; it is years since an idea has -come out of it. The old aristocracy went down the red gullet of war; -the poor white trash are now in the saddle. Politics in Virginia are -cheap, ignorant, parochial, idiotic; there is scarcely a man in office -above the rank of a professional job-seeker; the political doctrine -that prevails is made up of hand-me-downs from the bumpkinry of the -Middle West--Bryanism, Prohibition, vice crusading, all that sort -of filthy claptrap; the administration of the law is turned over to -professors of Puritanism and espionage; a Washington or a Jefferson, -dumped there by some act of God, would be denounced as a scoundrel -and jailed overnight. Elegance, _esprit,_ culture? Virginia has no -art, no literature, no philosophy, no mind or aspiration of her own. -Her education has sunk to the Baptist seminary level; not a single -contribution to human knowledge has come out of her colleges in -twenty-five years; she spends less than half upon her common schools, -_per capita,_ than any northern state spends. In brief, an intellectual -Gobi or Lapland. Urbanity, _politesse,_ chivalry? Co to! It was in -Virginia that they invented the device of searching for contraband -whisky in women's underwear.... There remains, at the top, a ghost of -the old aristocracy, a bit wistful and infinitely charming. But it has -lost all its old leadership to fabulous monsters from the lower depths; -it is submerged in an industrial plutocracy that is ignorant and -ignominious. The mind of the state, as it is revealed to the nation, -is pathetically naïve and inconsequential. It no longer reacts with -energy and elasticity to great problems. It has fallen to the bombastic -trivialities of the camp-meeting and the chautauqua. Its foremost -exponent--if so flabby a thing may be said to have an exponent--is a -stateman whose name is synonymous with, empty words, broken pledges and -false pretenses. One could no more imagine a Lee or a Washington in the -Virginia of to-day than one could imagine a Huxley in Nicaragua. - -I choose the Old Dominion, not because I disdain it, but precisely -because I esteem it. It is, by long odds, the most civilized of the -southern states, now as always. It has sent a host of creditable sons -northward; the stream kept running into our own time. Virginians, even -the worst of them, show the effects of a great tradition. They hold -themselves above other southerners, and with sound pretension. If -one turns to such a commonwealth as Georgia the picture becomes far -darker. There the liberated lower orders of whites have borrowed the -worst commercial bounderism of the Yankee and superimposed it upon a -culture that, at bottom, is but little removed from savagery. Georgia -is at once the home of the cotton-mill sweater and of the most noisy -and vapid sort of chamber of commerce, of the Methodist parson turned -Savonarola and of the lynching bee. A self-respecting European, going -there to live, would not only find intellectual stimulation utterly -lacking; he would actually feel a certain insecurity, as if the scene -were the Balkans or the China Coast. The Leo Frank affair was no -isolated phenomenon. It fitted into its frame very snugly. It was a -natural expression of Georgian notions of truth and justice. There is -a state with more than half the area of Italy and more population than -either Denmark or Norway, and yet in thirty years it has not produced -a single idea. Once upon a time a Georgian printed a couple of books -that attracted notice, but immediately it turned out that he was -little more than an amanuensis for the local blacks--that his works -were really the products, not of white Georgia, but of black Georgia. -Writing afterward _as_ a white man, he swiftly subsided into the fifth -rank. And he is not only the glory of the literature of Georgia; he is, -almost literally, the whole of the literature of Georgia--nay, of the -entire art of Georgia. - -Virginia is the best of the south to-day, and Georgia is perhaps the -worst. The one is simply senile; the other is crass, gross, vulgar -and obnoxious. Between lies a vast plain of mediocrity, stupidity, -lethargy, almost of dead silence. In the north, of course, there -is also grossness, crassness, vulgarity. The north, in its way, is -also stupid and obnoxious. But nowhere in the north is there such -complete sterility, so depressing a lack of all civilized gesture -and aspiration. One would find it difficult to unearth a second-rate -city between the Ohio and the Pacific that isn't struggling to -establish an orchestra, or setting up a little theater, or going in -for an art gallery, or making some other effort to get into touch -with civilization. These efforts often fail, and sometimes they -succeed rather absurdly, but under them there is at least an impulse -that deserves respect, and that is the impulse to seek beauty and to -experiment with ideas, and so to give the life of every day a certain -dignity and purpose. You will find no such impulse in the south. - -There are no committees down there cadging subscriptions for -orchestras; if a string quartet is ever heard there, the news of it -has never come out; an opera troupe, when it roves the land, is a nine -days' wonder. The little theater movement has swept the whole country, -enormously augmenting the public interest in sound plays, giving new -dramatists their chance, forcing reforms upon the commercial theater. -Everywhere else the wave rolls high--but along the line of the Potomac -it breaks upon a rock-bound shore. There is no little theater beyond. -There is no gallery of pictures. No artist ever gives exhibitions. No -one talks of such things. No one seems to be interested in such things. - -As for the cause of this unanimous torpor and doltishness, this -curious and almost pathological estrangement from everything that -makes for a civilized jculture, I have hinted at it already, and now -state it again. The south has simply been drained of all its best -blood. The vast blood-letting of the Civil War half exterminated and -wholly paralyzed the old aristocracy, and so left the land to the -harsh mercies of the poor white trash, now its masters. The war, of -course, was not a complete massacre. It spared a decent number of -first-rate southerners--perhaps even some of the very best. Moreover, -other countries, notably France and Germany, have survived far more -staggering butcheries, and even showed marked progress thereafter. -But the war not only cost a great many valuable lives; it also brought -bankruptcy, demoralization and despair in its train--and so the -majority of the first-rate southerners that were left, broken in spirit -and unable to live under the new dispensation, cleared out. A few went -to South America, to Egypt, to the Far East. Most came north. They were -fecund; their progeny is widely dispersed, to the great benefit of -the north. A southerner of good blood almost always does well in the -north. He finds, even in the big cities, surroundings fit for a man of -condition. His peculiar qualities have a high social value, and are -esteemed. He is welcomed by the codfish aristocracy as one palpably -superior. But in the south he throws up his hands. It is impossible for -him to stoop to the common level. He cannot brawl in politics with the -grandsons of his grand-father's tenants. He is unable to share their -fierce jealousy of the emerging black--the cornerstone of all their -public thinking. He is anæsthetic to their theological and political -enthusiasms. He finds himself an alien at their feasts of soul. And -so he withdraws into his tower, and is heard of no more. Cabell is -almost a perfect example. His eyes, for years, were turned toward -the past; he became a professor of the grotesque genealogizing that -decaying aristocracies affect; it was only by a sort of accident that -he discovered himself to be an artist. The south is unaware of the -fact to this day; it regards Woodrow Wilson and Col. John Temple Graves -as much finer stylists, and Frank L. Stanton as an infinitely greater -poet. If it has heard, which I doubt, that Cabell has been hoofed by -the Comstocks, it unquestionably views that assault as a deserved -rebuke to a fellow who indulges a lewd passion for fancy writing, and -is a covert enemy to the Only True Christianity. - -What is needed down there, before the vexatious public problems of the -region may be intelligently approached, is a survey of the population -by competent ethnologists and anthropologists. The immigrants of the -north have been studied at great length, and any one who is interested -may now apply to the Bureau of Ethnology for elaborate data as to their -racial strains, their stature and cranial indices, their relative -capacity for education, and the changes that they undergo under -American _Kultur._ But the older stocks of the south, and particularly -the emancipated and dominant poor white trash, have never been -investigated scientifically, and most of the current generalizations -about them are probably wrong. For example, the generalization that -they are purely Anglo-Saxon in blood. This I doubt very seriously. -The chief strain down there, I believe, is Celtic rather than Saxon, -particularly in the hill country. French blood, too, shows itself here -and there, and so does Spanish, and so does German. The last-named -entered from the northward, by way of the limestone belt just east -of the Alleghenies. Again, it is very likely that in some parts of -the south a good many of the plebeian whites have more than a trace -of negro blood. Interbreeding under concubinage produced some very -light half-breeds at an early day, and no doubt appreciable numbers of -them went over into the white race by the simple process of changing -their abode. Not long ago I read a curious article by an intelligent -negro, in which he stated that it is easy for a very light negro to -pass as white in the south on account of the fact that large numbers -of southerners accepted as white have distinctly negroid features. -Thus it becomes a delicate and dangerous matter for a train conductor -or a hotel-keeper to challenge a suspect. But the Celtic strain is -far more obvious than any of these others. It not only makes itself -visible in physical stigmata--e. g., leanness and dark coloring--but -also in mental traits. For example, the religious thought of the south -is almost precisely identical with the religious thought of Wales. -There is the same naïve belief in an anthropomorphic Creator but little -removed, in manner and desire, from an evangelical bishop; there is -the same submission to an ignorant and impudent sacerdotal tyranny, -and there is the same sharp contrast between doctrinal orthodoxy and -private ethics. Read Caradoc Evans' ironical picture of the Welsh -Wesleyans in his preface to "My Neighbors," and you will be instantly -reminded of the Georgia and Carolina Methodists. The most booming -sort of piety, in the south, is not incompatible with the theory that -lynching is a benign institution. Two generations ago it was not -incompatible with an ardent belief in slavery. - -It is highly probable that some of the worst blood of western Europe -flows in the veins of the southern poor whites, now poor no longer. The -original strains, according to every honest historian, were extremely -corrupt. Philip Alexander Bruce (a Virginian of the old gentry) says -in his "Industrial History of Virginia in the Seventeenth Century" -that the first native-born generation was largely illegitimate. "One -of the most common offenses against morality committed in the lower -ranks of life in Virginia during the seventeenth century," he says, -"was bastardy." The mothers of these bastards, he continues, were -chiefly indentured servants, and "had belonged to the lowest class in -their native country." Fanny Kemble Butler, writing of the Georgia -poor whites of a century later, described them as "the most degraded -race of human beings claiming an Anglo-Saxon origin that can be found -on the face of the earth--filthy, lazy, ignorant, brutal, proud, -penniless savages." The Sunday-school and the chautauqua, of course, -have appreciably mellowed the descendants of these "savages," and their -economic progress and rise to political power have done perhaps even -more, but the marks of their origin are still unpleasantly plentiful. -Every now and then they produce a political leader who puts their -secret notions of the true, the good and the beautiful into plain -words, to the amazement and scandal of the rest of the country. That -amazement is turned into downright incredulity when news comes that his -platform has got him high office, and that he is trying to execute it. - -In the great days of the south the line between the gentry and the poor -whites was very sharply drawn. There was absolutely no intermarriage. -So far as I know there is not a single instance in history of a -southerner of the upper class marrying one of the bondwomen described -by Mr. Bruce. In other societies characterized by class distinctions -of that sort it is common for the lower class to be improved by -extra-legal crosses. That is to say, the men of the upper class take -women of the lower class as mistresses, and out of such unions spring -the extraordinary plebeians who rise sharply from the common level, -and so propagate the delusion that all other plebeians would do the -same thing if they had the chance--in brief, the delusion that class -distinctions are merely economic and conventional, and not congenital -and genuine. But in the south the men of the upper classes sought their -mistresses among the blacks, and after a few generations there was -so much white blood in the black women that they were considerably -more attractive than the unhealthy and bedraggled women of the poor -whites. This preference continued into our own time. A southerner of -good family once told me in all seriousness that he had reached his -majority before it ever occurred to him that a white woman might make -quite as agreeable a mistress as the octaroons of his jejune fancy. -If the thing has changed of late, it is not the fault of the southern -white man, but of the southern mulatto women. The more sightly yellow -girls of the region, with improving economic opportunities, have gained -self-respect, and so they are no longer as willing to enter into -concubinage as their grand-dams were. - -As a result of this preference of the southern gentry for mulatto -mistresses there was created a series of mixed strains containing the -best white blood of the south, and perhaps of the whole country. As -another result the poor whites went unfertilized from above, and so -missed the improvement that so constantly shows itself in the peasant -stocks of other countries. It is a commonplace that nearly all negroes -who rise above the general are of mixed blood, usually with the white -predominating. I know a great many negroes, and it would be hard for -me to think of an exception. What is too often forgotten is that this -white bloody is not the Mood of the poor whites but that of the old -gentry. The mulatto girls of the early days despised the poor whites -as creatures distinctly inferior to negroes, and it was thus almost -unheard of for such a girl to enter into relations with a man of that -submerged class. This aversion was based upon a sound instinct. The -southern mulatto of to-day is a proof of it. Like all other half-breeds -he is an unhappy man, with disquieting tendencies toward anti-social -habits of thought, but he is intrinsically a better animal than the -pure-blooded descendant of the old poor whites, and he not infrequently -demonstrates it. It is not by accident that the negroes of the south -are making faster progress, economically and culturally, than the -masses of the whites. It is not by accident that the only visible -æsthetic activity in the south is wholly in their hands. No southern -composer has ever written music so good as that of half a dozen -white-black composers who might be named. Even in politics, the negro -reveals a curious superiority. Despite the fact that the race question -has been the main political concern of the southern whites for two -generations, to the practical exclusion of everything else, they have -contributed nothing to its discussion that has impressed the rest of -the world so deeply and so favorably as three or four books by southern -negroes. - -Entering upon such themes, of course, one must resign one's self to -a vast misunderstanding and abuse. The south has not only lost its -old capacity for producing ideas; it has also taken on the worst -intolerance of ignorance and stupidity. Its prevailing mental attitude -for several decades past has been that of its own hedge ecclesiastics. -All who dissent from its orthodox doctrines are scoundrels. All who -presume to discuss its ways realistically are damned. I have had, in -my day, several experiences in point. Once, after I had published -an article on some phase of the eternal race question, a leading -southern newspaper replied by printing a column of denunciation of my -father, then dead nearly twenty years--a philippic placarding him as -an ignorant foreigner of dubious origin, inhabiting "the Baltimore -ghetto" and speaking a dialect recalling that of Weber & Fields--two -thousand words of incandescent nonsense, utterly false and beside -the point, but exactly meeting the latter-day southern notion of -effective controversy. Another time, I published a short discourse -on lynching, arguing that the sport was popular in the south because -the backward culture of the region denied the populace more seemly -recreations. Among such recreations I mentioned those afforded by -brass bands, symphony orchestras, boxing matches, amateur athletic -contests, shoot-the-chutes, roof gardens, horse races, and so on. In -reply another great southern journal denounced me as a man "of wineshop -temperament, brass-jewelry tastes and pornographic predilections." -In other words, brass bands, in the south, are classed with brass -jewelry, and both are snares of the devil! To advocate setting up -symphony orchestras is pornography!... Alas, when the touchy southerner -attempts a greater urbanity, the result is often even worse. Some time -ago a colleague of mine printed an article deploring the arrested -cultural development of Georgia. In reply he received a number of -protests from patriotic Georgians, and all of them solemnly listed the -glories of the state. I indulge in a few specimens: - - Who has not heard of Asa G. Candler, whose name is - synonymous with Coca-Cola, a Georgia product? - - The first Sunday-school in the world was opened in Savannah. - - Who does not recall with pleasure the writings of ... Frank - L. Stanton, Georgia's brilliant poet? - - Georgia was the first state to organize a Boys' Corn Club in - the South--Newton county, 1904. - - The first to suggest a common United Daughters of the - Confederacy badge was Mrs. Raynes, of Georgia. - - The first to suggest a state historian of the United - Daughters of the Confederacy was Mrs. C. Helen Plane (Macon - convention, 1896). - - The first to suggest putting to music Heber's "From - Green-land's Icy Mountains" was Mrs. F. R. Goulding, of - Savannah. - -And so on, and so on. These proud boasts came, remember, not from -obscure private persons, but from "Leading Georgians"--in one case, -the state historian. Curious sidelights upon the ex-Confederate mind! -Another comes from a stray copy of a negro paper. It describes an -ordinance lately passed by the city council of Douglas, Ga., forbidding -any trousers presser, on penalty of forfeiting a $500 bond, to engage -in "pressing for both white and colored." This in a town, says the -negro paper, where practically all of the white inhabitants have "their -food prepared by colored hands," "their babies cared for by colored -hands," and "the clothes which they wear right next to their skins -washed in houses where negroes live"--houses in which the said clothes -"remain for as long as a week at a time." But if you marvel at the -absurdity, keep it dark! A casual word, and the united press of the -south will be upon your trail, denouncing you bitterly as a scoundrelly -Yankee, a Bolshevik Jew, an agent of the Wilhelmstrasse.... - -Obviously, it is impossible for intelligence to flourish in such -an atmosphere. Free inquiry is blocked by the idiotic certainties -of ignorant men. The arts, save in the lower reaches of the gospel -hymn, the phonograph and the chautauqua harangue, are all held -in suspicion. The tone of public opinion is set by an upstart -class but lately emerged from industrial slavery into commercial -enterprise--the class of "hustling" business men, of "live wires," of -commercial club luminaries, of "drive" managers, of forward-lookers -and right-thinkers--in brief, of third-rate southerners inoculated -with all the worst traits of the Yankee sharper. One observes the -curious effects of an old tradition of truculence upon a population -now merely pushful and impudent, of an old tradition of chivalry upon -a population now quite without imagination. The old repose is gone. -The old romanticism is gone. The philistinism of the new type of -town-boomer southerner is not only indifferent to the ideals of the -old south; it is positively antagonistic to them. That philistinism -regards human life, not as an agreeable adventure, but as a mere trial -of rectitude and efficiency. It is overwhelmingly utilitarian and -moral. It is inconceivably hollow and obnoxious. What remains of the -ancient tradition is simply a certain charming civility in private -intercourse--often broken down, alas, by the hot rages of Puritanism, -but still generally visible. The southerner, at his worst, is never -quite the surly cad that the Yankee is. His sensitiveness may betray -him into occasional bad manners, but in the main he is a pleasant -fellow--hospitable, polite, good-humored, even jovial.... But a bit -absurd.... A bit pathetic. - - - - -IV. THE DIVINE AFFLATUS - - -The suave and [oe]dematous Chesterton, in a late effort to earn -the honorarium of a Chicago newspaper, composed a thousand words -of labored counterblast to what is called inspiration in the arts. -The thing itself, he argued, has little if any actual existence; we -hear so much about it because its alleged coyness and fortuitousness -offer a convenient apology for third-rate work. The man taken in such -third-rate work excuses himself on the ground that he is a helpless -slave of some power that stands outside him, and is quite beyond his -control. On days when it favors him he teems with ideas and creates -masterpieces, but on days when it neglects him he is crippled and -impotent--a fiddle without a bow, an engine without steam, a tire -without air. All this, according to Chesterton, is nonsense. A man who -can really write at all, or paint at all, or compose at all should be -able to do it at almost any time, provided only "he is not drunk or -asleep." - -So far Chesterton. The formula of the argument is simple and familiars -to dispose of a problem all that is necessary is to deny that it -exists. But there are plenty of men, I believe, who find themselves -unable to resolve the difficulty in any such cavalier manner--men whose -chief burden and distinction, in fact, is that they do not employ -formulæ in their thinking, but are thrown constantly upon industry, -ingenuity and the favor of God. Among such men there remains a good -deal more belief in what is vaguely called inspiration. They know -by hard experience that there are days when their ideas flow freely -and clearly, and days when they are dammed up damnably. Say a man of -that sort has a good day. For some reason quite incomprehensible to -him all his mental processes take on an amazing ease and slickness. -Almost without conscious effort he solves technical problems that have -badgered him for weeks. He is full of novel expedients, extraordinary -efficiencies, strange cunnings. He has a feeling that he has suddenly -and unaccountably broken through a wall, dispersed a fog, got himself -out of the dark. So he does a double or triple stint of the best work -that he is capable of--maybe of far better work than he has ever been -capable of before--and goes to bed impatient for the morrow. And on -the morrow he discovers to his consternation that he has become almost -idiotic, and quite incapable of any work at all. - -I challenge any man who trades in ideas to deny that he has this -experience. The truth is that he has it constantly. It overtakes -poets and contrapuntists, critics and dramatists, philosophers and -journalists; it may even be shared, so far as I know, by advertisement -writers, chautauqua orators and the rev. clergy. The characters that -all anatomists of melancholy mark in it are the irregular ebb and flow -of the tides, and the impossibility of getting them under any sort of -rational control. The brain, as it were, stands to one side and watches -itself pitching and tossing, full of agony but essentially helpless. -Here the man of creative imagination pays a ghastly price for all -his superiorities and immunities; nature takes revenge upon him for -dreaming of improvements in the scheme of things. Sitting there in his -lonely room, gnawing the handle of his pen, racked by his infernal -quest, horribly bedevilled by incessant flashes of itching, toothache, -eye-strain and evil conscience--thus tortured, he makes atonement for -his crime of being intelligent. The normal man, the healthy and honest -man, the good citizen and householder--this man, I daresay, knows -nothing of all that travail. It is reserved especially for artists -and metaphysicians. It is the particular penalty of those who pursue -strange butterflies into dark forests, and go fishing in enchanted and -forbidden streams. - -Let us, then, assume that the fact is proved: the nearest poet -is a witness to it. But what of the underlying mystery? How are -we to account for that puckish and inexplicable rise and fall of -inspiration? My questions, of course, are purely rhetorical. -Explanations exist; they have existed for all time; there is always -a well-known solution to every human problem--neat, plausible, and -wrong. The ancients, in the case at bar, laid the blame upon the gods: -sometimes they were remote and surly, and sometimes they were kind. In -the Middle Ages lesser powers took a hand in the matter, and so one -reads of works of art inspired by Our Lady, by the Blessed Saints, by -the souls of the departed, and even by the devil. In our own day there -are explanations less super-natural but no less fanciful--to wit, -the explanation that the whole thing is a matter of pure chance, and -not to be resolved into any orderly process--to wit, the explanation -that the controlling factor is external circumstance, that the artist -happily married to a dutiful wife is thereby inspired--finally, to -make an end, the explanation that it is all a question of Freudian -complexes, themselves lurking in impenetrable shadows. But all of these -explanations fail to satisfy the mind that is not to be put off with -mere words. Some of them are palpably absurd; others beg the question. -The problem of the how remains, even when the problem of the why is -disposed of. What is the precise machinery whereby the cerebrum is -bestirred to such abnormal activity on one day that it sparkles and -splutters like an arclight, and reduced to such feebleness on another -day that it smokes and gutters like a tallow dip? - -In this emergency, having regard for the ages-long and unrelieved -sufferings of artists great and small, I offer a new, simple, and -at all events not ghostly solution. It is supported by the observed -facts, by logical analogies and by the soundest known principles of -psychology, and so I present it without apologies. It may be couched, -for convenience, in the following brief terms: that inspiration, -so-called, is a function of metabolism, and that it is chiefly -conditioned by the state of the intestinal flora--in larger words, that -a man's flow of ideas is controlled and determined, both quantitatively -and qualitatively, not by the whims of the gods, nor by the terms -of his armistice with his wife, nor by the combinations of some -transcendental set of dice, but by the chemical content of the blood -that lifts itself from his liver to his brain, and that this chemical -content is established in his digestive tract, particularly south of -the pylorus. A man may write great poetry when he is drunk, when he -is cold and miserable, when he is bankrupt, when he has a black eye, -when his wife glowers at him across the table, when his children lie -dying of smallpox; he may even write it during an earthquake, or while -crossing the English channel, or in the midst of a Methodist revival, -or in New York. But I am so far gone in materialism that I am disposed -to deny flatly and finally, and herewith do deny flatly and finally, -that there has lived a poet in the whole history of the world, ancient -or modern, near or far, who ever managed to write great poetry, or even -passably fair and decent poetry, at a time when he was suffering from -stenosis at any point along the thirty-foot _via dolorosa_ running from -the pylorus to the sigmoid flexure. In other words, when he was-- - -But perhaps I had better leave your medical adviser to explain. After -all, it is not necessary to go any further in this direction; the whole -thing may be argued in terms of the blood stream--and the blood stream -is respectable, as the duodenum is an outcast. It is the blood and the -blood only, in fact, that the cerebrum is aware of; of what goes on -elsewhere it can learn only by hearsay. If all is well below, then the -blood that enters the brain through the internal carotid is full of the -elements necessary to bestir the brain-cells to their highest activity; -if, on the contrary, anabolism and katabolism are going on ineptly, if -the blood is not getting the supplies that it needs and not getting -rid of the wastes that burden it, then the brain-cells will be both -starved and poisoned, and not all the king's horses and all the king's -men can make them do their work with any show of ease and efficiency. -In the first case the man whose psyche dwells in the cells will have -a moment of inspiration--that is, he will find it a strangely simple -and facile matter to write his poem, or iron out his syllogism, or -make his bold modulation from F sharp minor to C major, or get his -flesh-tone, or maybe only perfect his swindle. But in the second case -he will be stumped and helpless. The more he tries, the more vividly -he will be conscious of his impotence. Sweat will stand out in beads -upon his brow, he will fish patiently for the elusive thought, he will -try coaxing and subterfuge, he will retire to his ivory tower, he -will tempt the invisible powers with black coffee, tea, alcohol and -the alkaloids, he may even curse God and invite death--but he will -not write his poem, or iron out his syllogism, or find his way into C -major, or get his flesh-tone, or perfect his swindle. - -Fix your eye upon this hypothesis of metabolic inspiration, and at once -you will find the key to many a correlative mystery. For one thing, -it quickly explains the observed hopelessness of trying to pump up -inspiration by mere hard industry--the essential imbecility of the -I,000 words a day formula. Let there be stenosis below, and not all -the industry of a Hercules will suffice to awaken the lethargic brain. -Here, indeed, the harder the striving, the worse the stagnation--as -every artist knows only too well. And why not? Striving in the face -of such an interior obstacle is the most cruel of enterprises--a -business more nerve-wracking and exhausting than reading a newspaper -or watching a bad play. The pain thus produced, the emotions thus -engendered, react upon the liver in a manner scientifically displayed -by Dr. George W. Crile in his "Man: An Adaptive Mechanism," and the -result is a steady increase in the intestinal demoralization, and a -like increase in the pollution of the blood. In the end the poor victim -comes to a familiar pass; beset on the one hand by impotence and on -the other hand by an impatience grown pathological, he gets into a -state indistinguishable from the frantic. It is at such times that -creative artists suffer most atrociously. It is then that they writhe -upon the sharp spears and red-hot hooks of a jealous and unjust Creator -for their invasion of His monopoly. It is then that they pay a grisly -super-tax upon their superiority to the great herd of law-abiding and -undistinguished men. The men of this herd never undergo any comparable -torture; the agony of the artist is quite beyond their experience and -even beyond their imagination. No catastrophe that could conceivably -overtake a lime and cement dealer, a curb broker, a lawyer, a plumber -or a Presbyterian is to be mentioned in the same breath with the -torments that, to the most minor of poets, are familiar incidents of -his professional life, and, to such a man as Poe, or Beethoven, or -Brahms, are the commonplaces of every day. Beethoven suffered more -during the composition of the Fifth symphony than all the judges on -the supreme benches of the world have suffered jointly since the time -of the Gerousia. - -Again, my hypothesis explains the fact that inspiration, save under -extraordinary circumstances, is never continuous for more than a -relatively short period. A banker, a barber or a manufacturer of patent -medicines does his work day after day without any noticeable rise or -fall of efficiency; save when he is drunk, jailed or ill in bed the -curve of his achievement is flattened out until it becomes almost a -straight line. But the curve of an artist, even of the greatest of -artists, is frightfully zig-zagged. There are moments when it sinks -below the bottom of the chart, and immediately following there may -be moments when it threatens to run off the top. Some of the noblest -passages written by Shakespeare are in his worst plays, cheek by jowl -with padding and banality; some of the worst music of Wagner is in his -finest music dramas. There is, indeed, no such thing as a flawless -masterpiece. Long labored, it may be gradually enriched with purple -passages--the high inspirations of widely separated times crowded -together--, but even so it will remain spotty, for those purple -passages will be clumsily joined, and their joints will remain as -apparent as so many false teeth. Only the most elementary knowledge -of psychology is needed to show the cause of the zig-zagging that -I have mentioned. It lies in the elemental fact that the chemical -constitution of the blood changes every hour, almost every minute. -What it is at the beginning of digestion is not what it is at the end -of digestion, and in both cases it is enormously affected by the nature -of the substances digested. No man, within twenty-four hours after -eating a meal in a Pennsylvania Railroad dining-car, could conceivably -write anything worth reading. A tough beefsteak, I daresay, has ditched -many a promising sonnet, and bad beer, as every one knows, has spoiled -hundreds of sonatas. Thus inspiration rises and falls, and even when -it rises twice to the same height it usually shows some qualitative -difference--there is the inspiration, say, of Spring vegetables and -there is the inspiration of Autumn fruits. In a long work the products -of greatly differing inspirations, of greatly differing streams of -blood, are hideously intermingled, and the result is the inevitable -spottiness that I have mentioned. No one but a maniac argues that "Die -Meistersinger" is _all_ good. One detects in it days when Wagner felt, -as the saying goes, like a fighting cock, but one also detects days -when he arose in the morning full of acidosis and despair--days when he -turned heavily from the Pierian spring to castor oil. - -Moreover, it must be obvious that the very conditions under which works -of art are produced tend to cause great aberrations in metabolism. The -artist is forced by his calling to be a sedentary man. Even a poet, -perhaps the freest of artists, must spend a good deal of time bending -over a desk. He may conceive his poems in the open air, as Beethoven -conceived his music, but the work of reducing them to actual words -requires diligent effort in camera. Here it is a sheer impossibility -for him to enjoy the ideal hygienic conditions which surround the -farmhand, the curb-broker and the sailor. His! viscera are congested; -his eyes are astrain; his muscles are without necessary exercise. -Furthermore, he probably breathes bad air and goes without needed -sleep. The result is inevitably some disturbance of metabolism, with a -vitiated blood supply and a starved cerebrum. One is always surprised -to encounter a poet who is ruddy and stout; the standard model is a -pale and flabby stenotic, kept alive by patent medicines. So with the -painter, the musical composer, the sculptor, the artist in prose. -There is no more confining work known to man than instrumentation. -The composer who has spent a day at it is invariably nervous and ill. -For hours his body is bent over his music-paper, the while his pen -engrosses little dots upon thin lines. I have known composers, after a -week or so of such labor, to come down with auto-intoxication in its -most virulent forms. Perhaps the notorious ill health of Beethoven, -and the mental break-downs of Schumann, Tschaikowsky and Hugo Wolf had -their origin in this direction. It is difficult, going through the -history of music, to find a single composer in the grand manner who was -physically and mentally up to par. - -I do not advance it as a formal corollary, but no doubt this stenosis -hypothesis also throws some light upon two other immemorial mysteries, -the first being the relative æsthetic sterility of women, and the other -being the low æsthetic development of certain whole classes, and even -races of men, _e. g._, the Puritans, the Welsh and the Confederate -Americans. That women suffer from stenosis far more than men is a -commonplace of internal medicine; the weakness is chiefly to blame, -rather than the functional peculiarities that they accuse, for their -liability to headache. A good many of them, in fact, are habitually -in the state of health which, in the artist, is accompanied by an -utter inability to work. This state of health, as I have said, does -not inhibit _all_ mental activity. It leaves the powers of observation -but little impaired; it does not corrupt common sense; it is not -incompatible with an intelligent discharge of the ordinary duties of -life. Thus a lime and cement dealer, in the midst of it, may function -almost as well as when his metabolic processes are perfectly normal, -and by the same token a woman chronically a victim to it may yet show -all the sharp mental competence which characterizes her sex. But here -the thing stops. To go beyond--to enter the realm of constructive -thinking, to abandon the mere application of old ideas and essay to -invent new ideas, to precipitate novel and intellectual concepts out -of the chaos of memory and perception--this is quite impossible to the -stenotic. _Ergo,_ it is unheard of among classes and races of men who -feed grossly and neglect personal hygiene; the pill-swallower is the -only artist in such groups. One may thus argue that the elder Beecham -saved poetry in England, as the younger Beecham saved music.... But, as -I say, I do not stand behind the hypothesis in this department, save, -perhaps, in the matter of women. I could amass enormous evidences in -favor of it, but against them there would always loom the disconcerting -contrary evidence of the Bulgarians. Among them, I suppose, stenosis -must be unknown--but so are all the fine arts. - -"La force et la foiblesse de l'esprit," said Rochefoucauld, "sont -mal nommées; elles ne sont, en effect, que la bonne ou la mauvaise -des organes du corps." Science wastes itself hunting in the other -direction. We are flooded with evidences of the effects of the mind -on the body, and so our attention is diverted from the enormously -greater effects of the body on the mind. It is rather astonishing that -the Wassermann reaction has not caused the latter to be investigated -more thoroughly. The first result of the general employment of that -great diagnostic device was the discovery that thousands of cases of -so-called mental disease were really purely physical in origin--that -thousands of patients long supposed to have been crazed by seeing -ghosts, by love, by grief, or by reverses in the stock-market were -actually victims of the small but extremely enterprising _spirochæte -pallida._ The news heaved a bomb into psychiatry, but it has so far -failed to provoke a study of the effects of other such physical -agents. Even the effects of this one agent remain to be inquired into -at length. One now knows that it may cause insanity, but what of the -lesser mental aberrations that it produces? Some of these aberrations -may be actually beneficial. That is to say, the mild toxemia -accompanying the less virulent forms of infection may stimulate the -brain to its highest functioning, and so give birth to what is called -genius--a state of mind long recognized, by popular empiricism, as a -sort of half-way station on the road to insanity. Beethoven, Nietzsche -and Schopenhauer suffered from such mild toxemias, and there is not -the slightest doubt that their extraordinary mental activity was at -least partly due to the fact. That tuberculosis, in its early stages, -is capable of the same stimulation is a commonplace of observation. -The consumptive may be weak physically, but he is usually very alert -mentally. The history of the arts, in fact, shows the names of hundreds -of inspired consumptives. - -Here a physical infirmity produces a result that is beneficial, just -as another physical infirmity, the stenosis aforesaid, produces a -result that is baleful. The artist often oscillates horribly between -the two effects; he is normally anything but a healthy animal. -Perfect health, indeed, is a boon that very few men above the rank of -clodhoppers ever enjoy. What health means is a degree of adaptation -to the organism's environment so nearly complete that there is no -irritation. Such a state, it must be obvious, is not often to be -observed in organisms of the highest complexity. It is common, -perhaps, in the earthworm. This elemental beast makes few demands -upon its environment, and is thus subject to few diseases. It seldom -gets out of order until the sands of its life are run, and then it -suffers one grand illness and dies forthwith. But man is forever -getting out of order, for he is enormously complicated--and the higher -he rises in complexity, the more numerous and the more serious are -his derangements. There are whole categories of diseases, _e. g.,_ -neurasthenia and hay-fever, that afflict chiefly the more civilized -and delicate ranks of men, leaving the inferior orders unscathed. Good -health in man, indeed, is almost invariably a function of inferiority. -A professionally healthy man, e. g., an acrobat, an osteopath or an -ice-wagon driver, is always stupid. In the Greece of the great days -the athletes we hear so much about were mainly slaves. Not one of -the eminent philosophers, poets or statesmen of Greece was a good -high-jumper. Nearly all of them, in fact, suffered from the same -malaises which afflict their successors of to-day, as you will quickly -discern by examining their compositions. The æsthetic impulse, like the -thirst for truth, might almost be called a disease. It seldom if ever -appears in a perfectly healthy man. - -But we must take the aloes with the honey. The artist suffers damnably, -but there is compensation in his dreams. Some of his characteristic -diseases cripple him and make his whole life a misery, but there are -others that seem to help him. Of the latter, the two that I have -mentioned carry with them concepts of extreme obnoxiousness. Both are -infections, and one is associated in the popular mind with notions or -gross immorality. But these concepts of obnoxiousness should not blind -us to the benefits that apparently go with the maladies. There are, -in fact, maladies much more obnoxious, and they carry no compensating -benefits. Cancer is an example. Perhaps the time will come when the -precise effects of these diseases will be worked out accurately, and -it will be possible to gauge in advance their probable influence upon -this or that individual. If that time ever comes the manufacture of -artists will become a feasible procedure, like the present manufacture -of soldiers, capons, right-thinkers and doctors of philosophy. In those -days the promising young men of the race, instead of being protected -from such diseases at all hazards, will be deliberately infected with -them, as soils are now inoculated with nitrogen-liberating bacteria.... -At the same time, let us hope, some progress will be made against -stenosis. It is, after all, simply a question of technique, like the -artificial propagation of the race by the device of Dr. Jacques Loeb. -The poet of the future, come upon a period of doldrums, will not tear -his hair in futile agony. Instead, he will go to the nearest clinic, -and there get his rasher of Bulgarian bacilli, or an injection of some -complex organic compound out of a ductless gland, or an order on a -masseur, or a diet list, or perchance a barrel of Russian oil. - - - - -V. SCIENTIFIC EXAMINATION OF A POPULAR VIRTUE - - -An old _Corpsbruder,_ assaulting my ear lately with an abstruse tale of -his sister's husband's brother's ingratitude, ended by driving me quite -out of his house, firmly resolved to be his acquaintance no longer. -The exact offense I heard inattentively, and have already partly -forgotten--an obscure tort arising out of a lawsuit. My ex-friend, -it appears, was appealed to for help in a bad case by his grapevine -relative, and so went on the stand for him and swore gallantly to -some complex and unintelligible lie. Later on, essaying to cash in -on the perjury, he asked the fellow to aid him in some domestic -unpleasantness, and was refused on grounds of morals. Hence his -indignation--and my spoiled evening.... - -What is one to think of a man so asinine that he looks for gratitude in -this world, or so puerilely egotistical that he enjoys it when found? -The truth is that the sentiment itself is not human but doggish, and -that the man who demands it in payment for his doings is precisely the -sort of man who feels noble and distinguished when a dog licks his -hand. What a man says when he expresses gratitude is simply this: -"You did something for me that I could not have done myself. _Ergo,_ -you are my superior. Hail, _Durchlaucht!"_ Such a confession, whether -true or not, is degrading to the confessor, and so it is very hard to -make, at all events for a man of self-respect. That is why such a man -always makes it clumsily and with many blushes and hesitations. It -is hard for him to put so embarrassing a doctrine into plain words. -And that is why the business is equally uncomfortable to the party -of the other part. It distresses him to see a human being of decent -instincts standing before him in so ignominious a position. He is as -flustered as if the fellow came in handcuffs, or in rags, or wearing -the stripes of a felon. Moreover, his confusion is helped out by his -inward knowledge--very clear if he is introspective, and plain enough -even if he is not--that he really deserves no such tribute to his high -mightiness; that the altruism for which he is being praised was really -bogus; that he did the thing behind the gratitude which now assails -him, not for any grand and lofty reason, but for a purely selfish and -inferior reason, to wit, for the reason that it pleases all of us to -show what we can do when an appreciative audience is present; that we -delight to exercise our will to power when it is safe and profitable. -This is the primary cause of the benefits which inspire gratitude, -real and pretended. This is the fact at the bottom of altruism. Find -me a man who is always doing favors for people and I will show you a -man of petty vanity, forever trying to get fuel for it in the cheapest -way. And find me a man who is notoriously grateful in habit and I'll -show you a man who is essentially third rate and who is conscious of -it at the bottom of his heart. The man of genuine self-respect--which -means the man who is more or less accurately aware, not only of his own -value, but also and more importantly, of his own limitations--tries -to avoid entering either class. He hesitates to demonstrate his -superiority by such banal means, and he shrinks from confessing an -inferiority that he doesn't believe in. - -Nevertheless, the popular morality of the world, which is the creation, -not of its superior men but of its botches and half-men--in brief, -of its majorities--puts a high value on gratitude and denounces the -with-holding of it as an offense against the proprieties. To be -noticeably ungrateful for benefits--that is, for the by-products of the -egotism of others--is to be disliked. To tell a tale of ingratitude -is to take on the aspect of a martyr to the defects of others, to get -sympathy in an affliction. All of us are responsive to such ideas, -however much we may resent them logically. One may no more live in the -world without picking up the moral prejudices of the world than one -will be able to go to hell without perspiring.... - -Let me recall a case within my own recent experience. One day I -received a letter from a young woman I had never heard of before, -asking me to read the manuscripts of two novels that she had written. -She represented that she had venerated my critical parts for a long -while, and that her whole future career in letters would be determined -by my decision as to her talents. The daughter of a man apparently of -some consequence in some sordid business or other, she asked me to -meet her at her father's office, and there to impart to her, under -socially aseptic conditions, my advice. Having a standing rule against -meeting women authors, even in their fathers' banks and soap factories, -I pleaded various imaginary engagements, but finally agreed, after a -telephone debate, to read her manuscripts. They arrived promptly and I -found them to be wholly without merit--in fact, the veriest twaddle. -Nevertheless I plowed through them diligently, wasted half an hour at -the job, wrote a polite letter of counsel and returned the manuscripts -to her house, paying a blackamoor 50 cents to haul them. - -By all ordinary standards, an altruistic service and well deserving -some show of gratitude. Had she knitted me a pair of pulse-warmers it -would have seemed meet and proper. Even a copy of the poems of Alfred -Noyes would not have been too much. At the very least I expected a note -of thanks. Well, not a word has ever reached me. For all my laborious -politeness and disagreeable labor my reward is exactly nil. The lady is -improved by my counsel--and I am shocked by her gross ingratitude.... -That is, conventionally, superficially, as a member of society in -good standing. But when on sour afternoons I roll the affair in my -mind, examining, not the mere surface of it but the inner workings and -anatomy of it, my sense of outrage gradually melts and fades away--the -inevitable recompense of skepticism. What I see clearly is that I was -an ass to succumb to the blandishments of this discourteous miss, -and that she was quite right in estimating my service trivially, and -out of that clear seeing comes consolation, and amusement, and, in -the end, even satisfaction. I got exactly what I deserved. And she, -whether consciously or merely instinctively, measured out the dose with -excellent accuracy. - -Let us go back. Why did I waste two hours, or maybe three, reading -those idiotic manuscripts? Why, in the first place, did I answer her -opening request--the request, so inherently absurd, that I meet her -in her father's office? For a very plain reason: she accompanied it -with flattery. What she said, in effect, was that she regarded me as a -critic of the highest talents, and this ludicrous cajolery--sound, I -dare say, in substance, but reduced to naught by her obvious obscurity -and stupidity--was quite enough to fetch me. In brief, she assumed -that, being a man, I was vain to the point of imbecility, and this -assumption was correct, as it always is. To help out, there was the -concept of romantic adventure vaguely floating in my mind. Her voice, -as I heard it by telephone, was agreeable; her appearance, since she -seemed eager to show herself, I probably judged (subconsciously) to -be at least not revolting. Thus curiosity got on its legs, and vanity -in another form. Am I fat and half decrepit, a man seldom noticed by -cuties? Then so much the more reason why I should respond. The novelty -of an apparently comely and respectable woman desiring to witness me -finished what the primary (and very crude) appeal to my vanity had -begun. I was, in brief, not only the literary popinjay but also the -eternal male--and hard at the immemorial folly of the order. - -Now turn to the gal and her ingratitude. The more I inspect it the more -I became convinced that it is not discreditable to her, but highly -creditable--that she demonstrates a certain human dignity, despite her -imbecile writings, by exhibiting it. Would a show of gratitude put -her in a better light? I doubt it. That gratitude, considering the -unfavorable report I made on her manuscripts, would be doubly invasive -of her _amour propre._ On the one hand it would involve a confession -that my opinion of her literary gifts was better than her own, and -that I was thus her superior. And on the other hand it would involve -a confession that my own actual writings (being got into print without -aid) were better than hers, and that I was thus her superior again. -Each confession would bring her into an attitude of abasement, and -the two together would make her position intolerable. Moreover, both -would be dishonest: she would privately believe in neither doctrine. -As for my opinion, its hostility to her aspiration is obviously enough -to make her ego dismiss it as false, for no organism acquiesces in its -own destruction. And as for my relative worth as a literary artist, -she must inevitably put it very low, for it depends, in the last -analysis, upon my dignity and sagacity as a man, and she has proved -by experiment, and quite easily, that I am almost as susceptible to -flattery as a moving picture actor, and hence surely no great shakes. - -Thus there is not the slightest reason in the world why the fair -creature should knit me a pair of pulse-warmers or send me the poems -of Noyes, or even write me a polite note. If she did any of these -things, she would feel herself a hypocrite and hence stand embarrassed -before the mirror of her own thoughts. Confronted by a choice between -this sort of shame and the incomparably less uncomfortable shame -of violating a social convention and an article of popular morals, -secretly and without danger of exposure, she very sensibly chooses -the more innocuous of the two. At the very start, indeed, she set -up barriers against gratitude, for her decision to ask a favor of me -was, in a subtle sense, a judgment of my inferiority. One does not ask -favors, if it can be avoided, of persons one genuinely respects; one -puts such burdens upon the naïve and colorless, upon what are called -the good natured; in brief, upon one's inferiors. When that girl first -thought of me as a possible aid to her literary aspiration she thought -of me (perhaps vaguely, but none the less certainly) as an inferior -fortuitously outfitted with a body of puerile technical information -and competence, of probable use to her. This unfavorable view was -immediately reënforced by her discovery of my vanity. - -In brief, she showed and still shows the great instinctive sapience of -her sex. She is female, and hence far above the nonsensical delusions, -vanities, conventions and moralities of men. - - - - -VI. EXEUNT OMNES - - -One of the hardest jobs that faces an American magazine editor in -this, the one-hundred-and forty-fifth year of the Republic, is that -of keeping the minnesingers of the land from filling his magazine -with lugubrious dithyrambs to, on and against somatic death. Of -spiritual death, of course, not many of them ever sing. Most of them, -in fact, deny its existence in plain terms; they are all sure of the -immortality of the soul, and in particular they are absolutely sure of -the immortality of their own souls, and of those of their best girls. -In this department the most they ever allow to the materialism of the -herds that lie bogged in prose is such a benefit of the half doubt as -one finds in Christina Rossetti's "When I am Dead." But when it comes -to somatic death, the plain brutal death of coroners' inquests and -vital statistics, their optimism vanishes, and, try as they may, they -can't get around the harsh fact that on such and such a day, often -appallingly near, each and every one of us will heave a last sigh, roll -his eyes despairingly, turn his face to the wall and then suddenly -change from a proud and highly complex mammal, made in the image of -God, to a mere inert aggregate of disintegrating colloids, made in the -image of a stale cabbage. - -The inevitability of it seems to fascinate them. They write about -it more than they write about anything else save love. Every day my -editorial desk is burdened with their manuscripts--poems in which the -poet serves notice that, when his time comes, he will die bravely -and even a bit insolently; poems in which he warns his mistress that -he will wait for her on the roof of the cosmos and keep his harp in -tune; poems in which he asks her grandly to forget him, and, above -all, to avoid torturing herself by vain repining at his grave; poems -in which he directs his heirs and assigns to bury him in some lonely, -romantic spot, where the whippoorwills sing; poems in which he hints -that he will not rest easily if Philistines are permitted to begaud his -last anchorage with _couronnes des perles;_ poems in which he speaks -jauntily of making a rendez-vous with death, as if death were a wench; -poems in which-- - -But there is no need to rehearse the varieties. If you read the -strophes that are strung along the bottoms of magazine pages you are -familiar with all of them; even in the great moral periodical that I -help to edit, despite my own excessive watchfulness and Dr. Nathan's -general theory that both death and poetry are nuisances and in bad -taste, they have appeared multitudinously, no doubt to the disgust of -the _intelligentsia._ As I say, it is almost impossible to keep the -minnesingers off the subject. When my negro flops the morning bale -of poetry manuscripts upon my desk and I pull up my chair to have at -them, I always make a bet with myself that, of the first dozen, at -least seven will deal with death--and it is so long since I lost that -I don't remember it. Periodically I send out a circular to all the -recognized poets of the land, begging them in the name of God to be -less mortuary, but it never does any good. More, I doubt that it ever -will--or any other sort of appeal. Take away death and love and you -would rob poets of both their liver and their lights; what would remain -would be little more than a feeble gurgle in an illimitable void. For -the business of poetry, remember, is to set up a sweet denial of the -harsh facts that confront all of us--to soothe us in our agonies with -emollient words--in brief, to lie sonorously and reassuringly. Well, -what is the worst curse of life? Answer: the abominable magnetism -that draws unlikes and incompatibles into delirious and intolerable -conjunction--the kinetic over-stimulation called love. And what is the -next worst? Answer: the fear of death. No wonder the poets give so -much attention to both! No other foe of human peace and happiness is -one-half so potent, and hence none other offers such opportunities to -poetry, and, in fact, to all art. A sonnet designed to ease the dread -of bankruptcy, even if done by a great master, would be banal, for -that dread is itself banal, and so is bankruptcy. The same may be said -of the old fear of hell, now no more. There was a day when this latter -raged in the breast of nearly every man--and in that day the poets -produced antidotes that were very fine poems. But to-day only the elect -and anointed of God fear hell, and so there is no more production of -sound poetry in that department. - -As I have hinted, I tire of reading so much necrotic verse in -manuscript, and wish heartily that the poets would cease to assault -me with it. In prose, curiously enough, one observes a corresponding -shortage. True enough, the short story of commerce shows a good -many murders and suicides, and not less than eight times a day I am -made privy to the agonies of a widower or widow who, on searching -the papers of his wife or her husband immediately after her or his -death, discovers that she or he had a lover or a mistress. But I -speak of serious prose: not of trade balderdash. Go to any public -library and look under "Death: Human" in the card index, and you will -be surprised to find how few books there are on the subject. Worse, -nearly all the few are by psychical researchers who regard death as -a mere removal from one world to another or by New Thoughters who -appear to believe that it is little more than a sort of illusion. -Once, seeking to find out what death was physiologically--that is, -to find out just what happened when a man died--I put in a solid -week without result. There seemed to be nothing whatever on the -subject even in the medical libraries. Finally, after much weariness, -I found what I was looking for in Dr. George W. Crile's "Man: An -Adaptive Mechanism"--incidentally, a very solid and original work, -much less heard of than it ought to be. Crile said that death was -acidosis--that it was caused by the failure of the organism to maintain -the alkalinity necessary to its normal functioning--and in the absence -of any proofs or even arguments to the contrary I accepted his notion -forthwith and have held to it ever since. I thus think of death as -a sort of deleterious fermentation, like that which goes on in a -bottle of Château Margaux when it becomes corked. Life is a struggle, -not against sin, not against the Money Power, not against malicious -animal magnetism, but against hydrogen ions. The healthy man is one -in whom those ions, as they are dissociated by cellular activity, are -immediately fixed by alkaline bases. The sick man is one in whom the -process has begun to lag, with the hydrogen ions getting ahead. The -dying man is one in whom it is all over save the charges of fraud. - -But here I get into chemical physics, and not only run afoul of -revelation but also reveal, perhaps, a degree of ignorance verging -upon intellectual coma. The thing I started out to do was to call -attention to the only full-length and first-rate treatise on death that -I have ever encountered or heard of, to wit, "Aspects of Death and -Correlated Aspects of Life," by Dr. F. Parkes Weber, a fat, hefty and -extremely interesting tome, the fruit of truly stupendous erudition. -What Dr. Weber has attempted is to bring together in one volume all -that has been said or thought about death since the time of the first -human records, not only by poets, priests and philosophers, but also -by painters, engravers, soldiers, monarchs and the populace generally. -The author, I take it, is primarily a numismatist, and he apparently -began his work with a collection of inscriptions on coins and medals. -But as it stands it covers a vastly wider area. One traces, in chapter -after chapter, the ebb and flow of human ideas upon the subject, of -the human attitude to the last and greatest mystery of them all--the -notion of it as a mere transition to a higher plane of life, the notion -of it as a benign panacea for all human suffering, the notion of it -as an incentive to this or that way of living, the notion of it as -an impenetrable enigma, inevitable and inexplicable. Few of us quite -realize how much the contemplation of death has colored human thought -throughout the ages. There have been times when it almost shut out all -other concerns; there has never been a time when it has not bulked -enormously in the racial consciousness. Well, what Dr. Weber does in -his book is to detach and set forth the salient ideas that have emerged -from all that consideration and discussion--to isolate the chief -theories of death, ancient and modern, pagan and Christian, scientific -and mystical, sound and absurd. - -The material thus digested is appallingly copious. If the learned -author had confined himself to printed books alone, he would have faced -a labor fit for a new Hercules. But in addition to books he has given -his attention to prints, to medals, to paintings, to engraved gems -and to monumental inscriptions. His authorities range from St. John -on what is to happen at the Day of Judgment to Sir William Osier on -what happens upon the normal human death-bed, and from Socrates on the -relation of death to philosophy to Havelock Ellis on the effects of -Christian ideas of death upon the mediæval temperament. The one field -that Dr. Weber has overlooked is that of music, a somewhat serious -omission. It is hard to think of a great composer who never wrote a -funeral march, or a requiem, or at least a sad song to some departed -love. Even old Papa Haydn had moments when he ceased to be merry, and -let his thought turn stealthily upon the doom ahead. To me, at all -events, the slow movement of the Military Symphony is the saddest of -music--an elegy, I take it, on some young fellow who went out in the -incomprehensible wars of those times and got himself horribly killed -in a far place. The trumpet blasts towards the end fling themselves -over his hasty grave in a remote cabbage field; one hears, before and -after them, the honest weeping of his comrades into their wine-pots. In -truth, the shadow of death hangs over all the music of Haydn, despite -its lightheartedness. Life was gay in those last days of the Holy -Roman Empire, but it was also precarious. If the Turks were not at the -gate, then there was a peasant rising somewhere in the hinterland, or -a pestilence swept the land. Beethoven, a generation later, growled -at death surlily, but Haydn faced it like a gentleman. The romantic -movement brought a sentimentalization of the tragedy; it became a sort -of orgy. Whenever Wagner dealt with death he treated it as if it were -some sort of gaudy tournament--a thing less dreadful than ecstatic. -Consider, for example, the _Char-Freitag_ music in "Parsifal"--death -music for the most memorable death in the history of the world. Surely -no one hearing it for the first time, without previous warning, would -guess that it had to do with anything so gruesome as a crucifixion. -On the contrary, I have a notion that the average auditor would guess -that it was a musical setting for some lamentable fornication between a -Bayreuth baritone seven feet in height and a German soprano weighing at -least three hundred pounds. - -But if Dr. Weber thus neglects music, he at least gives full measure -in all other departments. His book, in fact, is encyclopædic; he -almost exhausts the subject. One idea, however, I do not find in it: -the conception of death as the last and worst of all the practical -jokes played upon poor mortals by the gods. That idea apparently -never occurred to the Greeks, who thought of almost everything, but -nevertheless it has an ingratiating plausibility. The hardest thing -about death is not that men die tragically, but that most of them die -ridiculously. If it were possible for all of us to make our exits at -great moments, swiftly, cleanly, decorously, and in fine attitudes, -then the experience would be something to face heroically and with -high and beautiful words. But we commonly go off in no such gorgeous, -poetical way. Instead, we die in raucous prose--of arterio-sclerosis, -of diabetes, of toxemia, of a noisome perforation in the ileo-caecal -region, of carcinoma of the liver. The abominable acidosis of Dr. Crile -sneaks upon us, gradually paralyzing the adrenals, flabbergasting the -thyroid, crippling the poor old liver, and throwing its fog upon the -brain. Thus the ontogenetic process is recapitulated in reverse order, -and we pass into the mental obscurity of infancy, and then into the -blank unconsciousness of the prenatal state, and finally into the -condition of undifferentiated protoplasm. A man does not die quickly -and brilliantly, like a lightning stroke; he passes out by inches, -hesitatingly and, one may almost add, gingerly. It is hard to say just -when he is fully dead. Long after his heart has ceased to beat and -his lungs have ceased to swell him up with the vanity of his species, -there are remote and obscure parts of him that still live on, quite -unconcerned about the central catastrophe. Dr. Alexis Carrel has cut -them out and kept them alive for months. The hair keeps on growing -for a long while. Every time another one of the corpses of Barbarossa -or King James I is examined it is found that the hair is longer than -it was the last time. No doubt there are many parts of the body, and -perhaps even whole organs, which wonder what it is all about when they -find that they are on the way to the crematory. Burn a man's mortal -remains, and you inevitably burn a good portion of him alive, and no -doubt that portion sends alarmed messages to the unconscious brain, -like dissected tissue under anæsthesia, and the resultant shock brings -the deceased before the hierarchy of heaven in a state of collapse, -with his face white, sweat bespangling his forehead and a great thirst -upon him. It would not be pulling the nose of reason to argue that many -a cremated Sunday-school super-intendent thus confronting the ultimate -tribunal in the aspect of a man taken with the goods, has been put down -as suffering from an uneasy conscience when what actually ailed him -was simply surgical shock. The cosmic process is not only incurably -idiotic; it is also indecently unjust. - -But here I become medico-legal. What I had in mind when I began was -this: that the human tendency to make death dramatic and heroic has -little excuse in the facts. No doubt you remember the scene in the -last act of "Hedda Gabier," in which Dr. Brack comes in with the -news of Lövborg's suicide. Hedda immediately thinks of him putting -the pistol to his temple and dying instantly and magnificently. The -picture fills her with romantic delight. When Brack tells her that the -shot was actually through the breast she is disappointed, but soon -begins to romanticise even _that._ "The breast," she says, "is also a -good place.... There is something beautiful in this!" A bit later she -recurs to the charming theme, "In the breast--ah!" Then Brack tells -her the plain truth--in the original, thus: _"Nej,--det traf ham i -underlivet!"..._ Edmund Gosse, in his first English translation of the -play, made the sentence: "No--it struck him in the abdomen." In the -last edition William Archer makes it "No--in the bowels!" Abdomen is -nearer to _underlivet_ than bowels, but belly would probably render the -meaning better than either. What Brack wants to convey to Hedda is the -news that Lövborg's death was not romantic in the least--that he went -to a brothel, shot himself, not through the cerebrum or the heart, but -through the duodenum or perhaps the jejunum, and is at the moment of -report awaiting autopsy at the Christiania _Allgemeine-krankenhaus._ -The shock floors her, but it is a shock that all of us must learn -to bear. Men upon whom we lavish our veneration reduce it to an -absurdity at the end by dying of chronic cystitis, or by choking upon -marshmallows or dill pickles, or as the result of getting cut by dirty -barbers. Women whom we place upon pedestals worthy of the holy saints -come down at last with mastoid abscesses or die obscenely of hiccoughs. -And we ourselves? Let us not have too much hope. The chances are that, -if we go to war, eager to leap superbly at the cannon's mouth, we'll be -finished on the way by an ingrowing toenail or by being run over by an -army truck driven by a former Greek bus-boy and loaded with imitation -Swiss cheeses made in Oneida, N. Y. And that if we die in our beds, it -will be of measles or albuminuria. - -The aforesaid Crile, in one of his smaller books, "A Mechanistic View -of War and Peace," has a good deal to say about death in war, and in -particular, about the disparity between the glorious and inspiring -passing imagined by the young soldier and the messy finish that is -normally in store for him. He shows two pictures of war, the one ideal -and the other real. The former is the familiar print, "The Spirit of -'76," with the three patriots springing grandly to the attack, one of -them with a neat and romantic bandage around his head--apparently, -to judge by his liveliness, to cover a wound no worse than an average -bee-sting. The latter picture is what the movie folks call a close-up -of a French soldier who was struck just below the mouth by a German -one-pounder shell--a soldier suddenly converted into the hideous -simulacrum of a cruller. What one notices especially is the curious -expression upon what remains of his face--an expression of the utmost -surprise and indignation. No doubt he marched off to the front firmly -convinced that, if he died at all, it would be at the climax of some -heroic charge, up to his knees in blood and with his bayonet run clear -through a Bavarian at least four feet in diameter. He imagined the -clean bullet through the heart, the stately last gesture, the final -words: "Thérèse! Sophie! Olympe! Marie! Suzette! Odette! Denise! -Julie!... France!" Go to the book and see what he got.... Dr. Crile, -whose experience of war has soured him against it, argues that the best -way to abolish it would be to prohibit such romantic prints as "The -Spirit of '76" and substitute therefor a series of actual photographs -of dead and wounded men. The plan is plainly of merit. But it would -be expensive. Imagine a war getting on its legs before the conversion -of the populace had become complete.. Think of the huge herds of -spy-chasers, letter-openers, pacifist-hounds, burlesons and other such -operators that it would take to track down and confiscate all those -pictures!... - -Even so, the vulgar horror of death would remain, for, as Ellen La -Motte well says in her little book, "The Backwash of War," the finish -of a civilian in a luxurious hospital, with trained nurses fluttering -over him and his pastor whooping and heaving for him at the foot of his -bed, is often quite as terrible as any form of exitus witnessed in war. -It is, in fact, always an unpleasant business. Let the poets disguise -it all they may and the theologians obscure the issue with promises of -post-mortem felicity, the plain truth remains that it gives one pause -to reflect that, on some day not far away, one must yield supinely to -acidosis, sink into the mental darkness of an idiot, and so suffer a -withdrawal from these engaging scenes. "No. 8," says the nurse in faded -pink, tripping down the corridor with a hooch of rye for the diabetic -in No. 2, "has just passed out." "Which is No. 8?" asks the new nurse. -"The one whose wife wore that awful hat this afternoon?" ... But all -the authorities, it is pleasant to know, report that the final scene -is placid enough. Dr. Weber quotes many of them. The dying man doesn't -struggle much and he isn't much afraid. As his alkalies give out he -succumbs to a blest stupidity. His mind fogs. His will power vanishes. -He submits decently. He scarcely gives a damn. - - - - -VII. THE ALLIED ARTS - - - - -I - - -_On Music-Lovers_ - - -Of all forms of the uplift, perhaps the most futile is that which -addresses itself to educating the proletariat in music. The theory -behind it is that a taste for music is an elevating passion, and that -if the great masses of the plain people could be inoculated with it -they would cease to herd into the moving-picture theaters, or to -listen to Socialists, or to beat their wives and children. The defect -in this theory lies in the fact that such a taste, granting it to be -elevating, simply cannot be implanted. Either it is born in a man or -it is not born in him. If it is, then he will get gratification for it -at whatever cost--he will hear music if hell freezes over. But if it -isn't, then no amount of education will ever change him--he will remain -stone deaf until the last sad scene on the gallows. - -No child who has this congenital taste ever has to be urged or tempted -or taught to love music. It takes to tone inevitably and irresistibly; -nothing can restrain it. What is more, it always tries to _make_ music, -for the delight in sounds is invariably accompanied by a great desire -to make them. I have never encountered an exception to this rule. All -genuine music-lovers try to make music. They may do it badly, and -even absurdly, but nevertheless they do it. Any man who pretends to -a delight in the tone-art and yet has never learned the scale of G -major--any and every such man is a fraud. The opera-houses of the world -are crowded with such liars. You will even find hundreds of them in the -concert-halls, though here the suffering they have to undergo to keep -up their pretense is almost too much for them to bear. Many of them, -true enough, deceive themselves. They are honest in the sense that they -credit their own buncombe. But it is buncombe none the less. - -Music, of course, has room for philanthropy. The cost of giving an -orchestral concert is so great that ordinary music-lovers could not -often pay for it. Here the way is open for rich backers, most of whom -have no more ear for music than so many Chinamen. Nearly all the opera -of the world is so supported. A few rich cads pay the bills, their -wives posture obscenely in the boxes, and the genuine music-lovers -upstairs and down enjoy the more or less harmonious flow of sound. But -this business doesn't _make_ music-lovers. It merely gives pleasure to -music-lovers who already exist. In twenty-five years, I am sure, the -Metropolitan Opera Company hasn't converted a single music-lover. On -the contrary, it has probably disgusted and alienated many thousands of -faint-hearted quasi-music-lovers, _i. e.,_ persons with no more than -the most nebulous taste for music--so nebulous that one or two evenings -of tremendous gargling by fat tenors was enough to kill it altogether. - -In the United States the number of genuine music-lovers is probably -very low. There are whole states, _e. g.,_ Alabama, Arkansas and Idaho, -in which it would be difficult to muster a hundred. In New York, I -venture, not more than one person in every thousand of the population -deserves to be counted. The rest are, to all intents and purposes, -tone-deaf. They can not only sit through the infernal din made by the -current jazz-bands; they actually like it. This is precisely as if they -preferred the works of The Duchess to those of Thomas Hardy, or the -paintings of the men who make covers for popular novels to those of El -Greco. Such persons inhabit the sewers of the bozart. No conceivable -education could rid them of their native ignobility of soul. They are -born unspeakable and incurable. - - - - -2. - - -Opera - - -Opera, to a person genuinely fond of aural beauty, must inevitably -appear tawdry and obnoxious, if only because it presents aural beauty -in a frame of purely visual gaudiness, with overtones of the grossest -sexual provocation. The most successful opera singers of the female -sex, at least in America, are not those whom the majority of auditors -admire most as singers but those whom the majority of male spectators -desire most as mistresses. Opera is chiefly supported in all countries -by the same sort of wealthy sensualists who also support musical -comedy. One finds in the directors' room the traditional stock company -of the stage-door alley. Such vermin, of course, pose in the newspapers -as devout and almost fanatical partisans of art; they exhibit -themselves at every performance; one hears of their grand doings, -through their press agents, almost every day. But one has merely to -observe the sort of opera they think is good to get the measure of -their actual artistic discrimination. - -The genuine music-lover may accept the carnal husk of opera to get at -the kernel of actual music within, but that is no sign that he approves -the carnal husk or enjoys gnawing through it. Most musicians, indeed, -prefer to hear operatic music outside the opera house; that is why -one so often hears such things as "The Ride of the Valkyrie" in the -concert hall. "The Ride of the Valkyrie" has a certain intrinsic value -as pure music; played by a competent orchestra it may give civilized -pleasure. But as it is commonly performed in an opera house, with a -posse of flat bel-dames throwing themselves about the stage, it can -only produce the effect of a dose of ipecacuanha. The sort of person -who actually delights in such spectacles is the sort of person who -delights in plush furniture. Such half-wits are in a majority in every -opera house west of the Rhine. They go to the opera, not to hear music, -not even to hear bad music, but merely to see a more or less obscene -circus. A few, perhaps, have a further purpose; they desire to assist -in that circus, to show themselves in the capacity of fashionables, -to enchant the yokelry with their splendor. But the majority must be -content with the more lowly aim. What they get for the outrageous -prices they pay for seats is a chance to feast their eyes upon -glittering members of the superior _demi-monde,_ and to abase their -groveling souls before magnificoes on their own side of the footlights. -They esteem a performance, not in proportion as true music is on tap, -but in proportion as the display of notorious characters on the stage -is copious, and the exhibition of wealth in the boxes is lavish. A -soprano who can gargle her way up to G sharp in alto is more to such -simple souls than a whole drove of Johann Sebastian Bachs; her one -real rival, in the entire domain of art, is the contralto who has a -pension from a grand duke and is reported to be _enceinte_ by several -profiteers. Heaven visualizes itself as an opera house with forty-eight -Carusos, each with forty-eight press agents.... On the Continent, -where frankness is unashamed, the opera audience often reveals its -passion for tone very naively. That is to say, it arises on its hind -legs, turns its back upon the stage and gapes at the boxes in charming -innocence. - -That such ignobles applaud is usually quite as shoddy as they are -themselves. To write a successful opera a knowledge of harmony and -counterpoint is not enough; one must also be a sort of Barnum. All -the first-rate musicians who have triumphed in the opera house have -been skillful mountebanks as well. I need cite only Richard Wagner and -Richard Strauss. The business, indeed, has almost nothing to do with -music. All the actual music one finds in many a popular opera--for -example, "Thaïs"--mounts up to less than one may find in a pair of -Gung'l waltzes. It is not this mild flavor of tone that fetches the -crowd; it is the tinpot show that goes with it. An opera may have -plenty of good music in it and fail, but if it has a good enough show -it will succeed. - -Such a composer as Wagner, of course, could not write even an opera -without getting some music into it. In nearly all of his works, -even including "Parsifal," there are magnificent passages, and some -of them are very long. Here his natural genius overcame him, and he -forgot temporarily what he was about. But these magnificent passages -pass unnoticed by the average opera audience. What it esteems in his -music dramas is precisely what is cheapest and most mountebankish--for -example, the more lascivious parts of "Tristan und Isolde." The sound -music it dismisses as tedious. The Wagner it venerates is not the -musician, but the showman. That he had a king for a backer and was -seduced by Liszt's daughter--these facts, and not the fact of his -stupendous talent, are the foundation stones of his fame in the opera -house. - -Greater men, lacking his touch of the quack, have failed where he -succeeded--Beethoven, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, Bach, Haydn, Haendel. -Not one of them produced a genuinely successful opera; most of them -didn't even try. Imagine Brahms writing for the diamond horseshoe! -Or Bach! Or Haydn! Beethoven attempted it, but made a mess of it; -"Fidelio" survives to-day chiefly as a set of concert overtures. -Schubert wrote more actual music every morning between 10 o'clock and -lunch time than the average opera composer produces in 250 years, and -yet he always came a cropper in the opera house. - - - - -3 - - -_The Music of To-morrow_ - - -Viewing the current musical scene, Carl Van Vechten finds it full of -sadness. Even Debussy bores him; he heard nothing interesting from that -quarter for a long while before the final scene. As for Germany, he -finds it a desert, with Arnold Schoenberg behind the bar of its only -inviting _Gasthaus._ Richard Strauss? Pooh! Strauss is an exploded -torpedo, a Zeppelin brought to earth; "he has nothing more to say." -(Even the opening of the Alpine symphony, it would appear, is more -stick-candy.) England? Go to! Italy? Back to the barrel-organ! Where, -then, is the tone poetry of to-morrow to come from? According to Van -Vechten, from Russia. It is the steppes that will produce it--or, more -specifically, Prof. Igor Strawinsky, author of "The Nightingale" and -of various revolutionary ballets. In the scores of Strawinsky, says -Van Vechten, music takes a vast leap forward. Here, at last, we are -definitely set free from melody and harmony; the thing becomes an -ineffable complex of rhythms; "all rhythms are beaten into the ears." - -New? Of the future? I have not heard all of the powerful shiverings -and tremblings of M. Strawinsky, but I presume to doubt it none the -less. "The ancient Greeks," says Van Vechten, "accorded rhythm a -higher place than either melody or harmony." Well, what of it? So did -the ancient Goths and Huns. So do the modern Zulus and New Yorkers. -The simple truth is that the accentuation of mere rhythm is a proof, -not of progress in music, but of a reversion to barbarism. Rhythm is -the earliest, the underlying element. The African savage, beating his -tom-tom, is content to go no further; the American composer of fox -trots is with him. But music had scarcely any existence as an art-form -until melody came to rhythm's aid, and its fruits were little save -dullness until harmony began to support melody. To argue that mere -rhythm, unsupported by anything save tone-color, may now take their -place is to argue something so absurd that its mere statement is a -sufficient answer to it. - -The rise of harmony, true enough, laid open a dangerous field. Its -exploration attracted meticulous minds; it was rigidly mapped in hard, -geometrical forms; in the end, it became almost unnavigable to the -man of ideas. But no melodramatic rejection of all harmony is needed -to work a reform. The business, indeed, is already gloriously under -way. The dullest conservatory pupil has learned how to pull the noses -of the old-time schoolmasters. No one cares a hoot any more about the -ancient laws of preparation and resolution. (The rules grow so loose, -indeed, that I may soon be tempted to write a tone-poem myself). But -out of this chaos new laws will inevitably arise, and though they -will not be as rigid as the old ones, they will still be coherent and -logical and intelligible. Already, in fact, gentlemen of professorial -mind are mapping them out; one needs but a glance at such a book as -René Lenormand's to see that there is a certain order hidden in even -the wildest vagaries of the moment. And when the boiling in the pot -dies down, the truly great musicians will be found to be, not those -who have been most daring, but those who have been most discreet and -intelligent--those who have most skillfully engrafted what is good -in the new upon what was sound in the old. Such a discreet fellow is -Richard Strauss. His music is modern enough--but not too much. One is -thrilled by its experiments and novelties, but at the same time one can -enjoy the thing as music. - -Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Wagner belonged to the same lodge. They -were by no means the wildest revolutionaries of their days, but they -were the best musicians. They didn't try to improve music by purging -it of any of the elements that made it music; they tried, and with -success, to give each element a new force and a new significance. -Berlioz, I dare say, knew more about the orchestra than Wagner; he -surely went further than Wagner in reaching out for new orchestral -effects. But nothing he ever wrote has a fourth of the stability and -value of "Die Meistersinger." He was so intrigued by his tone-colors -that he forgot his music. - - - - - -4 - - -_Tempo di Valse_ - - -Those Puritans who snort against the current dances are quite -right when they argue that the tango and the shimmie are violently -aphrodisiacal, but what they overlook is the fact that the abolition -of such provocative wriggles would probably revive something worse, to -wit, the Viennese waltz. The waltz never quite goes out of fashion; -it is always just around the corner; every now and then it comes back -with a bang. And to the sore harassment and corruption, I suspect, of -chemical purity, the ideal of all right-thinkers. The shimmie and the -tango are too gross to be very dangerous to civilized human beings; -they suggest drinking beer out of buckets; the most elemental good -taste is proof enough against them. But the waltz! Ah, the waltz, -indeed! It is sneaking, insidious, disarming, lovely. It does its work, -not like a college-yell or an explosion in a munitions plant, but -like the rustle of the trees, the murmur of the illimitable sea, the -sweet gurgle of a pretty girl. The jazz-band fetches only vulgarians, -barbarians, idiots, pigs. But there is a mystical something in "Weiner -Blut" or "Künstler Leben" that fetches even philosophers. - -The waltz, in fact, is magnificently improper--the art of tone turned -bawdy. I venture to say that the compositions of one man alone, -Johann Strauss II, have lured more fair young creatures to lamentable -complaisance than all the hyperdermic syringes of all the white slave -scouts since the fall of the Western Empire. There is something -about a waltz that is simply irresistible. Try it on the fattest and -sedatest or even upon the thinnest and most acidulous of women, and -she will be ready, in ten minutes, for a stealthy kiss behind the -door--nay, she will forthwith impart the embarrassing news that her -husband misunderstands her, and drinks too much, and cannot appreciate -Maeterlinck, and is going to Cleveland, O., on business to-morrow.... - -I often wonder that the Comstocks have not undertaken a crusade against -the waltz. If they suppress "The 'Genius'" and "Jurgen," then why do -they overlook "Rosen aus dem Süden"? If they are so hot against "Madame -Bovary" and the Decameron, then why the immunity of "Wein, Weib und -Gesang"? I throw out the suggestion and pass on. Nearly all the -great waltzes of the world, incidently, were written by Germans--or -Austrians. A waltz-pogrom would thus enlist the American Legion and -the Daughters of the Revolution. Moreover, there is the Public Health -Service: it is already engaged upon a campaign to enforce virginity in -both sexes by statute and artillery. Imagine such an enterprise with -every band free to play "Wiener Mäd'l"! - - - - - -5 - - -_The Puritan as Artist_ - - -The saddest thing that I have ever heard in the concert hall is Herbert -K. Hadley's overture, "In Bohemia." The title is a magnificent piece of -profound, if unconscious irony. One looks, at least, for a leg flung -in the air, a girl kissed, a cork popped, a flash of drawer-ruffles. -What one encounters is a meeting of the Lake Mohonk Conference. Such -prosy correctness and hollowness, in music, is almost inconceivable. -It is as if the most voluptuous of the arts were suddenly converted -into an abstract and austere science, like comparative grammar or -astro-physics. "Who's Who in America" says that Hadley was born in -Somerville, Mass., and "studied violin and other branches in Vienna." A -prodigy thus unfolds itself: here is a man who lived in Vienna, and yet -never heard a Strauss waltz! This, indeed, is an even greater feat than -being born an artist in Somerville. - - - - - -6 - - -_The Human Face_ - - -Probably the best portrait that I have ever seen in America is one of -Theodore Dreiser by Bror Nordfeldt. Who this Bror Nordfeldt may be I -haven't the slightest notion--a Scandinavian, perhaps. Maybe I have got -his name wrong; I can't find any Nordfeldt in "Who's Who in America." -But whatever his name, he has painted Dreiser in a capital manner. The -portrait not only shows the outward shell of the man; it also conveys -something of his inner spirit--his simple-minded wonder at the mystery -of existence, his constant effort to argue himself out of a despairing -pessimism, his genuine amazement before life as a spectacle. The thing -is worth a hundred Sargents, with their slick lying, their childish -facility, their general hollowness and tackiness. Sargent should have -been a designer of candy-box tops. The notion that he is a great artist -is one of the astounding delusions of Anglo-Saxondom. What keeps it -going is the patent fact that he is a very dexterous craftsman--one -who understands thoroughly how to paint, just as a good plumber knows -how to plumb. But of genuine æsthetic feeling the man is almost as -destitute as the plumber. His portrait of the four Johns Hopkins -professors is probably the worst botch ever palmed off on a helpless -committee of intellectual hay and feed dealers. But Nordfeldt, in his -view of Dreiser, somehow gets the right effect. It is rough painting, -but real painting. There is a knock-kneed vase in the foreground, and a -bunch of flowers apparently painted with a shaving-brush--but Dreiser -himself is genuine. More, he is made interesting. One sees at once -that he is no common man. - -The artist himself seems to hold the portrait in low esteem. Having -finished it, he reversed the canvas and used the back for painting a -vapid snow scenes--a thing almost bad enough to go into a Fifth Avenue -show-window. Then he abandoned both pictures. I discovered the portrait -by accidentally knocking the snow scene off a wall. It has never been -framed. Drieser himself has probably forgotten it. ... No, I do _not_ -predict that it will be sold to some Pittsburgh nail manufacturer, in -1950, for $100,000. If it lasts two or three more years, unframed and -disesteemed, it will be running in luck. When Dreiser is hanged, I -suppose, relic-hunters will make a search for it. But by that time it -will have died as a door-mat. - - - - - -7 - - -_The Cerebral Mime_ - - -Of all actors, the most offensive to the higher cerebral centers is -the one who pretends to intellectuality. His alleged intelligence, -of course, is always purely imaginary: no man of genuinely superior -intelligence has ever been an actor. Even supposing a young man of -appreciable mental powers to be lured upon the stage, as philosophers -are occasionally lured into bordellos, his mind would be inevitably -and almost immediately destroyed by the gaudy nonsense issuing from -his mouth every night. That nonsense enters into the very fiber of the -actor. He becomes a grotesque boiling down of all the preposterous -characters that he has ever impersonated. Their characteristics are -seen in his manner, in his reactions to stimuli, in his point of view. -He becomes a walking artificiality, a strutting dummy, a thematic -catalogue of imbecilities. - -There are, of course, plays that are not wholly nonsense, and now -and then one encounters an actor who aspires to appear in them. This -aspiration almost always overtakes the so-called actor-manager--that -is to say, the actor who has got rich and is thus ambitious to appear -as a gentleman. Such aspirants commonly tackle Shakespeare, and if -not Shakespeare, then Shaw, or Hauptmann, or Rostand, or some other -apparently intellectual dramatist. But this is seldom more than a -passing madness. The actor-manager may do that sort of thing once in a -while, but in the main he sticks to his garbage. Consider, for example, -the late Henry Irving. He posed as an intellectual and was forever -gabbling about his high services to the stage, and yet he appeared -constantly in such puerile things as "The Bells," beside which the -average newspaper editorial or college yell was literature. So with -the late Mansfield. His pretension, deftly circulated by press-agents, -was that he was a man of brilliant and polished mind. Nevertheless, -he spent two-thirds of his life in the theater playing such abominable -drival as "A Parisian Romance" and "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." - -It is commonly urged in defense of certain actors that they are forced -to appear in that sort of stuff by the public demand for it--that -appearing in it painfully violates their secret pruderies. This defense -is unsound and dishonest. An actor never disdains anything that gets -him applause and money; he is almost completely devoid of that æsthetic -conscience which is the chief mark of the genuine artist. If there -were a large public willing to pay handsomely to hear him recite -limericks, or to blow a cornet, or to strip off his underwear and -dance a polonaise stark naked, he would do it without hesitation--and -then convince himself that such buffooning constituted a difficult and -elevated art, fully comparable to Wagner's or Dante's. In brief, the -one essential, in his sight, is the chance to shine, the fat part, -the applause. Who ever heard of an actor declining a fat part on the -ground that it invaded his intellectual integrity? The thing is simply -unimaginable. - - - - -VIII. THE CULT OF HOPE - - -Of all the sentimental errors which reign and rage in this incomparable -republic, the worst, I often suspect, is that which confuses the -function of criticism, whether æsthetic, political or social, with the -function of reform. Almost invariably it takes the form of a protest: -"The fellow condems without offering anything better. Why tear down -without building up?" So coo and snivel the sweet ones: so wags the -national tongue. The messianic delusion becomes a sort of universal -murrain. It is impossible to get an audience for an idea that is not -"constructive"--_i. e.,_ that is not glib, and uplifting, and full -of hope, and hence capable of tickling the emotions by leaping the -intermediate barrier of the intelligence. - -In this protest and demand, of course, there is nothing but a hollow -sound of words--the empty babbling of men who constantly mistake their -mere feelings for thoughts. The truth is that criticism, if it were -thus confined to the proposing of alternative schemes, would quickly -cease to have any force or utility at all, for in the overwhelming -majority of instances no alternative scheme of any intelligibility -is imaginable, and the whole object of the critical process is to -demonstrate it. The poet, if the victim is a poet, is simply one as -bare of gifts as a herring is of fur: no conceivable suggestion will -ever make him write actual poetry. The cancer cure, if one turns to -popular swindles, is wholly and absolutely without merit--and the fact -that medicine offers us no better cure does not dilute its bogusness -in the slightest. And the plan of reform, in politics, sociology or -what not, is simply beyond the pale of reason; no change in it or -improvement of it will ever make it achieve the downright impossible. -Here, precisely, is what is the matter with most of the notions that go -floating about the country, particularly in the field of governmental -reform. The trouble with them is not only that they won't and don't -work; the trouble with them, more importantly, is that the thing they -propose to accomplish is intrinsically, or at all events most probably, -beyond accomplishment. That is to say, the problem they are ostensibly -designed to solve is a problem that is insoluble. To tackle them with -a proof of that insolubility, or even with a colorable argument of it, -is sound criticism; to tackle them with another solution that is quite -as bad, or even worse, is to pick the pocket of one knocked down by an -automobile. - -Unluckily, it is difficult for a certain type of mind to grasp the -concept of insolubility. Thousands of poor dolts keep on trying to -square the circle; other thousands keep pegging away at perpetual -motion. The number of persons so afflicted is far greater than the -records of the Patent Office show, for beyond the circle of frankly -insane enterprise there lie circles of more and more plausible -enterprise, and finally we come to a circle which embraces the great -majority of human beings. These are the optimists and chronic hopers -of the world, the believers in men, ideas and things. These are the -advocates of leagues of nations, wars to make the world safe for -democracy, political mountebanks, "clean-up" campaigns, laws, raids, -Men and Religion Forward Movements, eugenics, sex hygiene, education, -newspapers. It is the settled habit of such credulous folk to give ear -to whatever is comforting; it is their settled faith that whatever -is desirable will come to pass. A caressing confidence--but one, -unfortunately, that is not borne out by human experience. The fact is -that some of the things that men and women have desired most ardently -for thousands of years are not nearer realization to-day than they were -in the time of Rameses, and that there is not the slightest reason for -believing that they will lose their coyness on any near to-morrow. -Plans for hurrying them on have been tried since the beginning; plans -for forcing them overnight are in copious and antagonistic operation -to-day; and yet they continue to hold off and elude us, and the -chances are that they will keep on holding off and eluding us until -the angels get tired of the show, and the whole earth is set off like a -gigantic bomb, or drowned, like a sick cat, between two buckets. - -But let us avoid the grand and chronic dreams of the race and get -down to some of the concrete problems of life under the Christian -enlightenment. Let us take a look, say, at the so-called drink problem, -a small sub-division of the larger problem of saving men from their -inherent and incurable hoggishness. What is the salient feature of the -discussion of the drink problem, as one observes it going on eternally -in These States? The salient feature of it is that very few honest and -intelligent men ever take a hand in the business--that the best men of -the nation, distinguished for their sound sense in other fields, seldom -show any interest in it. On the one hand it is labored by a horde of -obvious jackasses, each confident that he can dispose of it overnight. -And on the other hand it is sophisticated and obscured by a crowd of -oblique fellows, hired by interested parties, whose secret desire is -that it be kept unsolved. To one side, the professional gladiators -of Prohibition; to the other side, the agents of the brewers and -distillers. But why do all neutral and clear-headed men avoid it? Why -does one hear so little about it from those who have no personal stake -in it, and can thus view it fairly and accurately? Is it because they -are afraid? Is it because they are not intrigued by it? I doubt that -it would be just to accuse them in either way. The real reason why they -steer clear of the gabble is simpler and more creditable. It is this: -that none of them--that no genuinely thoughtful and prudent man--can -imagine any solution which meets the tests of his own criticism--that -no genuinely intelligent man believes the thing is soluble at all. - -Here, of course, I generalize a bit heavily. Honest and intelligent -men, though surely not many of them, occasionally come forward with -suggestions. In the midst of so much debate it is inevitable that -even a man of critical mind should sometimes lean to one side or the -other--that some salient imbecility should make him react toward its -rough opposite. But the fact still remains that not a single complete -and comprehensive scheme has ever come from such a man, that no such -man has ever said, in so many words, that he thought the problem could -be solved, simply and effectively. All such schemes come from idiots -or from sharpers disguised as idiots to win the public confidence. The -whole discussion is based upon assumptions that even the most casual -reflection must reject as empty balderdash. - -And as with the drink problem, so with most of the other great -questions that harass and dismay the helpless human race. Turn, for -example, to the sex problem. There is no half-baked ecclesiastic, -bawling in his galvanized-iron temple on a suburban lot, who doesn't -know precisely how it ought to be dealt with. There is no fantoddish -old suffragette, sworn to get her revenge on man, who hasn't a -sovereign remedy for it. There is not a shyster of a district attorney, -ambitious for higher office, who doesn't offer to dispose of it in -a few weeks, given only enough help from the city editors. And yet, -by the same token, there is not a man who has honestly studied it -and pondered it, bringing sound information to the business, and -understanding of its inner difficulties and a clean and analytical -mind, who doesn't believe and hasn't stated publicly that it is -intrinsically and eternally insoluble. I can't think of an exception, -nor does a fresh glance through the literature suggest one. The latest -expert to tell the disconcerting truth is Dr. Maurice Parmelee, the -criminologist. His book, "Personality and Conduct," is largely devoted -to demonstrating that the popular solutions, for all the support they -get from vice crusaders, complaisant legislators and sensational -newspapers, are unanimously imbecile and pernicious--that their only -effect in practice is to make what was bad a good deal worse. His -remedy is--what? An alternative solution? Not at all. His remedy, in -brief, is to abandon all attempts at a solution, to let the whole thing -go, to cork up all the reformers and try to forget it. - -And in this proposal he merely echoes Havelock Ellis, undoubtedly -the most diligent and scientific student of the sex problem that the -world has yet seen--in fact, the one man who, above all others, has -made a decorous and intelligent examination of it possible. Ellis' -remedy is simply a denial of all remedies. He admits that the disease -is bad, but he shows that the medicine is infinitely worse, and so he -proposes going back to the plain disease, and advocates bearing it -with philosophy, as we bear colds in the head, marriage, the noises of -the city, bad cooking and the certainty of death. Man is inherently -vile--but he is never so vile as when he is trying to disguise and -deny his vileness. No prostitute was ever so costly to a community as -a prowling and obscene vice crusader, or as the dubious legislator or -prosecuting officer who jumps as he pipes. - -Ellis, in all this, falls under the excommunication of the -sentimentalists. He demolishes one scheme without offering an -alternative scheme. He tears down without making any effort to build -up. This explains, no doubt, his general unpopularity; into mouths -agape for peruna, he projects only paralyzing streams of ice-water. And -it explains, too, the curious fact that his books, the most competent -and illuminating upon the subject that they discuss, are under the -ban of the Comstocks in both England and America, whereas the hollow -treatises of ignorant clerics and smutty old maids are merchanted with -impunity, and even commended from the sacred desk. The trouble with -Ellis is that he tells the truth, which is the unsafest of all things -to tell. His crime is that he is a man who prefers facts to illusions, -and knows what he is talking about. Such men are never popular. The -public taste is for merchandise of a precisely opposite character. The -way to please is to proclaim in a confident manner, not what is true, -but what is merely comforting. This is what is called building up. This -is constructive criticism. - - - - -IX. THE DRY MILLENNIUM - - - - -1 - - -_The Holy War_ - - -The fact that the enforcement of Prohibition entails a host of -oppressions and injustices--that it puts a premium upon the lowest -sort of spying, affords an easy livelihood to hordes of professional -scoundrels, subjects thousands of decent men to the worst sort of -blackmail, violates the theoretical sanctity of domicile, and makes -for bitter and relentless enmities,--this fact is now adduced by its -ever-hopeful foes as an argument for the abandonment of the whole -disgusting crusade. By it they expect to convert even a large minority -of the drys, apparently on the theory that the latter got converted -emotionally and hastily, and that an appeal to their sense of justice -and fair-dealing will debamboozle them. - -No hope could be more vain. What all the current optimists overlook -is that the illogical and indefensible persecutions certain to occur -in increasing number under the Prohibition Amendment constitute the -chief cause of its popularity among the sort of men who are in favor -of it. The typical Prohibitionist, in other words, is a man full of -religious excitement, with the usual sadistic overtones. He delights -in persecution for its own sake. He likes to see the other fellow -jump and to hear him yell. This thirst is horribly visible in all -the salient mad mullahs of the land--that is, in all the genuine -leaders of American culture. Such skillful boob-bumpers as the Rev. -Dr. Billy Sunday know what that culture is; they know what the crowd -wants. Thus they convert the preaching of the alleged Word of God -into a rough-and-tumble pursuit of definite sinners--saloon-keepers, -prostitutes, Sabbath-breakers, believers in the Darwinian -hypothesis, German exegetes, hand-books, poker-players, adulterers, -cigarette-smokers, users of profanity. It is the chase that heats up -the great mob of Methodists, not the Word. And the fact that the chase -is unjust only tickles them the more, for to do injustice with impunity -is a sign of power, and power is the thing that the inferior man always -craves most violently. - -Every time the papers print another account of a Prohibionist agent -murdering a man who resists him, or searching some woman's underwear, -or raiding a Vanderbilt yacht, or blackmailing a Legislature, or -committing some other such inordinate and anti-social act, they simply -make a thousand more votes for Prohibition. It is precisely that sort -of entertainment that makes Prohibition popular with the boobery. It -is precisely because it is unjust, imbecile, arbitrary and tyrannical -that they are so hot for it. The incidental violation of even the -inferior mans liberty is not sufficient to empty him of delight in -the chase. The victims reported in the newspapers are commonly his -superiors; he thus gets the immemorial democratic satisfaction out of -their discomfiture. Besides, he has no great rage for liberty himself. -He is always willing to surrender it at demand. The most popular man -under a democracy is not the most democratic man, but the most despotic -man. The common folk delight in the exactions of such a man. They like -him to boss them. Their natural gait is the goose-step. - -It was predicted by romantics that the arrival of Prohibition would see -the American workingman in revolt against its tyranny, with mills idle -and industry paralyzed. Certain boozy labor leaders even went so far as -to threaten a general strike. No such strike, of course, materialized. -Not a single American workingman uttered a sound. The only protests -heard of came from a few barbarous foreigners, and these malcontents -were quickly beaten into submission by the _Polizei._ In a week or -two all the reserve stocks of beer were exhausted, and every jug of -authentic hard liquor was emptied. Since then, save for the ghastly -messes that he has brewed behind locked doors, the American workingman -has been dry. Worse, he has also been silent. Not a sound has come out -of him.... But his liver is full of bile? He nourishes an intolerable -grievance? He will get his revenge, soon or late, at the polls? All -moonshine! He will do nothing of the sort. He will actually do what -he always does--that is, he will make a virtue of his necessity, and -straightway begin believing that he _likes_ Prohibition, that it is -doing him a lot of good, that he wouldn't be without it if he could. -This is the habitual process of thought of inferior men, at all times -and everywhere. This is the sturdy common sense of the plain people. - - - - -2 - - -_The Lure of Babylon_ - - -One of the ultimate by-products of Prohibition and the allied -Puritanical barbarities will probably be an appreciable slackening in -the present movement of yokels toward the large cities. The thing that -attracted the peasant youth to our gaudy Sodoms and Ninevehs, in the -past, was not, as sociologists have always assumed, the prospect of -less work and more money. The country boy, in point of fact--that is, -the average country boy, the normal country boy--had to work quite as -hard in the city as he ever worked in the country, and his wages were -anything but princely. Unequipped with a city trade, unprotected by a -union, and so forced into competition with the lowest types of foreign -labor, he had to be content with monotonous, uninspiring and badly-paid -jobs. He did not become a stock-broker, or even a plumber; until the -war gave him a temporary chance at its gigantic swag, he became a car -conductor, a porter or a wagon-driver. And it took him many years to -escape from that sordid fate, for the city boy, with a better education -and better connections, was always a lap or two ahead of him. The -notion that yokels always succeed in the cities is a great delusion. -The overwhelming majority of our rich men are city-born and city-bred. -And the overwhelming majority of our elderly motormen, forlorn corner -grocerymen, neighborhood carpenters and other such blank cartridges are -country-bred. - -No, it was not money that lured the adolescent husbandman to the -cities, but the gay life. What he dreamed of was a more spacious and -stimulating existence than the farm could offer--an existence crowded -with intriguing and usually unlawful recreations. A few old farmers may -have come in now and then to buy gold bricks or to hear the current -Henry Ward Beechers, but these oldsters were mere trippers--they never -thought of settling down--the very notion of it would have appalled -them. The actual settlers were all young, and what brought them on was -less an economic impulse than an æsthetic one. They wanted to live -magnificently, to taste the sweets that drummers talked of, to sample -the refined divertisements described in such works as "The Confessions -of an Actress," "Night Life in Chicago" and "What Every Young Husband -Should Know." Specifically, they yearned for a semester or two in the -theaters, the saloons and the bordellos--particularly, the saloons and -bordellos. It was this gorgeous bait that dragged them out of their -barn-yards. It was this bait that landed a select few in Wall street -and the United States Senate--and millions on the front seats of -trolley-cars, delivery-wagons and ash-carts. - -But now Puritanism eats the bait. In all our great cities the public -stews are closed, and the lamentable irregularities they catered to are -thrown upon an individual initiative that is quite beyond the talents -and enterprise of a plow-hand. Now the saloons are closed too, and the -blind-pigs begin to charge such prices that no peasant can hope to pay -them. Only the theater remains--and already the theater loses its old -lavish devilishness. True enough, it still deals in pornography, but -that pornography becomes exclusive and even esoteric: a yokel could -not understand the higher farce, nor could he afford to pay for a -seat at a modern leg-show. The cheap burlesque house of other days is -now incurably moral; I saw a burlesque show lately which was almost a -dramatization of a wall-card by Dr. Frank Crane. There remains the -movie, but the peasant needn't come to the city to see movies--there is -one in every village. What remains, then, of the old lure? What sane -youth, comfortably housed on a farm, with Theda Bara performing at the -nearest cross-roads, wheat at $2.25 a bushel and milkers getting $75 a -month and board--what jejune rustic, not downright imbecile, itches for -the city to-day? - - - - -3 - - -_Cupid and Well-Water_ - - -In the department of amour, I daresay, the first effect of Prohibition -will be to raise up impediments to marriage. It was alcohol, in the -past, that was the primary cause of perhaps a majority of alliances -among civilized folk. The man, priming himself with cocktails to -achieve boldness, found himself suddenly bogged in sentimentality, and -so yielded to the ancient tricks of the lady. Absolutely sober men will -be harder to snare. Coffee will never mellow them sufficiently. Thus I -look for a fall in the marriage rate. - -But only temporarily. In the long run, Prohibition will make marriage -more popular, at least among the upper classes, than it has ever -been in the past, and for the plain reason that, once it is in full -effect, the life of a civilized bachelor will become intolerable. In -the past he went to his club. But a club without a bar is as hideously -unattractive as a beautiful girl without hair or teeth. No sane man -will go into it. In two years, in fact, nine out of ten clubs will be -closed. The only survivors will be a few bleak rookeries for senile -widowers. The bachelor of less years, unable to put up with the society -of such infernos, will inevitably decide that if he must keep sober he -might just as well have a charming girl to ease his agonies, and so he -will expose himself in society, and some fair one or other will nab -him. At the moment, observing only the first effect of Prohibition, the -great majority of intelligent women are opposed to it. But when the -secondary effect begins to appear they will become in favor of it. They -now have the vote. I see no hope. - - - - -4 - - -_The Triumph of Idealism_ - - -Another effect of Prohibition will be that it will gradually empty -the United States of its present small minority of civilized men. -Almost every man that one respects is now casting longing eyes across -the ocean. Some of them talk frankly of emigrating, once Europe pulls -itself together. Others merely propose to go abroad every year and to -stay there as long as possible, visiting the United States only at -intervals, as a Russian nobleman, say, used to visit his estates in -the Ukraine. Worse, Prohibition will scare off all the better sort -of immigrants from the other side. The lower order of laborers may -continue to come in small numbers--each planning to get all the money -he can and then escape, as the Italians are even now escaping. But no -first-rate man will ever come--no Stephen Girard, or William Osier, -or Carl Schurz, or Theodore Thomas, or Louis Agassiz, or Edwin Klebs, -or Albert Gallatin, or Alexander Hamilton. It is not Prohibition -_per se_ that will keep them away; it is the whole complex of social -and political attitudes underlying Prohibition--the whole clinical -picture of Puritanism rampant. The United States will become a sort -of huge Holland--fat and contented, but essentially undistinguished. -Its superior men will leave it automatically, as nine-tenths of all -superior Hollanders leave Holland. - -But all this, from the standpoint of Prohibitionists, is no argument -against Prohibition. On the contrary, it is an argument in favor of -Prohibition. For the men the Prohibitionist--_i. e.,_ the inferior sort -of Puritan--distrusts and dislikes most intensely is precisely what -the rest of humanity regards as the superior man. You will go wrong if -you imagine that the honest yeomen of, say, Mississippi deplore the -fact that in the whole state there is not a single distinguished man. -They actually delight in it. It is a source of genuine pride to them -that no such irreligious scoundrel as Balzac lives there, and no such -scandalous adulterer as Wagner, and no scoundrelly atheist as Huxley, -and no such rambunctious piano-thumper as Beethoven, and no such German -spy as Nietzsche. Such men, settling there, would be visited by a -Vigilance Committee and sharply questioned. The Puritan Commonwealth, -now as always, has no traffic with heretics. - - - - -X. APPENDIX ON A TENDER THEME - - -1 - - -_The Nature of Love_ - - -Whatever the origin (in the soul, the ductless glands or the -convolutions of the cerebrum) of the thing called romantic love, its -mere phenomenal nature may be very simply described. It is, in brief, a -wholesale diminishing of disgusts, primarily based on observation, but -often, in its later stages, taking on an hallucinatory and pathological -character. Friendship has precisely the same constitution, but the -pathological factor is usually absent. When we are attracted to a -person and find his or her proximity agreeable, it means that he or she -disgusts us less than the average human being disgusts us--which, if we -have delicate sensibilities, is a good deal more than is comfortable. -The elemental man is not much oppressed by this capacity for disgust; -in consequence, he is capable of falling in love with almost any woman -who seems sexually normal. But the man of a higher type is vastly more -sniffish, and so the majority of women whom he meets are quite unable -to interest him, and when he succumbs at last it is always to a woman -of special character, and often she is also one of uncommon shrewdness -and enterprise. - -Because human contacts are chiefly superficial, most of the disgusts -that we are conscious of are physical. We are never honestly friendly -with a man who is dirtier than we are ourselves, or who has table -manners that are cruder than our own (or merely noticeably different), -or who laughs in a way that strikes us as gross, or who radiates some -odor that we do not like. We never conceive a romantic passion for a -woman who employs a toothpick in public, or who suffers from acne, or -who offers the subtle but often quite unescapable suggestion that she -has on soiled underwear. But there are also psychical disgusts. Our -friends, in the main, must be persons who think substantially as we -do, at least about all things that actively concern us, and who have -the same general tastes. It is impossible to imagine a Brahmsianer -being honestly fond of a man who enjoys jazz, or a man who admires -Joseph Conrad falling in love with a woman who reads Rex Beach. By the -same token, it is impossible to imagine a woman of genuine refinement -falling in love with a Knight of Pythias, a Methodist or even a -chauffeur; either the chauffeur is a Harvard aviator in disguise or the -lady herself is a charwoman in disguise. Here, however, the force of -aversion may be greatly diminished by contrary physical attractions; -the body, as usual, is enormously more potent than the so-called mind. -In the midst of the bitterest wars, with every man of the enemy held -to be a fiend in human form, women constantly fall in love with enemy -soldiers who are of pleasant person and wear attractive uniforms. And -many a fair agnostic, as every one knows, is on good terms with a -handsome priest.... - -Imagine a young man in good health and easy circumstances, entirely -ripe for love. The prompting to mate and beget arises within his -interstitial depths, traverses his lymphatic system, lifts his blood -pressure, and goes whooping through his _meatus auditorium externus_ -like a fanfare of slide trombones. The impulse is very powerful. It -staggers and dismays him. He trembles like a stag at bay. Why, then, -doesn't he fall head over heels in love with the first eligible woman -that he meets? For the plain reason that the majority of women that he -meets offend him, repel him, disgust him. Often it is in some small, -inconspicuous and, at first glance, unanalyzable way. She is, in -general, a very pretty girl--but her ears stand out too much. Or her -hair reminds him of oakum. Or her mouth looks like his aunt's. Or she -has beer-keg ankles. Here very impalpable things, such as bodily odors, -play a capital part; their importance is always much underestimated. -Many a girl has lost a husband by using the wrong perfume, or by -neglecting to have her hair washed. Many another has come to grief by -powdering her nose too much or too little, or by shrinking from the -paltry pain of having some of her eyebrows pulled, or by employing a -lip-salve with too much purple in it, or by patronizing a bad dentist, -or by speaking incautiously of chilblains.... - -But eventually the youth finds his love--soon or late the angel -foreordained comes along. Who is this prodigy? Simply the _first_ girl -to sneak over what may be called the threshold of his disgusts--simply -the _first_ to disgust him so little, at first glance, that the loud, -insistent promptings of the Divine Schadchen have a chance to be -heard. If he muffs this first, another will come along, maybe soon, -maybe late. For every normal man there are hundreds of thousands in -Christendom, thousands in his own town, scores within his own circle -of acquaintance. This normal man is not too delicate. His fixed foci -of disgust are neither very numerous nor very sensitive. For the rest, -he is swayed by fashion, by suggestion, by transient moods. Anon a -mood of cynicism is upon him and he is hard to please, but anon he -succumbs to sentimentality and is blind to everything save the grossest -offendings. It is only the man of extraordinary sensitiveness, the man -of hypertrophied delicacy, who must search the world for his elective -affinity. - -Once the threshold is crossed emotion comes to the aid of perception. -That is to say, the blind, almost irresistible mating impulse, now -fortuitously relieved from the contrary pressure of active disgusts, -fortifies itself by manufacturing illusions. The lover sees with an -eye that is both opaque and out of focus. Thus he begins the familiar -process of editing and improving his girl. Features and characteristics -that, observed in cold blood, might have quickly aroused his most -active disgust are now seen through a rose-tinted fog, like drabs in a -musical comedy. The lover ends by being almost anæsthetic to disgust. -While the spell lasts his lady could shave her head or take to rubbing -snuff, or scratch her leg at a communion service, or smear her hair -with bear's grease, and yet not disgust him. Here the paralysis of the -faculties is again chiefly physical--a matter of obscure secretions, of -shifting pressure, of metabolism. Nature is at her tricks. The fever -of love is upon its victim. His guard down, he is little more than a -pathetic automaton. The shrewd observer of gaucheries, the sensitive -sniffer, the erstwhile cynic, has become a mere potential papa. - -This spell, of course, doesn't last forever. Marriage cools the fever -and lowers the threshold of disgust. The husband begins to observe -what the lover was blind to, and often his discoveries affect him as -unpleasantly as the treason of a trusted friend. And not only is the -fever cooled: the opportunities for exact observation are enormously -increased. It is a commonplace of juridical science that the great -majority of divorces have their origin in the connubial chamber. Here -intimacy is so extreme that it is fatal to illusion. Both parties, -thrown into the closest human contact that either has suffered since -their unconscious days _in utero,_ find their old capacity for disgust -reviving, and then suddenly flaming. The girl who was perfect in her -wedding gown becomes a ghastly caricature in her _robe de nuit;_ -the man who was a Chevalier Bayard as a wooer becomes a snuffling, -shambling, driveling nuisance as a husband--a fellow offensive to -eyes, ears, nose, touch and immortal soul. A learned judge of my -acquaintance, constantly hearing divorce actions and as constantly -striving to reconcile the parties, always tries to induce plaintiff -and defendant to live apart for a while, or, failing that, to occupy -separate rooms, or, failing that, to at least dress in separate -rooms. According to this jurist, a husband who shaves in his wife's -presence is either an idiot or a scoundrel. The spectacle, he argues, -is intrinsically disgusting, and to force it upon a refined woman is -either to subject her to the most exquisite torture or to degrade her -gradually to the insensate level of an _Abortfrau._ The day is saved, -as every one knows, by the powerful effects of habit. The acquisition -of habit is the process whereby disgust is overcome in daily life--the -process whereby one may cease to be disgusted by a persistent noise or -odor. One suffers horribly at first, but after a bit one suffers less, -and in the course of time one scarcely suffers at all. Thus a man, when -his marriage enters upon the stage of regularity and safety, gets used -to his wife as he might get used to a tannery next door, and _vice -versa._ I think that women, in this direction, have the harder row to -hoe, for they are more observant than men, and vastly more sensitive in -small ways. But even women succumb to habit with humane rapidity, else -every marriage would end in divorce. Disgusts pale into mere dislikes, -disrelishes, distastes. They cease to gag and torture. But though they -thus shrink into the shadow, they are by no means disposed of. Deep -down in the subconscious they continue to lurk, and some accident may -cause them to flare up at any time, and so work havoc. This flaring -up accounts for a familiar and yet usually very mystifying phenomenon ---the sudden collapse of a marriage, a friendship or a business -association after years of apparent prosperity. - - - - -2 - - -_The Incomparable Buzzsaw_ - - -The chief (and perhaps the only genuine) charm of women is seldom -mentioned by the orthodox professors of the sex. I refer to the charm -that lies in the dangers they present. The allurement that they hold -out to men is precisely the allurement that Cape Hatteras holds -out to sailors: they are enormously dangerous and hence enormously -fascinating. To the average man, doomed to some banal and sordid -drudgery all his life long, they offer the only grand hazard that he -ever encounters. Take them away and his existence would be as flat and -secure as that of a milch-cow. Even to the unusual man, the adventurous -man, the imaginative and romantic man, they offer the adventure of -adventures. Civilization tends to dilute and cheapen all other hazards. -War itself, once an enterprise stupendously thrilling, has been reduced -to mere caution and calculation; already, indeed, it employs as many -press-agents, letter-openers, and chautauqua orators as soldiers. On -some not distant to-morrow its salient personality may be Potash, and -if not Potash, then Perlmutter. But the duel of sex continues to be -fought in the Berserker manner. Whoso approaches women still faces the -immemorial dangers. Civilization has not made them a bit more safe than -they were in Solomon's time; they are still inordinately barbarous and -menacing, and hence inordinately provocative, and hence inordinately -charming and romantic.... - -The most disgusting cad in the world is the man who, on grounds of -decorum and morality, avoids the game of love. He is one who puts -his own ease and security above the most laudable of philanthropies. -Women have a hard time of it in this world. They are oppressed by -man-made laws, man-made social customs, masculine egoism, the delusion -of masculine superiority. Their one comfort is the assurance that, -even though it may be impossible to prevail against man, it is always -possible to enslave and torture a man. This feeling is fostered when -one makes love to them. One need not be a great beau, a seductive -catch, to do it effectively. Any man is better than none. No woman -is ever offended by admiration. The wife of a millionaire notes the -reverent glance of a head-waiter. To withhold that devotion, to shrink -poltroonishly from giving so much happiness at such small expense, to -evade the business on the ground that it has hazards--this is the act -of a puling and tacky fellow. - - - - -3 - - -_Women as Spectacles_ - - -Women, when it comes to snaring men, through the eye, bait a great many -hooks that fail to fluster the fish. Nine-tenths of their primping and -decorating of their persons not only doesn't please men; it actually -repels men. I often pass two days running without encountering a single -woman who is charmingly dressed. Nearly all of them run to painful -color schemes, absurd designs and excessive over-ornamentation. One -seldom observes a man who looks an absolute guy, whereas such women -are very numerous; in the average theater audience they constitute a -majority of at least nine-tenths. The reason is not far to seek. The -clothes of men are plain in design and neutral in hue. The only touch -of genuine color is in the florid blob of the face, the center of -interest--exactly where it ought to be. If there is any other color at -all, it is a faint suggestion in the cravat--adjacent to the face, and -so leading the eye toward it. It is color that kills the clothes of the -average woman. She runs to bright spots that take the eye away from her -face and hair. She ceases to be woman clothed and becomes a mere piece -of clothing womaned. - -Even at the basic feminine art of pigmenting their faces very few women -excel. The average woman seems to think that she is most lovely when -her sophistication of her complexion is most adroitly concealed--when -the _poudre de riz_ is rubbed in so hard that it is almost invisible, -and the penciling of eyes and lips is perfectly realistic. This is -a false notion. Most men of appreciative eye have no objection to -artificiality _per se,_ so long as it is intrinsically sightly. The -marks made by a lip-stick may be very beautiful; there are many lovely -shades of scarlet, crimson and vermilion. A man with eyes in his head -admires them for themselves; he doesn't have to be first convinced that -they are non-existent, that what he sees is not the mark of a lip-stick -at all, but an authentic lip. So with the eyes. Nothing could be more -charming than an eye properly reënforced; the naked organ is not to be -compared to it; nature is an idiot when it comes to shadows. But it -must be admired as a work of art, not as a miraculous and incredible -eye. ... Women, in this important and venerable art, stick too closely -to crude representation. They forget that men do not admire the -technique, but the result. What they should do is to forget realism for -a while, and concentrate their attention upon composition, chiaroscuro -and color. - - - - -4 - - -_Woman and the Artist_ - - -Much gabble is to be found in the literature of the world upon -the function of woman as inspiration, stimulant and _agente -provocateuse_ to the creative artist. The subject is a favorite one -with sentimentalists, most of whom are quite beyond anything properly -describable as inspiration, either with or without feminine aid. I -incline to think, as I hint, that there is little if any basis of fact -beneath the theory. Women not only do not inspire creative artists to -high endeavor; they actually stand firmly against every high endeavor -that a creative artist initiates spontaneously. What a man's women -folks almost invariable ask of him is that he be respectable--that he -do something generally approved--that he avoid yielding to his aberrant -fancies--in brief, that he sedulously eschew showing any sign of -genuine genius. Their interest is not primarily in the self-expression -of the individual, but in the well-being of the family organization, -which means the safety of themselves. No sane woman would want to be -the wife of such a man, say, as Nietzsche or Chopin. His mistress -perhaps, yes--for a mistress can always move on when the weather gets -too warm. But not a wife. I here speak by the book. Both Nietzsche and -Chopin had plenty of mistresses, but neither was ever able to get a -wife. - -Shakespeare and Ann Hathaway, Wagner and Minna Planer, Molière and -Armande Béjart--one might multiply instances almost endlessly. Minna, -at least in theory, knew something of music; she was thus what romance -regards as an ideal wife for Wagner. But instead of helping him to -manufacture his incomparable masterpieces, she was for twenty-five -years the chief impediment to their manufacture. "Lohengrin" gave her -the horrors; she begged Richard to give up his lunacies and return -to the composition of respectable cornet music. In the end he had to -get rid of her in sheer self-defense. Once free, with nothing worse -on his hands than the illicit affection of Cosima Liszt von Bülow, -he produced music drama after music drama in rapid succession. Then, -married to Cosima, he descended to the anticlimax of "Parsifal," a -truly tragic mixture of the stupendous and the banal, of work of genius -and _sinfonia domestica_--a great man dying by inches, smothered by the -smoke of French fried potatoes, deafened by the wailing of children, -murdered in his own house by the holiest of passions. - -Sentimentalists always bring up the case of Schumann and his Clara -in rebuttal. But does it actually rebut? I doubt it. Clara, too, -perpetrated her _attentat_ against art. Her fair white arms, lifting -from the keyboard to encircle Robert's neck, squeezed more out of -him than mere fatuous smirks. He had the best head on him that music -had seen since Beethoven's day; he was, on the cerebral side, a -colossus; he might have written music of the very first order. Well, -what he _did_ write was piano music--some of it imperfectly arranged -for orchestra. The sad eyes of Clara were always upon him. He kept -within the limits of her intelligence, her prejudices, her wifely -love. No grand experiments with the orchestra. No superb leapings and -cavortings. No rubbing of sand-paper over critical ears. Robert lived -and died a respectable musical _Hausvater._ He was a man of genuine -genius--but he didn't leave ten lines that might not have been passed -by old Prof. Jadassohn. - -The truth is that, no matter how great the domestic concord and how -lavish the sacrifices a man makes for his women-folk, they almost -always regard him secretly as a silly and selfish fellow, and cherish -the theory that it would be easily possible to improve him. This -is because the essential interests of men and women are eternally -antithetical. A man may yield over and over again, but in the long run -he must occasionally look out for himself--and it is these occasions -that his women-folk remember. The typical domestic situation shows -a woman trying to induce a man to do something that he doesn't want -to do, or to refrain from something that he does want to do. This -is true in his bachelor days, when his mother or his sister is his -antagonist. It is preëminently true just before his marriage, when -the girl who has marked him down is hard at the colossal job of -overcoming his reluctance. And after marriage it is so true that there -is hardly need to state it. One of the things every man discovers to -his disquiet is that his wife, after the first play-acting is over, -regards him essentially as his mother used to regard him--that is, as -a self-worshiper who needs to be policed and an idiot who needs to -be protected. The notion that women _admire_ their men-folks is pure -moonshine. The most they ever achieve in that direction is to pity -them. When a woman genuinely loves a man it is a sign that she regards -him much as a healthy man regards a one-armed and epileptic soldier. - - - - -5 - - -_Martyrs_ - - -Nearly the whole case of the birth-controllers who now roar in -Christendom is grounded upon the doctrine that it is an intolerable -outrage for a woman to have to submit to motherhood when her private -fancies may rather incline to automobiling, shopping or going to the -movies. For this curse the husband is blamed; the whole crime is laid -to his swinish lasciviousness. With the highest respect, nonsense! My -private suspicion, supported by long observation, copious prayer and -the most laborious cogitation, is that no woman delights in motherhood -so vastly as this woman who theoretically abhors it. She experiences, -in fact, a double delight. On the one hand, there is the caressing -of her vanity--a thing enjoyed by every woman when she achieves the -banality of viable offspring. And on the other hand, there is the fine -chance it gives her to play the martyr--a chance that every woman -seeks as diligently as a man seeks ease. All these so-called unwilling -mothers wallow in their martyrdom. They revel in the opportunity to be -pitied, made much over and envied by other women. - - - - -6 - - -_The Burnt Child_ - - -The fundamental trouble with marriage is that it shakes a man's -confidence in himself, and so greatly diminishes his general competence -and effectiveness. His habit of mind becomes that of a commander who -has lost a decisive and calamitous battle. He never quite trusts -himself thereafter. - - - - -7 - - -_The Supreme Comedy_ Marriage, at Best, is full of a sour and -inescapable comedy, but it never reaches the highest peaks of the -ludicrous save when efforts are made to escape its terms--that is, when -efforts are made to loosen its bonds, and so ameliorate and denaturize -it. All projects to reform it by converting it into a free union of -free individuals are inherently absurd. The thing is, at bottom, the -most rigid of existing conventionalities, and the only way to conceal -the fact and so make it bearable is to submit to it docilely. The -effect of every revolt is merely to make the bonds galling, and, what -is worse, poignantly obvious. Who are happy in marriage? Those with so -little imagination that they cannot picture a better state, and those -so shrewd that they prefer quiet slavery to hopeless rebellion. - - - - -8 - - -_A Hidden Cause_ - - -Many a woman, in order to bring the man of her choice to the altar of -God, has to fight him with such relentless vigilance and ferocity that -she comes to hate him. This, perhaps, explains the unhappiness of many -marriages. In particular, it explains the unhappiness of many marriages -based upon what is called "love." - - - - -9 - - -_Bad Workmanship_ - - -The essential slackness and incompetence of women, their congenital -incapacity for small expertness, already descanted upon at length in -my psychological work, "In Defense of Women," is never more plainly -revealed than in their manhandling of the primary business of their -sex. If the average woman were as competent at her trade of getting a -husband as the average car conductor is at his trade of robbing the -fare-box, then a bachelor beyond the age of twenty-five would be so -rare in the world that yokels would pay ten cents to gape at him. But -women, in this fundamental industry, pursue a faulty technique and -permit themselves to be led astray by unsound principles. The axioms -into which they have precipitated their wisdom are nearly all untrue. -For example, the axiom that the way to capture a man is through his -stomach--which is to say, by feeding him lavishly. Nothing could be -more absurd. The average man, at least in England and America, has such -rudimentary tastes in victualry that he doesn't know good food from -bad. He will eat anything set before him by a cook that he likes. The -true way to fetch him is with drinks. A single bottle of drinkable wine -will fill more men with the passion of love than ten sides of beef or -a ton of potatoes. Even a _Seidel_ of beer, deftly applied, is enough -to mellow the hardest bachelor. If women really knew their business, -they would have abandoned cooking centuries ago, and devoted themselves -to brewing, distilling and bartending. It is a rare man who will walk -five blocks for a first-rate meal. But it is equally a rare man who, -even in the old days of freedom, would _not_ walk five blocks for a -first-rate cocktail. To-day he would walk five miles. - -Another unsound feminine axiom is the one to the effect that the way -to capture a man is to be distant--to throw all the burden of the -courtship upon him. This is precisely the way to lose him. A man face -to face with a girl who seems reserved and unapproachable is not -inspired thereby to drag her off in the manner of a caveman; on the -contrary, he is inspired to thank God that here, at last, is a girl -with whom it is possible to have friendly doings without getting into -trouble--that here is one not likely to grow mushy and make a mess. The -average man does not marry because some marble fair one challenges his -enterprise. He marries because chance throws into his way a fair one -who repels him less actively than most, and because his delight in what -he thus calls her charm is reënforced by a growing suspicion that she -has fallen in love with him. In brief, it is chivalry that undoes him. -The girl who infallibly gets a husband--in fact, _any_ husband that she -wants--is the one who tracks him boldly, fastens him with sad eyes, and -then, when his conscience has begun to torture him, throws her arms -around his neck, bursts into maidenly tears on his shoulder, and tells -him that she fears her forwardness will destroy his respect for her. -It is only a colossus who can resist such strategy. But it takes only a -man of the intellectual grade of a Y. M. C. A. secretary to elude the -girl who is afraid to take the offensive. - -A third bogus axiom I have already discussed, to wit, the axiom that a -man is repelled by palpable cosmetics--that the wise girl is the one -who effectively conceals her sophistication of her complexion. What -could be more untrue? The fact is that very few men are competent to -distinguish between a layer of talc and the authentic epidermis, and -that the few who have the gift are quite free from any notion that the -latter is superior to the former. What a man seeks when he enters the -society of women is something pleasing to the eye. That is all he asks. -He does not waste any time upon a chemical or spectroscopic examination -of the object observed; he simply determines whether it is beautiful or -not beautiful. Has it so long escaped women that their husbands, when -led astray, are usually led astray by women so vastly besmeared with -cosmetics that they resemble barber-poles more than human beings? Are -they yet blind to the superior pull of a French maid, a chorus girl, -a stenographer begauded like a painter's palette? ... And still they -go on rubbing off their varnish, brushing the lampblack from their -eyelashes, seeking eternally the lip-stick that is so depressingly -purple that it will deceive! Alas, what folly! - - - - - - INDEX - - - Abbott, Lawrence - Abbott, Lyman - Akins, Zoë - Alcott, A. B. - Allen, James Lane - _Also sprach Zarathustra_ - _American Painting and Its Tradition_ - _American Scholar, The_ - Amherst College - Anderson, Sherwood - Archer, William - _Aspects of Death and Correlated Aspects of Life_ - _Atlantic Monthly_ - _Authors' League Bulletin_ - - Babbitt, Irving - _Backward Glance Along My Own Road, A_ - _Backwash of War, The_ - Baker, George P. - Bancroft, George - Barton, Wm. E. - Baudelaire, Charles - Beach, Rex - Beethoven, Ludwig - Bennett, Arnold - Benson, E. F. - Bierce, Ambrose - Billroth, Theodor - Blasco, Ibáñez, V. - _Blue Hotel, The_ - Böhme, Jakob - Bonaparte, Charles J. - _Bookman_ - Boynton, P. H. - Brady, Cyrus Townsend - Brahms, Johannes - Brainard, J. G. C. - Bright, John - Bronson-Howard, George - Brooks, Van Wyck - Brown, Alice - Browne, Porter Emerson - Brownell, W. C. - Bruce, Philip Alexander - Bryant, Wm. Cullen - Burroughs, John - Burton, Richard - Butler, Fanny Kemble - Bynner, Witter - - Cabell, James Branch - Cahan, Abraham - Caine, Hall - Candler, Asa G. - Carlyle, Thomas - Carnegie, Andrew - Carrel, Alexis - Cather, Willa Sibert - Chambers, Robert W. - Channing, Wm. Ellery - Chesterton, G. K. - Churchill, Winston - Clemens, S. L. - Cobb, Irvin - Cobden, Richard - Comfort, Will Levington - Comstockery - _Confessions of an Actress, The_ - Conrad, Joseph - Coogler, J. Gordon - Cooper, J. Fenimore - Corelli, Marie - _Cosmopolitan_ - Crane, Frank - Crane, Stephen - Crile, George W. - Crothers, Samuel MCC - - D'Annunzio, Gabriel - Dawson, Coningsby - Davis, Richard Harding - Debussy, Claude - Deland, Margaret - _Democratic Vistas_ - Dickens, Charlesx - _Die Meistersinger_ - _Dissertations on the English Language_ - Doyle, A. Conan - Dreiser Protest - Dreiser, Theodore - - Eliot, T. S. - Ellis, Havelock - Emerson, Ralph Waldo - _Ethan Frome_ - Evans, Caradoc - - Fernald, Chester Bailey - Flexner, Simon - Frank, Waldo - Freneau, Philip - Freytag-Loringhoven, Elsa von - Fuller, Henry B. - - Gale, Zona - Garland, Hamlin - Geddes, Auckland - _"Genius;" The_ - Georgia - Gilman, Daniel Coit - Glasgow, Ellen - Glass, Montague - Glyn, Elinor - _Good Girl, A_ - Gorky, Maxim - Gosse, Edmund - Grant, Robert - Graves, John Temple - Greenwich Village - Griswold, Rufus W. - Grote, George - - Hadley, Herbert K. - Hamilton, Clayton - Harris, Corra - Harris, Frank - Harrison, Henry Sydnor - Harte, Bret - Haweis, H. R. - Hawthorne, Hildegarde - Hawthorne, Julian - Hawthorne, Nathaniel - Hay, Ian - Haydn, Josef - _Heart of Darkness_ - _Hearst's_ - Hecht, Ben - _Hedda Gabler_190 - Henry, O. - Hergesheimer, Joseph - Hillis, Newell Dwight - Holmes, Oliver Wendell - Hooker, Brian - Hopper, James - Hough, Emerson - Howe, E. W. - Howells, Wm. Dean - Hubbard, Elbert - Huneker, James - - _Impressions of Theodore Roosevelt_ - _In Defense of Women_ - _Industrial History of Virginia in the Seventeenth Century_ - Irving, Henry - Irving, Washington - Iveagh, Lord - - James, Henry - - _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_ - Johns Hopkins University - Johnson, Owen - Johnson, Robert U. - Johnston, Mary - - Kellner, Leon - Kilmer, Joyce - Kipling, Rudyard - Knapp, Samuel Lorenzo - - La Motte, Ellen - Lardner, Ring W. - _Last of the Mohicans, The_ - _Lay Anthony, The_ - _Leaves of Grass_ - _Lectures on American Literature_ - Lee, Gerald Stanley - Le Quex, William - _Letters and Leadership_ - Lincoln, Abraham - Lindsay, Vachel - _Little Review_ - Loeb, Jacques - London, Jack - Longfellow, H. W. - Lowell, Amy - Lowell, James Russell - Loveman, Robert - - Mabie, Hamilton Wright - McClure, John - _McClure's_ - MacGrath, Harold - Maeterlinck, Maurice - Mallarmé, Stephen - _Man: An Adaptive Mechanism_ - Mansfield, Richard - Marden, Orison Swett - Markham, Edwin - Martin, E. S. - Mason, Walt - Matthews, Brander - _Mechanistic View of War and Peace, A_ - Merrill, Stuart - _Metropolitan_ - Mitchell, Donald G. - Moore, George - More, Paul Elmer - Morris, Gouverneur - _My Antonia_ - _My Book and I_ - _My Neighbors_ - _Mysterious Stranger, The_ - - _Nation_ - Nietzsche, F. W. - _Night Life in Chicago_ - Nordfeldt, Bror - Norris, Charles G. - Norris, Frank - Norris, Kathleen - Northcliffe, Lord - Noyes, Alfred - - O'Brien, Edward J. - O'Neill, Eugene - Oppenheim, E. Phillips - Oppenheim, James - O'Sullivan, Vincent - - Parmelee, Maurice - _Parsifal_ - Perry, Bliss - _Personality and Conduct_ - Phelps, Wm. Lyon - Phillips, David Graham - Poe, Edgar Allan - _Poetic Principle, The_ - _Poetry: a Magazine of Verse_ - Porter, Eleanor H. - Pound, Ezra - Prescott, W. H. - Puritanism - - Ransome, Arthur - Rathenau, Walther von - Reading, Lordx - Reese, Lizette Woodworth - Repplier, Agnes - Ricardo, David - _Ride of the Valkyrie, The_ - Rideout, Henry Milner - Riley, James Whitcomb - Rinehart, Mary Roberts - Rockefeller, John D. - Rolland, Romain - Roosevelt, Theodore - Rossetti, Christina - - Saintsbury, George - Sandburg, Carl - Sargent, John - _Saturday Evening Post_ - Scheffauer, Herman George - Schubert, Franz - Schumann, Robert - Shakespeare, Wm. - Shaw, George Bernard - _Shelburne Essays_ - Sherman, S. P. - Sisson documents - Spingarn, J. E. - Stanton, Frank L. - Stearns, Harold - _Sterbelied, Das_ - Sterling, George - Stratton-Porter, Gene - Strauss, Johann - Strauss, Richard - Strawinsky, Igor - Sudermann, Hermann - Sumner, William Graham - Sunday, Billy - - Tarkington, Booth - Teasdale, Sara - _Tendencies in Modern American Poetry_ - Thayer, William Roscoe - _Theodore Roosevelt_ - Thomas, Augustus - Thoreau, Henry David - _Times Book Review,_ New York - Townsend, E. W. - - Vance, Louis Joseph - _Vandover and the Brute_ - Van Dyke, Henry - van Dyke, John C. - Van Vechten, Carl - Veblen, Thorstein - Virginiax - - Wagner, Richard - Walpole, Hugh - Weber, F. Parkes - Webster, Noah - Wellman, Rita - Wells, H. G. - Wendell, Barrett - Wharton, Edith - _What Every Young Husband Should Know_ - _What is Man?_ - Whitman, Stephen French - Whitman, Walt - Whittier, J. G. - Wilcox, Ella Wheeler - Willis, N. P. - Wilson, Harry Leon - Wilson, Woodrow - Wister, Owen - Woodberry, George, E. - Wright, Harold Bell - - Zangwill, Israel - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Prejudices, Second Series, by H. L. Mencken - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PREJUDICES, SECOND SERIES *** - -***** This file should be named 53467-8.txt or 53467-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/4/6/53467/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version, also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... 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