The Great Events by Famous Historians, Volume 21 The Recent Days (1910-1914)

TRACING BRIEFLY THE CAUSES, CONNECTIONS, AND CONSEQUENCES OF

THE GREAT EVENTS

The awful, soul-searing tragedy of Europe's great war of 1914 came to most men unexpectedly. The real progress of the world during the five years preceding the war had been remarkable. All thinkers saw that the course of human civilization was being changed deeply, radically; but the changes were being accomplished so successfully that men hoped that the old brutal ages of military destruction were at an end, and that we were to progress henceforth by the peaceful methods of evolution rather than the hysterical excitements and volcanic upheavals of revolution.

Yet even in the peaceful progress of the half-decade just before 1914 there were signs of approaching disaster, symptoms of hysteria. This period displayed the astonishing spectacle of an English parliament, once the high example for dignity and the model for self-control among governing bodies, turned suddenly into a howling, shrieking mob. It beheld the Japanese, supposedly the most extravagantly loyal among devotees of monarchy, unearthing among themselves a conspiracy of anarchists so wide-spread, so dangerous, that the government held their trials in secret and has never dared reveal all that was discovered. It beheld the women of Persia bursting from the secrecy of their harems and with modern revolvers forcing their own democratic leaders to stand firm in patriotic resistance to Russian tyranny. It beheld the English suffragettes.

Yet the movement toward universal Democracy which lay behind all these extravagances was upon the whole a movement borne along by calm conviction, not by burning hatreds or ecstatic devotions. A profound sense of the inevitable trend of the world's evolution seemed to have taken possession of the minds of the masses of men. They felt the uselessness of opposition to this universal progress, and they showed themselves ready, sometimes eager, to aid and direct its trend as best they might.

If, then, we seek to give a name to this particular five years, let us call it the period of humanitarianism, of man's really awakened kindliness toward his brothers of other nationalities. The universal peace movement, which was a child in 1910, had by 1914 become a far-reaching force to be reckoned with seriously in world politics. Any observer who studied the attitude of the great American people in 1898 on the eve of their war with Spain, and again in 1914 during the trouble with Mexico, must have clearly recognized the change. There was so much deeper sense of the tragedy of war, so much clearer appreciation of the gap between aggressive assault and necessary self-defense, so definite a recognition of the fact that murder remains murder, even though it be misnamed glory and committed by wholesale, and that any one who does not strive to stop it becomes a party to the crime.

While the sense of brotherhood was thus being deepened among the people of all the world, the associated cause of Democracy also advanced. The earlier years of the century had seen the awakening of this mighty force in the East; these later years saw its sudden decisive renewal of advance in the West. The center of world-progress once more shifted back from Asia to America and to England. The center of resistance to that progress continued, as it had been before, in eastern Europe.

PROGRESS OF DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA

Let us note first the forward movement in the United States. The Conservation of Natural Resources, that striking step in the new patriotism, which had been begun in the preceding decade, was carried forward during these years with increasing knowledge. A new idea developed from it, that of establishing a closer harmony among the States by means of a new piece of governmental machinery, the House of Governors.[1] This was formed in 1910.

[Footnote 1: See The United States House of Governors, page 1.]

To a nation bred as the Americans have been in an almost superstitious reverence for a particular form of government, this change or any change whatever becomes a matter of great moment. It is their final recognition that the present can not be molded to fit the machinery of the past. The nearer a Constitution comes to perfection in fitting the needs of one century, the more wholly it is likely to fail in fitting the needs of the next. The United States Government was not at its beginning a genuine Democracy, though approaching it more nearly than did any other great nation of the day. Putting aside the obvious point that the American Constitution deliberately protected slavery, which is the primal foe of all Democracy, the broader fact remains that the entire trend of the Constitution was intended to keep the educated and aristocratic classes in control and to protect them from the dangers of ignorance and rascally demagoguery.

The weapons of self-defense thus reserved by the thoughtful leaders were, in the course of generations, seized upon as the readiest tools of a shrewd plutocracy, which entrenched itself in power. Rebellion against that plutocracy long seemed almost hopeless; but at last, in the year 1912, the fight was carried to a successful issue. In both the great political parties, the progressive spirit dominated. The old party lines were violently disrupted, and President Wilson was elected as the leader of a new era seeking new ideals of universal equality.[2]

[Footnote 2: See The New Democracy, page 323.]

Nor must we give to the President's party alone the credit of having recognized the new spirit of the people. Even before his election, his predecessor, Mr. Taft, had led the Republican party in its effort to make two amendments to the Constitution, one allowing an Income Tax, the other commanding the election of Senators by direct vote of the people. Both of these were assaults upon entrenched "Privilege." The Constitution had not been amended by peaceful means for over a century; yet both of these amendments were now put through easily.[1] This revolt against two of the most undemocratic of the features of the ancient and honored Constitution was almost like a second declaration of American independence.

[Footnote 1: See The Income Tax in America, page 338.]

Perhaps, too, the change in the Senate may prove a help to the cause of universal peace. The governments of both Taft and Wilson were persistent in their efforts to establish arbitration treaties with other nations, and the Senate, jealous of its own treaty-making authority, had been a frequent stumbling-block in their path. Yet, despite the Senate's conservatism, arbitration treaties of ever-increasing importance have been made year after year. A war between the United States and England or France, or indeed almost any self-ruling nation, has become practically impossible.[2]

[Footnote 2: See A Step Toward World Peace, page 259.]

In her dealing with her Spanish-American neighbors, the United States has been less fortunate. She has, indeed, achieved a labor of world-wide value by completing the "big ditch" between the Oceans.[3] Yet her method of acquiring the Panama territory from Colombia had been arbitrary and had made all her southern neighbors jealous of her power and suspicious of her purposes. Into the midst of this era of unfriendliness was injected the Mexican trouble. Diaz, who had ruled Mexico with an iron hand for a generation, was overthrown.[4] President Madero, who conquered him, was supported by the United States; and Spanish America began to suspect the "Western Colossus" of planning a protectorate over Mexico.

[Footnote 3: See Opening of the Panama Canal, page 374.]

[Footnote 4: See The Fall of Diaz, page 96.]

Then came a counter-revolution. Madero was betrayed and slain, and the savage and bloody Indian general, Huerta, seized the power.[1] The antagonism of the United States Government against Huerta was so marked that at length the anxious South American Powers urged that they be allowed to mediate between the two; and the United States readily accepted this happy method of proving her real devotion to arbitration and of reestablishing the harmony of the Americas.

[Footnote 1: See Mexico Plunged into Anarchy, page 300.]

In itself the entire Mexican movement may be regarded as another great, though confused, step in the world-wide progress of Democracy. The upheaval has been repeatedly compared to the French Revolution. The rule of Diaz was really like that of King Louis XVI in France, a government by a narrow and wealthy aristocracy who had reduced the ignorant Mexican peasants or "peons" to a state of slavery. The bloody battles of all the recent warfare have been fought by these peons in a blind groping for freedom. They have disgraced their cause by excesses as barbarous as those perpetrated by the French peasantry; but they have also fought for their ideal with a heroism unsurpassed by that of any French revolutionist.

DEMOCRACY IN THE WORLD

Equally notable as forming part of this unceasing march of Democracy was the progress of both Socialism and Woman Suffrage. But with these two movements we must look beyond America; for their advance was not limited to any single country. It became world-wide. When Woman Suffrage was first established in New Zealand and Australia, the fact made little impression upon the rest of the globe; but when northern Europe accepted the idea, and Finland and Norway granted women full suffrage and Sweden and Denmark gave them almost as much, the movement was everywhere recognized as important. In Asia women took an active and heroic part in the struggles for liberty both in Persia and in China. In England the "militant" suffragists have forced Parliament to deal with their problem seriously, amid much embarrassment. In the United States, the movement, regarded rather humorously at first, became a matter of national weight and seriousness when in 1910 the great State of California enfranchised its women, half a million of them. Woman Suffrage now dominates the Western States of America and is slowly moving eastward.[1]

[Footnote 1: See Woman Suffrage, page 156.]

Socialism, also, though some may call it a mistaken and confused dream, is yet a manifestation of Democracy and as such will have its voice along with other forms of the great world-spirit. It has made considerable advance in America, where there have recently been Socialist mayors in some cities, and even Socialist Congressmen. But its main progress has been in Europe. There it can no longer be discussed as an economic theory; it has become a stupendous and unevadable fact. It is the laboring man's protest against the tyranny of that militarism which terrorizes Europe.[2] And since military tyranny is heaviest in Germany, Socialism has there risen to its greatest strength. The increase of the Socialist vote in German elections became perhaps the most impressive political phenomenon of the past twenty years. In 1912 this vote was more than one-third of the total vote of the Empire, and the Socialists were the largest single party in Germany. The Socialists of France are almost equally strong; and so are those in Italy. When war recently threatened Europe over the Morocco dispute, the Socialists in each of these countries made solemn protest to the world, declaring that laboring men were brothers everywhere and had no will to fight over any governmental problem. Many extremists among the brotherhood even went so far as to defy their governments openly, declaring that if forced to take up arms they would turn them against their tyrannous oppressors rather than against their helpless brothers of another nation. Thus the burden of militarism did by its own oppressive weight rouse the opposing force of Socialism to curb it.

[Footnote 2: See Militarism, page 186.]

In Italy the Socialists were growing so powerful politically that it was largely as a political move against them that the government in 1911 suddenly declared war against Turkey.

Thus was started the series of outbreaks which recently convulsed southeastern Europe.[1] Seldom has a war been so unjustifiable, so obviously forced upon a weaker nation for the sake of aggrandizement, as that of Italy against the "Young Turks" who were struggling to reform their land. The Italians seized the last of Turkey's African possessions, with scarce a shadow of excuse. This increase of territory appealed to the pride and so-called "patriotism" of the Italian people. The easy victories in Africa gratified their love of display; and many of the ignorant poor who had been childish in their attachment to the romantic ideals of Socialism now turned with equal childishness to applaud and support their "glorious" government. Yet even here Democracy made its gain; for under shelter of this popularity the government granted a demand it had long withheld. Male suffrage, previously very limited in Italy, was made universal.

[Footnote 1: See The Turkish-Italian War, page 140.]

The humiliation of Turkey in this Italian war led to another and far larger contest, and to that practical elimination of Turkey from European affairs which had been anticipated for over a century. The Balkan peoples, half freed from Turkey in 1876, took advantage of her weakness to form a sudden alliance and attack her all together.[2] This, also, was a Democratic movement, a people's war against their oppressors. The Bulgars, most recently freed of the victims of Turkish tyranny, hated their opponents with almost a madman's frenzy. The Servians wished to free their brother Serbs and to strengthen themselves against the persistent encroachments of Austria. The Greeks, defeated by the Turks in 1897, were eager for revenge, hopeful of drawing all their race into a single united State. Never was a war conducted with greater dash and desperation or more complete success. The Turks were swept out of all their European possessions except for Constantinople itself; and they yielded to a peace which left them nothing of Europe except the mere shore line where the continents come together.

[Footnote 2: See The Overthrow of Turkey, page 282.]

But then there followed what most of the watchers had expected, a division among the victorious allies. Most of these were still half savage, victims of centuries of barbarity. In their moment of triumph they turned upon one another, snarling like wild beasts over the spoil. Bulgaria, the largest, fiercest, and most savage of the little States, tried to fight Greece and Servia together. She failed, in a strife quite as bloody as that against Turkey. The neighboring State of Roumania also took part against the Bulgars. So did the Turks, who, seeing the helplessness of their late tigerish opponent, began snatching back the land they had ceded to Bulgaria.[1] The exhausted Bulgars, defeated upon every side, yielded to their many foes.

[Footnote 1: See The Second Balkan War, page 350.]

Thus we face to-day a new Balkan Peninsula, consisting of half a dozen little independent nations, all thoroughly democratic, except Turkey. And even Turkey, we should remember, has made a long stride toward Democracy by substituting for the autocracy of the Sultan the constitutional rule of the "Young Turks," These still retain their political control, though sorely shaken in power by the calamities their country has undergone under their brief régime.

From this semi-barbarity of southeastern Europe, let us turn to note the more peaceful progress which seemed promising the West. Little Portugal suddenly declared herself a Republic in 1910.[2] She had been having much anarchistic trouble before, killing of kings and hurling of bombs. Now there was a brief, almost bloodless, uprising; and the young new king fled. Prophets freely predicted that the unpractical and unpractised Republic could not last. But instead of destroying itself in petty quarrels, the new government has seemed to grow more able and assured with each passing year.

[Footnote 2: See Portugal Becomes a Republic, page 28.]

In Spain also, the party favoring a Republic grew so strong that its leaders declared openly that they could overturn the monarchy any time they wished. But they said the time was not ripe, they must wait until the people had become more educated politically, and had learned more about self-government, before they ventured to attempt it. Here, therefore, we have Democracy taking a new and important step. To man's claim of the right of self-government was subjoined the recognition of the fact that until he reaches a certain level of intelligence he is unfit to exercise that right, and with it he is likely to bring himself more harm than happiness.

Perhaps even more impressive was the struggle toward Democracy in England. Here, from the year 1905 onward, a "Liberal" government in nominal power was opposed at every turn persistently, desperately, sometimes hysterically, by a "Conservative" opposition. The Liberals, after years of worsted effort, saw that they could make no possible progress unless they broke the power of the always Conservative House of Lords. They accomplished this in 1911 amid the weeping and wailing of all Britain's aristocracy, who are thoroughly committed to the doctrine of the mighty teacher, Carlyle, that men should find out their great leaders and then follow these with reverent obedience. Of course the doctrine has in the minds of the British aristocracy the very natural addendum that they are the great leaders.[1]

[Footnote 1: See Fall of the English House of Lords, page 133.]

With the power of the nobles thus swept aside, the British Liberals went on to that long-demanded extension of Democracy, the granting of Home Rule to Ireland. Here, too, England's Conservatives fought the Liberals desperately. And here there was a subtler issue to give the Conservatives justification. The great majority of Irish are of the Roman Catholic faith, and so would naturally set up a Catholic government; but a part of northern Ireland is Protestant and bitterly opposed to Catholic domination. These Protestants, or "Ulsterites," demanded that if the rest of Ireland got home rule, they must get it also, and be allowed to rule themselves by a separate Parliament of their own. The Conservatives accepted this democratic demand as an ally of their conservative clinging to the "good old laws." They encouraged the Ulsterites even to the point of open rebellion. But despite every obstacle, the Liberals continued their efforts until the Home Rule bill was assured in 1914.

Let us look now beyond Europe. England deserves credit for the big forward step taken by her colonies in South Africa. All of these joined in 1910 in a union intended to be as indissoluble as that of the United States. Thus to the mighty English-speaking nations developing in a united Australia and a united Canada, there was now added a third, the nation of South Africa.[1]

[Footnote 1: See Union of South Africa, page 17.]

In Asia, too, there was a most surprising and notable democratic step. China declared itself a Republic. Considerable fighting preceded this change, warfare of a character rather vague and purposeless; for China is so huge that a harmony of understanding among her hundreds of millions is not easily attained. Yet, on the whole, with surprisingly little conflict and confusion the change was made. The oldest nation in the world joined hands with the youngest in adopting this modern form of "government by the people."[2] The world is still watching, however, to see whether the Chinese have passed the level of political wisdom awaited by the Spanish republicans, and can successfully exercise the dangerous right they have assumed.

[Footnote 2: See The Chinese Revolution, page 238.]

Turn back, for a moment, to review all the wonderful advance in popular government these brief five years accomplished: in the United States, a political revolution with changes of the Constitution and of the machinery of government; in Britain, similar changes of government even more radical in the direction of Democracy; two wholly new Republics added to the list, one being China, the oldest and most populous country in the world, the other little Portugal, long accounted the most spiritless and unprogressive nation in Europe; a shift from autocratic British rule toward democratic home rule through all the vast region of South Africa; a similar shift in much-troubled Ireland; Socialism reaching out toward power through all central Europe; Woman Suffrage taking possession of northern Europe and western America and striding on from country to country, from state to state; a bloody and desperate people's revolution in Mexico; and a similar one of the Balkan peoples against Turkey! Individuals may possibly feel that some one or other of these steps was reckless, even perhaps that some may ultimately have to be retraced in the world's progress. But of their general glorious trend no man can doubt.

Were there no reactionary movements to warn us of the terrible reassertion of autocratic power so soon to deluge earth with horror? Yes, though there were few democratic defeats to measure against the splendid record of advance. Russia stood, as she has so long stood, the dragon of repression. In the days of danger from her own people which had followed the disastrous Japanese war, Russia had courted her subject nations by granting them every species of favor. Now with her returning strength she recommenced her unyielding purpose of "Russianizing" them. Finland was deprived of the last spark of independence; so that her own chief champions said of her sadly in 1910, "So ends Finland."[1]

[Footnote 1: See The Crushing of Finland, page 47.]

In southern Russia the persecutions of the Jews were recommenced, with charges of "ritual murder" and other incitements of the ignorant peasantry to massacre. In Asia, Russia reached out beyond her actual territory to strangle the new-found voice of liberty in Persia. Russia coveted the Persian territory; Persia had established a constitutional government a few years before; this government, with American help, seemed likely to grow strong and assured in its independence. So Russia, in the old medieval lawlessness of power, reached out and crushed the Persian government.[2] At this open exertion of tyranny the world looked on, disapproving, but not resisting. England, in particular, was almost forced into an attitude of partnership with Russia's crime. But she submitted sooner than precipitate that universal war the menace of which came so grimly close during the strain of the outbreaks around Turkey. The millennium of universal peace and brotherhood was obviously still far away. Not yet could the burden of fleets and armaments be cast aside; though every crisis thus overpassed without the "world war" increased our hopes of ultimately evading its unspeakable horror.

[Footnote 2: See Persia's Loss of Liberty, page 199.]

MAN'S ADVANCE IN KNOWLEDGE

Meanwhile, in the calm, enduring realm of scientific knowledge, there was progress, as there is always progress.

No matter what man's cruelty to his fellows, he has still his curiosity. Hence he continues forever gathering more and more facts explaining his environment. He continues also molding that environment to his desires. Imagination makes him a magician.

Most surprising of his recent steps in this exploration of his surroundings was the attainment of the South Pole in 1911.[1] This came so swiftly upon the conquest of the North Pole, that it caught the world unprepared; it was an unexpected triumph. Yet it marks the closing of an era. Earth's surface has no more secrets concealed from man. For half a century past, the only remaining spaces of complete mystery, of utter blankness on our maps, were the two Poles. And now both have been attained. The gaze of man's insatiable wonderment must hereafter be turned upon the distant stars.

[Footnote 1: See Discovery of the South Pole, page 218.]

But man does not merely explore his environment; he alters it. Most widespread and important of our recent remodelings of our surroundings has been the universal adoption of the automobile. This machine has so increased in popularity and in practical utility that we may well call ours the "Automobile Age." The change is not merely that one form of vehicle is superseding another on our roads and in our streets. We face an impressive theme for meditation in the fact that up to the present generation man was still, as regarded his individual personal transit, in the same position as the Romans of two thousand years ago, dependent upon the horse as his swiftest mode of progress. With the automobile we have suddenly doubled, quadrupled the size of our "neighborhood," the space which a man may cover alone at will for a ramble or a call. As for speed, we seem to have succumbed to an actual mania for ever-increasing motion. The automobile is at present the champion speed-maker, the fastest means of propelling himself man has yet invented. But the aeroplane and the hydroplane are not far behind, and even the electric locomotive has a thrill of promise for the speed maniac.[2]

[Footnote 2: See Man's Fastest Mile, page 73.]

In thus developing his mastery over Nature man sometimes forgets his danger, oversteps the narrow margin of safety he has left between himself and the baffled forces of his ancient tyrants, Fire and Water, Earth and Air. Then indeed, in his moments of weakness, the primordial forces turn upon him and he becomes subject to tragic and terrific punishment. Of such character was the most prominent disaster of these years, the sinking of the ocean steamer Titanic. The best talent of England and America had united to produce this monster ship, which was hailed as the last, the biggest, the most perfect thing man could do in shipbuilding. It was pronounced "unsinkable." Its captain was reckless in his confidence; and Nature reached down in menace from the regions of northern ice; and the ship perished.[1] Since then another great ship has sunk, under almost similar conditions, and with almost equal loss of life.

[Footnote 1: See Tragedy of the Titanic, page 265.]

Oddly enough at the very moment when we have thus had reimpressed upon us the uncertainty of our outward mechanical defenses against the elements, we have been making a curious addition to our knowledge of inner means of defense. The science of medicine has taken several impressive strides in recent years, but none more suggestive of future possibilities of prolonging human life than the recent work done in preserving man's internal organs and tissues to a life of their own outside the body.[2] Already it is possible to transfer healthy tissues thus preserved, or even some of the simpler organs, from one body to another. Men begin to talk of the probability of rejuvenating the entire physical form. Thus science may yet bring us to encounter as actual fact the deep philosophic thought of old, the thought that regards man as merely a will and a brain, and the body as but the outward clothing of these, mere drapery, capable of being changed as the spirit wills. There is no visible limit to this wondrous drama in which man's patient mastering of his immediate environment is gradually teaching him to mold to his purpose all the potent forces of the universe.

[Footnote 2: See Our Progressing Knowledge of Life Surgery, page 273.]

In this assurance of ultimate success, let us find such consolation as we may. Though world-war may continue its devastation, though its increasing horrors may shake our civilization to the deepest depths, though its wanton destruction may rob us of the hoarded wealth of generations and the art treasures of all the past, though its beastlike massacres may reduce the number of men fitted to bear onward the torch of progress until of their millions only a mere pitiable handful survive, yet the steps which science has already won cannot be lost. Knowledge survives; and a happier generation than ours standing some day secure against the monster of militarism shall continue to uplift man's understanding till he dwells habitually on heights as yet undreamed.

A NEW MACHINERY ADDED TO THE FEDERAL FORM OF GOVERNMENT

A.D. 1910

WILLIAM G. JORDAN

THE GOVERNORS

The formal establishment of the "House of Governors," which took place in January of 1910, marked the climax of a definite movement which has swept onward through the entire history of the United States.

When in 1775 the thirteen American colonies made their first effort toward united action, they were in truth thirteen different nations, each possessed of differing traditions and a separate history, and each suspicious and jealous of all the others. Their widely diverging interests made concerted action almost impossible during the Revolutionary War. And when necessity ultimately drove them to join in the close bond of the present United States, their constitution was planned less for union than for the protection of each suspicious State against the aggressions of the others.

Gradually the spread of intercourse among the States has worn away their more marked differential points of character and purpose. Step by step the course of history has forced our people into closer harmony and union. To-day the forty-eight States look to one another in true brotherhood. And as the final bond of that brotherhood they have established a new organization, the House of Governors. This constitutes the only definite change made in the United States machinery of government since the beginning.

The House of Governors sprang first from the suggestion of William George Jordan, who was afterward appropriately selected as its permanent secretary. Hence we give here Mr. Jordan's own account of the movement, as being its clearest possible elucidation. Then we give a series of brief estimates of the importance of the new step from the pens of those Governors who themselves took part in the gathering. In their ringing utterances you hear the voice of North and South, Illinois and Florida, of East and West, Massachusetts and Oregon, and of the great central Mississippi Valley, all announcing the fraternizing influence of the new step.

Governor Willson, of Kentucky, chairman of the committee which arranged the gathering, in an earnest speech to its members declared that, "If this conference of Governors had been in existence as an institution in 1860, there would never have been a war between the States. The issues of the day would have been settled by argument, adjustment, and compromise." It would be hard to find stronger words for measuring the possible importance of the new institution.

WILLIAM G. JORDAN

The conference of the Governors at Washington this month marks the beginning of a new epoch in the political history of the nation. It is the first meeting ever held of the State Executives as a body seeking, by their united influence, to secure uniform laws on vital subjects for the welfare of the entire country. It should not be confused with the Roosevelt conferences of May and December, 1908. It is in no sense a continuation of them. It is essentially different in aim, method, and basis, and is larger, broader, and more far-reaching in its possibilities.

The nation to-day is facing a grave crisis in its history. Vital problems affecting the welfare of the whole country, remaining unsolved through the years, have at last reached an acute stage where they demand solution. This solution must come now in some form—either in harmony with the Constitution or in defiance of it. The Federal Government has been and still is absolutely powerless to act because of constitutional limitation; the State governments have the sole power, but heretofore no way has been provided for them to exercise that power.

Senator Elihu Root points out fairly, squarely, and relentlessly the two great dangers confronting the Republic: the danger of the National Government breaking down in its effective machinery through the burdens that threaten to be cast upon it; and the danger that the local self-government of the States may, through disuse, become inefficient. The House of Governors plan seems to have in it possibilities of mastering both of these evils at one stroke.

There are three basic weaknesses in the American system of government as we know it to-day. There are three insidious evils that are creeping like a blood-poison through the body politic, threatening the very life of the Republic. They are killing the soul of self-government, though perhaps not its form; destroying its essence, though perhaps not its name.

These three evils, so intertwined as to be practically one, are: the growing centralization at Washington, the shifting, undignified, uncertain status of State rights, and the lack of uniform laws.

It was to propose a possible cure for these three evils that the writer sent in February, 1907, to President Roosevelt and to the Governors of the country a pamphlet on a new idea in American politics. It was the institution of a new House, a new representation of the people and of the States to secure uniform legislation on those questions wherein the Federal Governments could not act because of Constitutional limitation. The plan proposed, so simple that it would require no Constitutional amendment to put it into effect, was the organization of the House of Governors.

More than thirty Governors responded in cordial approval of the plan. Eight months later, October, 1907, President Roosevelt invited the State Executives to a conference at Washington in May, 1908. The writer pointed out at that time what seemed an intrinsic weakness of the convention, that it could have little practical result, because it would be, after all, only a conference, where the Federal Government, by its limitations, was powerless to carry the findings of the conference into effect, and the Governors, acting not as a co-operative body, but as individuals, would be equally powerless in effecting uniform legislation. It was a conference of conflicting powers.

The Governors were then urged to meet upon their own initiative, as a body of peers, working out by united State action those problems where United States action had for more than a century proved powerless. At the close of the Roosevelt conference the Governors, at an adjourned meeting, appointed a committee to arrange time and place for a session of the Governors in a body of their own, independently of the President. This movement differentiated the proposed meeting absolutely from that with the President in every fundamental. It essentially became more than a conference; it meant a deliberative body of the Governors uniting to initiate, to inspire, and to influence uniform laws. The committee then named, consisting of three members, later increased to five, set the dates January 18, 19, and 20, 1910, for the first session of the Governors as a separate body.

WILLIAM G. JORDAN[1]

[Footnote 1: Reproduced from The Craftsman of October, 1910, by permission of Gustav Stickley.]

When a new idea or a new institution confronts the world it must answer all challenges, show its credentials, specify its claims for usefulness, and prove its promise by its performance. As an idea the House of Governors has won the cordial approval of the American press and public; as an institution it must now justify this confidence. To grasp fully its powers and possibilities requires a clear, definite understanding of its spirit, scope, plan, and purpose, and its attitude toward the Federal Government.

The House of Governors is a union of the Governors of all the States, meeting annually in conference as a deliberative body (with no lawmaking power) for initiative, influence, and inspiration toward a better, higher, and more unified Statehood. Its organization will be simple and practical, avoiding red-tape, unnecessary formality, and elaborate rules and regulations. It will adopt the few fundamental expressions of its principles of action and the least number of rules that are absolutely essential to enunciate its plan and scope, to transmute its united wisdom into united action and to guarantee the coherence, continuity, and permanence of the organization despite the frequent changes in its membership due to the short terms of the Executives in many of the States.

With the House of Governors rests the power of securing through the cooperative action of the State legislatures uniform laws on vital questions demanded by the whole country almost since the dawn of our history, but heretofore impossible of enactment. The Federal Government is powerless to pass these laws. For many decades, tight held by the cramping bonds of Constitutional limitation, it has strained and struggled, like Samson in the temple, to find some weak spot at which it could free itself, and endangered the very supporting columns of the edifice of the Republic. It was bound in its lawmaking powers to the limitation of eighteen specific phrases, beyond which all power remained with the States and the people. In the matter of enacting uniform laws the States have been equally powerless, for, though their Constitutional right to make them was absolute and unquestioned, no way had been provided by which they could exercise that right. The States as individuals, passing their own laws, without considering their relation or harmony with the laws of other States, brought about a condition of confusion and conflict. Laws that from their very nature should be common to all of the States, in the best interests of all, are now divergent, different, and antagonistic. We have to-day the strange anomaly of forty-six States united in a union as integral parts of a single nation, yet having many laws of fundamental importance as different as though the States were forty-six distinct countries or nationalities.

Facing the duality of incapacity—that of the Government because it was not permitted to act and the States because they did not know how to exercise the power they possessed—the Federal Government sought new power for new needs through Constitutional amendments. This effort proved fruitless and despairing, for with more than two thousand attempts made in over a century only three amendments were secured, and these were merely to wind up the Civil War. The whole fifteen amendments taken together have not added the weight of a hair of permanent new power to the Federal Government. The people and the States often sleep serenely on their rights, but they never willingly surrender them, yet the surrender of a right is often the brave recognition of a higher duty, the fine assumption of a higher privilege. In many phases the need grew urgent, something had to be done. By ingeniously tapping the Constitution to find a weak place and hammering it thin by decisions, by interpretations, by liberal readings, by technical evasions and other methods, needed laws were passed in the interests of the people and the States. Many of these laws would not stand the rigid scrutiny of the Supreme Court; to many of them the Government's title may now be valid by a kind of "squatter's sovereignty" in legislation,—merely so many years of undisputed possession.

This was not the work of one administration; it ran with intermittent ebb and flow through many administrations. Then the slumbering States, turning restlessly in their complacency, at last awoke and raised a mighty cry of "Centralization." They claimed that the Government was taking away their rights, which may be correct in essence but hardly just in form; they had lost their rights, primarily, not through usurpation but through abrogation; the Government had acted because of the default of the States, it had practically been forced to exercise powers limited to the States because the States lapsed through neglect and inaction. Then the Government discovered the vulnerable spot in our great charter, the Achilles heel of the Constitution. It was just six innocent-looking words in section eight empowering Congress to "regulate commerce between the several States." It was a rubber phrase, capable of infinite stretching. It was drawn out so as to cover antitrust legislation, control and taxation of corporations, water-power, railroad rates, etc., pure-food law, white-slave traffic, and a host of others. But even with the most generous extension of this phrase, which, though it may be necessary, was surely not the original intent of the Constitution, the greatest number of the big problems affecting the welfare of the people are still outside the province of the Government and are up to the States for solution.

It was to meet this situation, wherein the Government and the States as individuals could not act, that the simple, self-evident plan of the House of Governors was proposed. It required no Constitutional amendment or a single new law passed in any State to create it or to continue it. It can not make laws; it would be unwise for it to make them even were it possible. Its sole power is as a mighty moral influence, as a focusing point for public opinion and as a body equal to its opportunity of transforming public opinion into public sentiment and inspiring legislatures to crystallize this sentiment into needed laws. It will live only as it represents the people, as it has their sympathy, support, and cooperation, as it seeks to make the will of the people prevail. But this means a longer, stronger, finer life than any mere legal authority could give it.

The House of Governors has the dignity of simplicity. It means merely the conference of the State Executives, the highest officers and truest representatives of the States, on problems that are State and Interstate, and concerted action in recommendations to their legislatures. The fullest freedom would prevail at all meetings; no majority vote would control the minority; there would have to be a quorum decided upon as the number requisite for an initial impulse toward uniform legislation. If the number approving fell below the quorum the subject would be shown as not yet ripe for action and be shelved. Members would be absolutely free to accept or reject, to do exactly as they please, so no unwilling legislation could be forced on any State. But if a sufficient number agreed these Governors would recommend the passage of the desired law to their legislatures in their next messages. The united effort would give it a greater importance, a larger dynamic force, and a stronger moral influence with each. It would be backed by the influence of the Governors, the power of public sentiment, the leverage of the press, so that the passage of the law should come easily and naturally. With a few States passing it, others would fall in line; it would be kept a live issue and followed up and in a few years we would have legislation national in scope, but not in genesis.

The House of Governors, in its attitude toward the Federal Government, is one of right and dignified non-interference. It will not use its influence with the Government, memorialize Congress, or pass resolutions on national matters. What the Governors do or say individually is, of course, their right and privilege, but as a body it took its stand squarely and positively at its first conference which met in Washington in January of this year as one of "securing greater uniformity of State action and better State Government." Governor Hughes expressed it in these words: "We are here in our own right as State Executives; we are not here to accelerate or to develop opinion with regard to matters which have been committed to Federal power." The States in their relation to the Federal Government have all needed representation in their Senators and Congressmen.

The attitude of the Governors in their conferences is one of concentration on State and Interstate problems which are outside of the domain and Constitutional rights of the Federal Government to solve. There can be no interference when each confines itself to its own duties. In keeping the time of the nation the Federal Government represents the hour-hand, the States, united, the minute-hand. There will be correct time only as each hand confines itself strictly to its own business, neither attempting to jog the other, but working in accord with the natural harmony wrapped up in the mechanism.

We need to-day to draw the sharpest clear-cut line of demarcation between Federal and State powers. This is in no spirit of antagonism, but in the truest harmony for the best interests of both. It means an illumination which will show that the "twilight zone," so called, does not exist. This dark continent of legislation belongs absolutely to the States and to the people in the unmistakable terms of the Tenth Amendment: "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution or prohibited by it to the States are reserved to the States, respectively, and to the people." This buffer territory of legislation, the domain of needed uniform laws, belongs to the States and through the House of Governors they may enter in and possess their own. The Federal Government and the States are parts of one great organization, each having its specific duties, powers, and responsibilities, and between them should be no conflict, no inharmony.

Let the Federal Government, through Congress, make laws up to the very maximum of its rights and duties under the Constitution; let the States, taking up their neglected duties and privileges, relieve the Government of those cares and responsibilities forced upon it by the inactivity of the States and which it should never have had to assume. With the burden thus equitably readjusted, with the dignity of the two powers of Government working out their individual problems in the harmony of a fuller understanding, let us face the results. If it then seem, in the light of changed conditions from those of the time of the writing of the Constitution, that certain control now held by the States can not properly be exercised by them, that in final decision of the best wisdom of the people this power should be vested in the Federal Government, let the States not churlishly hold on to the casket of a dead right, but surrender the living body of a responsibility and a duty to the power best able to be its guardian. There are few, if any, of their neglected powers of legislation that the States and the people acting in cooperation, through the House of Governors, will not be able to handle.

Some of the subjects upon which free discussion tending toward uniform laws seems desirable are: marriage and divorce, rights of married women, corporations and trusts, insurance, child labor, capital punishment, direct primaries, convict labor and labor in general, prison reforms, automobile regulations, contracts, banking, conveyancing, inheritance tax, income tax, mortgages, initiative, referendum and recall, election reforms, tax adjustment, and similar topics. In great questions, like Conservation, the Federal Government has distinct problems it must carry out alone; there are some problems that must be solved by the States alone, some that may require to be worked out in cooperation. But the greatest part of the needed conservation is that which belongs to the States, and which they can manage better, more thoroughly, more judiciously, with stronger appeal to State pride, upbuilding, and prosperity, with less conflict and clearer recognition of local needs and conditions and harmony with them than can the Federal Government. Four-fifths of the timber standing in the country to-day is owned, not by the States or the Government, but by private interests.

The House of Governors will not seek uniformity merely for the sake of uniformity. There are many questions whereon uniform laws would be unnecessary, and others where it would be not only unwise, but inconceivably foolish. Many States have purely individual problems that do not concern the other States and do not come in conflict with them, but even in these the Governors may gain an occasional incidental sidelight of illumination from the informal discussion in a conference that may make thinking clearer and action wiser. The spirit that should inspire the States is the fullest freedom in purely State problems and the largest unity in laws that affect important questions in Interstate relations.

While uniform law is an important element in the thought of the Conference it is far from being the only one. The frank, easy interchange of view, opinion, and experience brings the Governors closely together in the fine fellowship of a common purpose and a common ideal. They are broadened, stimulated, and inspired to a keener, clearer vision on a wider outlook. The most significant, vital, and inspiring phases of these conferences, those which really count for most, and are the strongest guaranties of the permanence and power of this movement, must, however, remain intangible. This fact was manifest in every moment of that first Conference last January.

The fading of sectional prejudice in the glow of sympathetic understanding was clearly evident. Some of the Western Governors in their speeches said that their people of the West had felt that they were isolated, misrepresented, misunderstood, and misjudged; but now these Governors could go back to their States and their people with messages of good will and tell them of the identity of interest, the communion of purpose, the kinship of common citizenship, and the closer knowledge that bound them more firmly to the East, to the South, and to the North. Other Governors spoke of the facilitating of official business between the States because of these meetings. They would no longer, in correspondence, write to a State Executive as a mere name without personality, but their letters would carry with them the memories of close contact and cordial association with those whom they had learned to know. There was no faintest tinge of State jealousies or rivalry. The Governors talked frankly, freely, earnestly of their States and for them, but it was ever with the honest pride of trusteeship, never the petty vanity of proprietorship.

Patriotism seemed to throw down the walls of political party and partizanship and in the three days' session the words Republican or Democrat were never once spoken. The Governors showed themselves an able body of men keenly alive to the importance of their work and with a firm grasp on the essential issues. The meeting added a new dignity to Statehood and furnished a new revelation of the power, prestige, and possibilities of the Governor's office. The atmosphere of the session was that of States' rights, but it was a new States' rights, a purified, finer, higher recognition by the States of their individual right and duty of self-government within their Constitutional limitations. It meant no lessening of interest in the Federal Government or of respect and honor of it. It was as a family of sons growing closer together, strengthened as individuals and working to solve those problems they have in common, and to make their own way rather than to depend in weakness on the father of the household to manage all their affairs and do their thinking for them. To him should be left the watchfulness of the family as a whole, not the dictation of their individual living.

President Taft had no part in the Conference, but in an address of welcome to the Governors at the White House showed his realization of the vital possibility of the meeting in these words:

"I regard this movement as of the utmost importance. The Federal Constitution has stood the test of more than one hundred years in supplying the powers that have been needed to make the central Government as strong as it ought to be, and with this movement toward uniform legislation and agreement between the States I do not see why the Constitution may not serve our purpose always."

AUGUSTUS E. WILLSON[1]

Governor of Kentucky

[Footnote 1: The following letters are reprinted by permission from a collection of such commentaries from Cottier's Weekly.]

President Roosevelt held two conferences of Governors, and as a member of a committee chosen to do so, I have invited the Governors of all of the States and Territories to meet at the White House in Washington, January 18th, 19th, and 20th.

The conference has no legal authority of any kind. At the previous conferences, the conservation subject was the one chiefly thought of, and it will be brought up in the next conference. The question of what the Governors will recommend on the income-tax constitutional amendment may come up. The matter of handling extradition papers is important. Uniform State laws on matters of universal interest, school laws, road laws, tax laws, commercial paper, warehouse receipts, bills of lading, etc.; the control of corporations, of which taxation is one branch, the action of the States in regard to water-powers within the States; marriage, divorce, wills, schools, roads, are all within the range of this conference, and the agreement of all of the Governors on some of these subjects, and by many of them on any, would be of useful influence.

The meeting has further interest and importance in being for two days in touch with the National Civic Federation, which will afford all of the Governors a chance to learn what that association of many of the most prominent men of this country is doing, and get the benefit of its discussions and the pleasure of being acquainted with many leaders of thought and action in the country, who will attend its sessions.

I am sure that I speak the sentiment of all of the Governors that they do not wish any legal power or any authority except that of the weight of their opinion as chosen State officers. They only wish the benefit of discussion of important subjects interesting to all of the States, and to establish kindly and mutually helpful relations between the Governors and the Governments of the States.

EBEN S. DRAPER

Governor of Massachusetts

I believe that a meeting of Governors may accomplish much good for every section of the country. They naturally can not legislate, nor should they attempt to. They can discuss and can learn many things which are now controlled by law in different States and which would be improvements to the laws of their own States; and they can recommend to the legislatures of their own States the enactment of laws which will bring about these improvements.

These Governors will be the forty-six [now forty-eight] representative units of the States of this great nation. By coming together they will be more than ever convinced that they are integral parts of one nation, and I believe their meeting will tend to remove all notions of sectionalism and will help the patriotism and solidarity of the country.

CHARLES S. DENEEN

Governor of Illinois

The conservation of natural resources often necessitates the cooperation of neighboring States. In such cases, the discussion of proposed conservation work by the representatives of the States concerned is of great importance. It brings to the consideration of these subjects the views and opinions of those most interested and best informed in regard to the questions involved.

The same is true in relation to many subjects of State legislation in which uniformity is desirable. This is especially the case with regard to industrial legislation. The great volume of domestic business is interstate, and the industrial legislation of one State frequently affects, and sometimes fixes, industrial conditions elsewhere. An example of the advantage of cooperation of States in the amendment and revision of laws affecting industry is seen in the agreement by the commissions recently appointed by New York, Wisconsin, and Minnesota to investigate the subjects of employers' liability and workmen's compensation to meet for the joint discussion of these matters. The General Assembly of Illinois is now convened in extraordinary session, and has under consideration the appointment of a similar commission in order that it may meet and cooperate with the commissions of the States named.

Along these and other similar lines it seems to me that the House of Governors will be of practical advantage in the beneficial influence it will exert in the promotion of joint action where that is necessary to secure desired ends.

FRANK W. BENSON Governor of Oregon

President Roosevelt rendered the American people a great service when he invited the Governors of the various States to a conference at the White House in 1908. The subject of conservation of our natural resources received such attention from the assembled Governors that the conservation movement has spread to all parts of the country, and has gained such headway that it will be of lasting benefit to our people. This one circumstance alone proves the wisdom of the conference of Governors, and it is my earnest hope that the organization be made permanent, with annual meetings at our national capital.

Such meetings can not help but have a broadening effect upon our State Executives, for, by interchanging ideas and by learning how the governments of other States are conducted, our Governors will gain experience which ought to prove of great benefit, not only to themselves, but to the commonwealths which they represent. Matters pertaining to interstate relations, taxation, education, conservation, irrigation, waterways, uniform legislation, and the management of State institutions are among the subjects that the conference of Governors will do well to discuss; and such discussions will prove of inestimable value, not only to the people of our different States, but to our country as a whole.

The West is in the front rank of all progressive movements and welcomes the conference of Governors as a step in the right direction.

ALBERT W. GILCHRIST

Governor of Florida

I can only estimate the significance and importance of this conference of Governors by my experience from such a conference in the past. It was my good fortune to be for a week last October on the steamer excursion down the Mississippi River. The Governors held daily conferences. Several elucidated the manner in which some particular governmental problems were solved in their respective States, all of which was more or less interesting. Of the several Federal matters discussed, it was specially interesting to me to hear the various Republican Governors discussing State rights, disputing the right of interference of the General Government on such lines. It "kinder" made me smile. In formal discussions of such matters in public, in Washington, it is probable that such expressions would not be made.

The result of this conference made me feel as if I knew the Governors and the people of the various States therein represented far better than I had before. Such discussions, with the attending personal intercourse, naturally tend to give those participating in them a broader nationality.

The House of Governors will convene; there will be many pleasant social functions and many pleasant associations will be formed. Some of the Governors will speak; all of them will resolute. They will behold evidences of the greatness of our common country and the evidence of the greatness of our public men, as displayed in the rollicking debates in the House, and the "knot on the log" discussions of the Senate. Everything will be as lovely as a Christmas tree. The House will then adjourn.

HERBERT S. HADLEY

Governor of Missouri

During recent years, the development of the National idea has carried with it a marked tendency on the part of the people to look to the National Government for the correction of all evils and abuses existing in commercial, industrial, and political affairs. The importance of the State Governments in the solution of such questions has been minimized, and, in some cases, entirely overlooked, although Congress has been behind, rather than in advance of, public sentiment upon many questions of national importance. The Congressmen are elected by the people of the different Congressional Districts, and regard their most important duty as looking after the interests of their respective districts. The United States Senators are elected by the legislatures of the several States, and do not feel that sense of responsibility to the people that is incident to an election by the people. The Governors of the various States are elected by all of the people of the State, and they are more directly "tribunes of the people" than any other officials, either in our National or State Governments. These officers will thus give a correct expression of the sentiment of the people of the States upon public questions.

While these expressions of opinion will naturally vary according to the sentiments and opinions of the people of the various States represented, yet, on the whole, they will represent more of progress and more of actual contact with present-day problems than could be secured from any similar number of public officials. And the addresses and discussions will also tend to mold the opinions of the people and have a marked influence not only upon State, but also upon National legislation.

PROF. STEPHEN LEACOCK

Few historical events have been so impressive as the sudden and complete union of the South-African States. Seldom have men's minds progressed so rapidly, their life purposes changed so completely. In 1902 England, with the aid of her African colonists in Cape Colony and Natal, was ending a bitter war, almost of extermination, against the Dutch "Boers" of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State. In that year the ablest and most dreaded of England's enemies in Africa was the Dutch General, Louis Botha, leader of the fiercest and most irreconcilable Boers, who still waged a hopeless guerrilla warfare against all the might of the British Empire. As one English paper dramatically phrases it: "One used to see pictures of Botha in the illustrated papers in those days, a gaunt, bearded, formidable figure, with rifle and bandoliers—the most dangerous of our foes. To-day he is the chief servant of the King in the Federation, the loyal head of the Administration under the Crown, one of the half-dozen Prime Ministers of the Empire, the responsible representative and virtual ruler of all races, classes, and sects in South Africa, acclaimed by the men he led in the battle and the rout no less than by the men who faced him across the muzzles of the Mausers ten years ago. Was ever so strange a transformation, so swift an oblivion of old enmities and rancors, so rapid a growth of union and concord out of hatred and strife!"

Necessity has in a way compelled this harmony. The old issue of Boer independence being dead, new and equally vital issues confronted the South-Africans. The whites there are scarcely more than a million in number, and they dwell amid many times their number of savage blacks. They must unite or perish. Moreover, the folly and expense of maintaining four separate governments for so small a population were obvious. So was the need of uniform tariffs in a land where all sea-coast towns found their prosperity in forwarding supplies to the rich central mining regions of Kimberley and Johannesburg. Hence all earnest men of whatever previous opinion came to see the need of union. And when this union had been accomplished, Lord Gladstone, the British viceroy over South Africa, wisely selected as the fittest man for the land's first Prime Minister, General Botha. Botha has sought to unite all interests in the cabinet which he gathered around him.

The clear analysis of the new nation and its situation which follows is reproduced by permission from the American Political Science Review, and is from the pen of Professor Stephen Leacock, head of the department of Political Economy of McGill University in Montreal, Canada. A distinguished citizen of one great British federation may well be accepted as the ablest commentator on the foundation of another.

On May 31, 1910, the Union of South Africa became an accomplished fact. The four provinces of Cape Colony, Natal, the Orange Free State (which bears again its old-time name), and the Transvaal are henceforth joined, one might almost say amalgamated, under a single government. They will bear to the central government of the British Empire the same relation as the other self-governing colonies—Canada, Newfoundland, Australia, and New Zealand. The Empire will thus assume the appearance of a central nucleus with four outlying parts corresponding to geographical and racial divisions, and forming in all a ground-plan that seems to invite a renewal of the efforts of the Imperial Federationist. To the scientific student of government the Union of South Africa is chiefly of interest for the sharp contrast it offers to the federal structure of the American, Canadian, and other systems of similar historical ground. It represents a reversion from the idea of State rights, and balanced indestructible powers and an attempt at organic union by which the constituent parts are to be more and more merged in the consolidated political unit which they combine to form.

But the Union and its making are of great interest also for the general student of politics and history, concerned rather with the development of a nationality than with the niceties of constitutional law. From this point of view the Union comes as the close of a century of strife, as the aftermath of a great war, and indicates the consummation, for the first time in history, of what appears as a solid basis of harmony between the two races in South Africa. In one shape or other union has always been the goal of South-African aspiration. It was "Union" which the "prancing proconsuls" of an earlier time—the Freres, the Shepstones, and the Lanyons—tried to force upon the Dutch. A united Africa was at once the dream of a Rhodes and (perhaps) the ambition of a Kruger. It is necessary to appreciate the strength of this desire for union on the part of both races and the intense South-African patriotism in which it rests in order to understand how the different sections and races of a country so recently locked in the death-struggle of a three years' war could be brought so rapidly into harmonious concert.

The point is well illustrated by looking at the composition of the convention, which, in its sessions at Durban, Cape Town, and Bloemfontein, put together the present constitution. South Africa, from its troubled history, has proved itself a land of strong men. But it was reserved for the recent convention to bring together within the compass of a single council-room the surviving leaders of the period of conflict to work together for the making of a united state. In looking over the list of them and reflecting on the part that they played toward one another in the past, one realizes that we have here a grim irony of history. Among them is General Louis Botha, Prime Minister at the moment of the Transvaal, and now the first prime minister of South Africa. Botha, in the days of Generals Buller and the Dugela, was the hardest fighter of the Boer Republic. Beside him in the convention was Dr. Jameson, whom Botha wanted to hang after the raid in 1896. Another member is Sir George Farrar, who was sentenced to death for complicity in the raid, and still another, Sir Percy Fitzpatrick, once the secretary of the Reform League at Johannesburg and well known as the author of the "Transvaal from Within." One may mention in contrast General Jan Smuts, an ex-leader of the Boer forces, and since the war the organizing brain of the Het Volk party. There is also Mr. Merriman, a leader of the British party of opposition to the war in 1899 and since then a bitter enemy of Lord Milner and the new regime.

Yet strangely enough after some four months of session the convention accomplished the impossible by framing a constitution that met the approval of the united delegates. Of its proceedings no official journal was kept. The convention met first at Durban, October 12, 1908, where it remained throughout that month; after a fortnight's interval it met again at Capetown, and with a three weeks' interruption at Christmas continued and completed its work at the end of the first week of February. The constitution was then laid before the different colonial parliaments. In the Transvaal its acceptance was a matter of course, as the delegates of both parties had reached an agreement on its terms. The Cape Parliament passed amendments which involved giving up the scheme of proportional representation as adopted by the convention. Similar amendments were offered by the Orange River Colony in which the Dutch leader sympathized with the leader of the Afrikanderbond at the Cape in desiring to swamp out, rather than represent, minorities. In Natal, which as an ultra-British and ultra-loyal colony, was generally supposed to be in fear of union, many amendments were offered. The convention then met again at Bloemfontein, made certain changes in the draft of the constitution, and again submitted the document to the colonies. This time it was accepted. Only in Natal was it thought necessary to take a popular vote, and here, contrary to expectation, the people voted heavily in favor of union. The logic of the situation compelled it. In the history of the movement Natal was cast for the same role as Rhode Island in the making of the Federal Union of the United States of America. The other colonies, once brought together into a single system, with power to adopt arrangements in their own interests in regard to customs duties and transportation rates, sheer economic pressure would have compelled the adhesion of Natal. In the constitution now put in force in South Africa the central point of importance is that it established what is practically a unitary and not a federal government. The underlying reason for this is found in the economic circumstances of the country and in the situation in which the provinces found themselves during the years after the war. Till that event the discord of South Africa was generally thought of rather as a matter of racial rivalry and conflicting sovereignties than of simple questions of economic and material interests.

But after the conclusion of the compact of Vereiniging in 1902 it was found that many of the jealousies and difficulties of the respective communities had survived the war, and rested rather upon economic considerations than racial rivalries.

To begin with, there was the question of customs relations. The colonies were separate units, each jealous of its own industrial prosperity. Each had the right to make its own tariff, and yet the division of the country, with four different tariff areas, was obviously to its general disadvantage. Since 1903 the provinces had been held together under the Customs Union of South Africa—made by the governments of the Cape and Natal and the Crown Colony governments of the conquered provinces. This was but a makeshift arrangement, with a common tariff made by treaty, and hence rigidly unalterable, and with a pro-rata division of the proceeds.

Worse still was the railroad problem, which has been in South Africa a bone of contention ever since the opening of the mines of the Rand offered a rich prize to any port and railway that could capture the transit trade.

The essence of the situation is simple. The center of the wealth of South Africa is the Johannesburg mines. This may not be forever the case, but in the present undeveloped state of agriculture and industrial life, Johannesburg is the dominating factor of the country.

Now, Johannesburg can not feed and supply itself. It is too busy. Its one export is gold. Its quarter of a million people must be supplied from the outside. But the Transvaal is an inland country dependent on the seaports of other communities. In position Johannesburg is like the hub of a wheel from which the railways radiate as spokes to the seaports along the rim. The line from Cape Town to Johannesburg, a distance of over 700 miles, was the first completed, and until 1894 the Cape enjoyed a monopoly of carrying the whole trade of Johannesburg. But with the completion of the tunnel through the mountains at Laing's Nek the Natal government railway was able to connect with Johannesburg and the port of Durban entered into competition with the Cape Ports of Cape Town and East London over a line only 485 miles long.

Finally, the opening of the Delagoa Bay Railway in 1894 supplied Johannesburg with an access to the sea over a line 396 miles long, of which 341 was in the Transvaal itself. This last line, it should be noticed, led to a Portuguese seaport, and at the time of its building traversed nowhere British territory. Hence it came about that in the all-important matter of railroad communication the interests of the Transvaal and of the seaboard colonies were diametrically opposed.

To earn as large a revenue as possible it naturally adjusted the rates on its lines so as to penalize the freight from the colonies and favor the Delagoa Bay road. When the colonies tried in 1895 to haul freight by ox-team from their rail-head at the frontier to Johannesburg President Kruger "closed the drifts" and almost precipitated a conflict in arms. Since the war the same situation has persisted, aggravated by the completion of the harbor works and docks at Lorenzo Marques, which favors more than ever the Delagoa route. The Portuguese seaport at present receives some 67 per cent, of the traffic from the Rand, while the Cape ports, which in 1894 had 80 per cent, of the freight, now receive only n per cent.

Under Lord Milner's government the unification of the railways of the Transvaal and the Orange River colony with the Central South-African Railways amalgamated the interests of the inland colonies, but left them still opposed to those of the seaboard. The impossibility of harmonizing the situation under existing political conditions has been one of the most potent forces in creating a united government which alone could deal with the question.

An equally important factor has been the standing problem of the native races, which forms the background of South-African politics. In no civilized country is this question of such urgency. South Africa, with a white population of only 1,133,000 people, contains nearly 7,000,000 native and colored inhabitants, many of them, such as the Zulus and the Basutos, fierce, warlike tribes scarcely affected by European civilization, and wanting only arms and organization to offer a grave menace to the welfare of the white population. The Zulus, numbering a million, inhabiting a country of swamp and jungle impenetrable to European troops, have not forgotten the prowess of a Cetewayo and the victory of Isandhwana.

It may well be that some day they will try the fortune of one more general revolt before accepting the permanent over-lordship of their conquerors. Natal lives in apprehension of such a day. Throughout all South Africa, among both British and Dutch, there is a feeling that Great Britain knows nothing of the native question.

The British people see the native through the softly tinted spectacles of Exeter Hall. When they have given him a Bible and a breech-cloth they fondly fancy that he has become one of themselves, and urge that he shall enter upon his political rights. They do not know that to a savage, or a half-civilized black, a ballot-box and a voting-paper are about as comprehensible as a telescope or a pocket camera—it is just a part of the white man's magic, containing some particular kind of devil of its own. The South-Africans think that they understand the native. And the first tenet of their gospel is that he must be kept in his place. They have seen the hideous tortures and mutilations inflicted in every native war. If the native revolts they mean to shoot him into marmalade with machine guns. Such is their simple creed. And in this matter they want nothing of what Mr. Merriman recently called the "damnable interference" of the mother country. But to handle the native question there had to be created a single South-African Government competent to deal with it.

The constitution creates for South Africa a union entirely different from that of the provinces of Canada or the States of the American Republic. The government is not federal, but unitary. The provinces become areas of local governments, with local elected councils to administer them, but the South-African Parliament reigns supreme. It is to know nothing of the nice division of jurisdiction set up by the American constitution and by the British North America Act. There are, of course, limits to its power. In the strict sense of legal theory, the omnipotence of the British Parliament, as in the case of Canada, remains unimpaired. Nor can it alter certain things,—for example, the native franchise of the Cape, and the equal status of the two languages,—without a special majority vote. But in all the ordinary conduct of trade, industry, and economic life, its power is unhampered by constitutional limitations.

The constitution sets up as the government of South Africa a legislature of two houses—a Senate and a House of Assembly—and with it an executive of ministers on the customary tenure of cabinet government. This government, strangely enough, is to inhabit two capitals: Pretoria as the seat of the Executive Government and Cape Town as the meeting-place of the Parliament. The experiment is a novel one. The case of Simla and Calcutta, in each of which the Indian Government does its business, and on the strength of which Lord Curzon has defended the South-African plan, offers no real parallel. The truth is that in South Africa, as in Australia, it proved impossible to decide between the claims of rival cities. Cape Town is the mother city of South Africa. Pretoria may boast the memories of the fallen republic, and its old-time position as the capital of an independent state. Bloemfontein has the advantage of a central position, and even garish Johannesburg might claim the privilege of the money power. The present arrangement stands as a temporary compromise to be altered later at the will of the parliament.

The making of the Senate demanded the gravest thought. It was desired to avoid if possible the drowsy nullity of the Canadian Upper House and the preponderating "bossiness" of the American. Nor did the example of Australia, where the Senate, elected on a "general ticket" over huge provincial areas, becomes thereby a sort of National Labor Convention, give any assistance in a positive direction. The plan adopted is to cause each present provincial parliament, and later each provincial council, to elect eight senators. The plan of election is by proportional representation, into the arithmetical juggle of which it is impossible here to enter. Eight more senators will be appointed by the Governor, making forty in all. Proportional representation was applied also in the first draft of the constitution to the election of the Assembly.

It was thought that such a plan would allow for the representation of minorities, so that both Dutch and British delegates would be returned from all parts of the country. Unhappily, the Afrikanderbond—the powerful political organization supporting Mr. Merriman, and holding the bulk of the Dutch vote at the Cape—took fright at the proposal. Even Merriman and his colleagues had to vote it down.

Without this they could not have saved the principle of "equal rights," which means the more or less equal (proportionate) representation of town and country. The towns are British and the country Dutch, so the bearing of equal rights is obvious. Proportional representation and equal rights were in the end squared off against one another.

South Africa will retain duality of language, both Dutch and British being in official use. There was no other method open. The Dutch language is probably doomed to extinction within three or four generations. It is, in truth, not one linguistic form, but several: the Taal, or kitchen Dutch of daily speech, the "lingua franca" of South Africa; the School Taal, a modified form of it, and the High Dutch of the Scriptural translations brought with the Boers from Holland. Behind this there is no national literature, and the current Dutch of Holland and its books varies some from all of them. English is already the language of commerce and convenience. The only way to keep Dutch alive is to oppose its use. Already the bitterness of the war has had this effect, and language societies are doing their best to uphold and extend the use of the ancestral language. It is with a full knowledge of this that the leaders of the British parties acquiesced in the principle of duality.

The native franchise was another difficult question. At present neither natives nor "colored men" (the South-African term for men of mixed blood) can vote in the Transvaal, the Orange River, and Natal. Nor is there the faintest possibility of the suffrage being extended to them, both the Dutch and the British being convinced that such a policy is a mistake. In the Cape natives and colored men, if possessed of the necessary property and able to write their names, are allowed to vote. The name writing is said to be a farce, the native drawing a picture of his name under guidance of his political boss. Some 20,000 natives and colored people thus vote at the Cape, and neither the Progressives nor the Bond party dared to oppose the continuance of the franchise, lest the native vote should be thrown solid against them. As a result each province will retain its own suffrage, at least until the South-African Parliament by a special majority of two-thirds in a joint session shall decide otherwise.

The future conformation of parties under the union is difficult to forecast. At present the Dutch parties—they may be called so for lack of a better word—have large majorities everywhere except in Natal. In the Transvaal General Botha's party—Het Volk, the Party of the People—is greatly in the ascendant. But it must be remembered that Het Volk numbers many British adherents. For instance, Mr. Hull, Botha's treasurer in the outgoing Government, is an old Johannesburg "reformer," of the Uitlander days, and fought against the Boers in the war. In the Orange Free State the party called the Unie (or United party) has a large majority, while at the Cape Dr. Jameson's party of progressives can make no stand against Mr. Merriman, Mr. Malan, Mr. Sauer, and the powerful organization of the Afrikanderbond.

How the new Government will be formed it is impossible to say. Botha and Merriman will, of course, constitute its leading factors. But whether they will attempt a coalition by taking in with them such men as Sir Percy Fitzpatrick and Dr. Jameson, or will prefer a more united and less universal support is still a matter of conjecture. From the outsider's point of view, a coalition of British and Dutch leaders, working together for the future welfare of a common country, would seem an auspicious opening for the new era. But it must be remembered that General Botha is under no necessity whatever to form such a coalition. If he so wishes he can easily rule the country without it as far as a parliamentary majority goes. Not long since an illustrious South-African, a visitor to Montreal, voiced the opinion that Botha's party will rule South Africa for twenty years undisturbed. But it is impossible to do more than conjecture what will happen. Ex Africa semper quid novi.

Most important of all is the altered relation in which South Africa will now stand to the British Empire.

The Imperial Government may now be said to evacuate South Africa, and to leave it to the control of its own people. It is true that for the time being the Imperial Government will continue to control the native protectorates of Basutoland, Bechuanaland, and Swaziland. But the Constitution provides for the future transfer of these to the administration of a commission appointed by the colonial Government. Provision is also made for the future inclusion of Rhodesia within the Union. South Africa will therefore find itself on practically the same footing as Canada or Australia within the British Empire. What its future fate there will be no man can yet foretell. In South Africa, as in the other Dominions, an intense feeling of local patriotism and "colonial nationalism" will be matched against the historic force and the practical advantages of the Imperial connection. Even in Canada, there is no use in denying it, there are powerful forces which, if unchecked, would carry us to an ultimate independence. Still more is this the case in South Africa.

It is a land of bitter memories. The little people that fought for their republics against a world in arms have not so soon forgotten. It is idle for us in the other parts of the Empire to suppose that the bitter memory of the conflict has yet passed, that the Dutch have forgotten the independence for which they fought, the Vier Klur flag that is hidden in their garrets still, and the twenty thousand women and children that lie buried in South Africa as the harvest of the conqueror. If South Africa is to stay in the Empire it will have to be because the Empire will be made such that neither South Africa nor any other of the dominions would wish to leave it. For this, much has already been done. The liberation of the Transvaal and Orange River from the thraldom of their Crown Colony Government, and the frank acceptance of the Union Constitution by the British Government are the first steps in this direction. Meantime that future of South Africa, as of all the Empire, lies behind a veil.

WILLIAM ARCHER

The wave of democratic revolt which had swept over Europe during the first decade of the twentieth century was continued in 1910 by the revolution in Portugal. This, as the result of long secret planning, burst forth suddenly before dawn on the morning of October 4th. Before nightfall the revolution was accomplished and the young king, Manuel, was a fugitive from his country.

The change had been long foreseen. The selfishness and blindness of the Portuguese monarchs and their supporters had been such as to make rebellion inevitable, and its ultimate success certain. Mr. William Archer, the noted English journalist, who was sent post-haste to watch the progress of the revolution, could not reach the scene before the brief tumult was at an end; but he here gives a picture of the joyous celebration of freedom that followed, and then traces with power and historic accuracy the causes and conduct of the dramatic scene which has added Portugal to the ever-growing list of Republics.

When the poet Wordsworth and his friend Jones landed at Calais in 1790 they found

   "France standing on the top of golden years
   And human nature seeming born again."

Not once, but fifty times, in Portugal these lines came back to my mind. The parallel, it may be said, is an ominous one, in view of subsequent manifestations of the reborn French human nature. But there is a world of difference between Portugal and France, between the House of Braganza and the House of Bourbon.

It was nearly one in the morning when my train from Badajoz drew into the Rocio station at Lisbon; yet I had no sooner passed the barrier than I heard a band in the great hall of the station strike up an unfamiliar but not unpleasing air, the rhythm of which plainly announced it to be a national anthem—a conjecture confirmed by a wild burst of cheering at the close. The reason of this midnight demonstration I never ascertained; but, indeed, no one in Lisbon asks for a reason for striking up "A Portugueza," the new patriotic song. Before twenty-four hours had passed I was perfectly familiar with its rather plaintive than martial strains, suited, no doubt, to the sentimental character of the people. An American friend, who arrived a day or two after me, made acquaintance with "A Portugueza" even more immediately than I did. Soon after passing the frontier he fell into conversation with a Portuguese fellow traveler, who, in the course of ten minutes or so, asked him whether he would like to hear the new national anthem, and then and there sang it to him, amid great applause from the other occupants of the compartment. In the cafés and theaters of Lisbon "A Portugueza" may break out at any moment, without any apparent provocation, and you must, of course, stand up and uncover; but there is in some quarters a movement of protest against these observances as savoring of monarchical flunkyism. When I left Lisbon at half-past seven A.M. there was no demonstration such as had greeted my arrival; but at the first halting-place a man stepped out from a little crowd on the platform and shouted "Viva Machado dos Santos! Viva a Republica Portugueza!"—and I found that the compartment adjoining my own was illumined by the presence of the bright particular star of the revolt. At the next station—Torres Vedras of historic fame—the platform was crowded and scores of red and green flags were waving. As the train steamed in, two bands struck up "A Portugueza," and as one had about two minutes' start of the other, the effect was more patriotic than harmonious. The hero had no sooner alighted than he was lifted shoulder-high by the crowd, and carried in triumph from the station, amid the blaring of the bands and the crackling of innumerable little detonators, which here enter freely into the ritual of rejoicing. Next morning I read in the papers a full account of the "Apoteose" of Machado dos Santos, which seems to have kept Torres Vedras busy and happy all day long.

One can not but smile at such simple-minded ebullitions of feeling; yet I would by no means be understood to laugh at them. On the contrary, they are so manifestly spontaneous and sincere as to be really touching. Whatever may be the future of the Portuguese Republic, it has given the nation some weeks of unalloyed happiness. And amid all the shouting and waving of flags, all the manifold "homages" to this hero and to that, there was not the slightest trace of rowdyism or of "mafficking." I could not think without some humiliation of the contrast between a Lisbon and a London crowd. It really seemed as though happiness had ennobled the man in the street. I am assured that on the day of the public funeral of Dr. Bombarda and Admiral dos Reis, though the crowd was enormous and the police had retired into private life, there was not the smallest approach to disorder. The police—formerly the sworn enemies of the populace—had been reinstated at the time of my visit, without their swords and pistols; but they seemed to have little to do. That Lisbon had become a strictly virtuous city it would be too much to affirm, but I believe that crime actually diminished after the revolution. It seemed as though the nation had awakened from a nightmare to a sunrise of health and hope.

And the nightmare took the form of a poor bewildered boy, guilty only of having been thrust, without a spark of genius, into a situation which only genius could have saved. In that surface aspect of the case there is an almost ludicrous disproportion between cause and effect. But it is not what the young King was that matters—it is what he stood for. Let us look a little below the surface—even, if we can, into the soul of the people.

Portugal is a small nation with a great history; and the pride of a small nation which has anything to be proud of is apt to amount to a passion. It is all the more sensitive because it can not swell and harden into arrogance. It is all the more alert because the great nations, in their arrogance, are apt to ignore it.

What are the main sources of Portugal's pride? They are two: her national independence and her achievements in discovery and colonization.

A small country, with no very clear natural frontier, she has maintained her independence under the very shadow of a far larger and at one time an enormously preponderant Power. Portugal was Portugal long before Spain was Spain. It had its Alfred the Great in Alfonso Henriques (born 1111—a memorable date in two senses), who drove back the Moors as Alfred drove back the Danes. He founded a dynasty of able and energetic kings, which, however, degenerated, as dynasties will, until a vain weakling, Ferdinand the Handsome, did his best to wreck the fortunes of the country. On his death in 1383, Portugal was within an ace of falling into the clutches of Castile, but the Cortes conferred the kingship on a bastard of the royal house, John, Master of the Knights of Aviz; and he, aided by five hundred English archers, inflicted a crushing defeat on the Spaniards at Aljubarrota, the Portuguese Bannockburn. John of Aviz, known as the Great, married Philippa of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt; and from this union sprang a line of princes and kings under whom Portugal became one of the leading nations of Europe. Prince Henry the Navigator, son of John the Great, devoted his life to the furthering of maritime adventure and discovery. Like England's First Lords of the Admiralty, he was a navigator who did not navigate; but it was unquestionably owing to the impulse he gave to Portuguese enterprise that Vasco da Gama discovered the sea route to India and Pedro Alvarez Cabral secured for his country the giant colony of Brazil. Angola, Mozambique, Diu, Goa, Macao—these names mean as much for Portugal as Havana, Cartagena, Mexico, and Lima, for Spain. The sixteenth century was the "heroic" age of Portuguese history, and the "heroes"—notably the Viceroys of Portuguese India—were, in fact, a race of fine soldiers and administrators. No nation, moreover, possesses more conspicuous and splendid memorials of its golden age. It was literally "golden," for Emmanuel the Fortunate, who reaped the harvest sown by Henry the Navigator, was the wealthiest monarch in Europe, and gave his name to the "Emmanueline" style of architecture, a florid Gothic which achieves miracles of ostentation and sometimes of beauty. As the glorious pile of Batalha commemorates the victory of Aljubarrota, so the splendid church and monastery of Belem mark the spot where Vasco da Gama spent the night before he sailed on his epoch-making voyage. But it was not gold that raised the noblest memorial to Portugal's greatness: it was the genius of Luis de Camoens. If Spenser, instead of losing himself in mazes of allegoric romance, had sung of Crécy and Agincourt, of Drake, Frobisher, and Raleigh, he might have given us a national epic in the same sense in which the term applies to The Lusiads. With such a history, so written in stone and song, what wonder if pride of race is one of the mainsprings of Portuguese character!

But the House of Aviz, like the legitimate line of Affonso Henriques, dwindled into debility. It flickered out in Dom Sebastian, who dragged his country into a mad invasion of Morocco and vanished from human ken on the disastrous battlefield of Alcazar-Khebir. Then, for sixty years, not by conquest, but by intrigue, Portugal passed under the sway of Spain, and lost to the enemies of Spain—that is to say, to England and Holland—a large part of her colonial empire. At last, in 1640, a well-planned and daring revolution expelled the Spanish intruders, and placed on the throne John, Duke of Braganza. As the house of Aviz was an illegitimate branch of the stock of Affonso Henriques, so the Braganzas were an illegitimate branch of the House of Aviz, with none of the Plantagenet blood in them. Only one prince of the line, Pedro II., can be said to have attained anything like greatness. Another, Joseph, had the sense to give a free hand to an able, if despotic, minister, the Marquis of Pombal. But, on the whole, the history of the Braganza rule was one of steady decadence, until the second half of the nineteenth century found the country one of the most backward in Europe.

Nor was there any comfort to be found in the economic aspect of the case. A country of glorious fertility and ideal climatic conditions, inhabited by an industrious peasantry, Portugal was nevertheless so poor that much of its remaining strength was year by year being drained away by emigration. The public debt was almost as heavy per head of population as that of England. Taxation was crushing. The barest necessaries of life were subject to heavy imposts. Protection protected, not industries, but monopolies and vested interests.

In short, the material condition of the country was as distressing as its spiritual state to any one with the smallest sense of enlightened patriotism.

King Charles I.—name of evil omen!—ascended the throne in 1889. His situation was not wholly unlike that of the English Charles I., inasmuch as—though he had not the insight to perceive it—his lot was cast in times when Portugal was outgrowing the traditions and methods of his family. Representative government, as it had shaped itself since 1852, was a fraud and a farce. To every municipality a Government administrator was attached (at an annual cost to the country of something like £70,000), whose business it was to "work" the elections in concert with the local caciques or bosses. Thus, except in the great towns, the Government candidate was always returned. The efficacy of the system may be judged from the fact that in a country which was at heart Republican, as events have amply shown, the Republican party never had more than fourteen representatives in a chamber of about 150. For the rest, the Monarchical parties, "Regeneradores" and "Progresistas," arranged between them a fair partition of the loaves and fishes. This "rotative" system, as it is called, is in effect that which prevails, or has prevailed, in Spain; but it was perfected in Portugal by a device which enabled Ministers, in stepping out of office under the crown, to step into well-paid posts in financial institutions, more or less associated with the State. Anything like real progress was manifestly impossible under so rotten a system; and with this system the Monarchy was identified.

Then came the scandal of the adeantamentos, or illegal advances made to the King, beyond the sums voted in the civil list. It is only fair to remember that the king of a poor country is nowadays in a very uncomfortable position, more especially if the poor country has once been immensely rich. The expenses of royalty, like those of all other professions, have enormously increased of late years; and a petty king who is to rub shoulders with emperors is very much in the position of a man with £2,000 a year in a club of millionaires. He has always the resource, no doubt, of declining the society of emperors, and even fixing his domestic budget more in accord with present exigencies than with the sumptuous traditions, the palaces and pleasure-houses, of his millionaire predecessors. It is said of Pedro II. that "he had the wisdom and self-restraint not to increase the taxes, preferring to reduce the expenses of his household to the lowest possible amount." But Dom Carlos was not a man of this kidney. Easy-going and self-indulgent, he had no notion of appearing in forma pauperis among the royalties of Europe, or sacrificing his pleasures to the needs of his country. Even his father, Dom Luis, and his uncle, Dom Pedro, had not lived within their income; and expenses had gone up since their times. The king's income, under the civil list, was a "conto of reis" a day, or something over £80,000 a year. Additional allowances to other members of the royal family amounted to about half as much again; and there was, I believe, an allowance for the upkeep of palaces. One would suppose that a reasonably frugal royal family, with no house-rent to pay, could subsist in tolerable comfort on some £2,250 a week; but as a matter of fact, Dom Carlos made large additional drafts on the treasury, which servile ministries honored without protest. He had expensive fantasies, which he was not in the habit of stinting. The total of his "anticipations" I do not know, but it is estimated in millions of pounds.

These eccentricities, combined with other abuses of finance and administration, rendered even the cacique-chosen Cortes unruly, and our Charles I. looked about for a Strafford who should apply a "thorough" remedy to what he called the parliamentary gâchis. He found his man in João Franco. This somewhat enigmatic personage can not as yet be estimated with any impartiality. No one accuses him of personal corruption or of sordidly interested motives. His great private wealth enabled him the other day to find bail, at a moment's notice, to the amount of £40,000. On the other hand, his enemies diagnose him after the manner of Lombroso, and find him to be a degenerate and an epileptic, ungovernably irritable, vain, mendacious, arrogant, sometimes quite irresponsible for his actions. A really strong man he can scarcely be; scarcely a man of true political insight, else he would not have tried to play the despot with no plausible ideal to allege in defense of his usurpation. Be that as it may, he agreed with the King that it was impossible to carry on the work of government with a fractious Cortes in session, and that the only way to keep things going was to try the experiment of a dictatorship. Dom Carlos, in his genial fashion, overcame by help of an anecdote any doubt his minister may have felt. "When the affairs of Frederick the Great were at a low ebb," said the King, "he one day, on the eve of a decisive battle, caught a grenadier in the act of making off from the camp. 'What are you about?' asked Frederick. 'Your Majesty, I am deserting,' stammered the soldier. 'Wait till to-morrow,' replied Frederick calmly, 'and if the battle goes against us, we will desert together.'" Thus lightly was the adventure plotted; and, in fact, the minister did not desert until the King lay dead upon the field of battle.

Franco dissolved the Cortes, and on May 10, 1907, published a decree declaring the "administration to be a dictatorship." The Press was strictly gagged, and all the traditional weapons of despotism were polished up. In June, the dictator went to Oporto to defend his policy at a public banquet, and on his return a popular tumult took place in the Rocio, the central square of Lisbon, which was repressed with serious bloodshed. This was made the excuse for still more galling restrictions on personal and intellectual liberty, until it was hard to distinguish between "administrative dictatorship" and autocracy. As regards the adeantamentos, Franco's declared policy was to make a clean slate of the past, and, for the future, to augment the civil list. In the autumn of that year, a very able Spanish journalist and deputy, Señor Luis Morote, visited most of the leading men in Portugal, and found among the Republicans an absolute and serene confidence that the Monarchy was in its last ditch and that a Republic was inevitable. Seldom have political prophecies been more completely fulfilled than those which Morote then recorded in the Heraldo of Madrid. Said Bernardino Machado:

"The Republic is the fatherland organized for its prosperity…. I believe in the moral forces of Portugal, which are carrying us directly toward the new order of things…. We shall triumph because the right is on our side, and the moral idealism; peacefully if we can, and I think it pretty sure that we can, since no public force can stop a nation on the march."

Said Guerra Junqueiro, the leading poet of the day: "Within two years there will be no Braganzas or there will be no Portugal….The revolution, when it comes, will be a question of hours, and it will be almost bloodless."

I could cite many other deliverances to the same effect, but one must suffice. Theophilo Braga, the "grand old man" of Portugal, said: "To stimulate the faith, conscience, will, and revolutionary energies of the country, I have imposed on myself a plan of work, and a mandate not to die until I see it accomplished."

The Paris Temps of November 14, 1907, published an interview with Dom Carlos which embittered feeling and alienated many of his supporters. "Everything is quiet in Lisbon," declared the King, echoing another historic phase: "Only the politicasters are agitating themselves…. It was necessary that the gâchis—there is no other word for it—should one day come to an end…. I required an undaunted will which should be equal to the task of carrying my ideas to a happy conclusion…. I am entirely satisfied with M. Franco. Ça marche. And it will continue; it must continue for the good of the country…. In no country can you make a revolution without the army. Well, the Portuguese Army is faithful to its King, and I shall always have it at my side…. I have no shadow of doubt of its fidelity." Poor Charles the First!

At the end of January, 1908, a revolutionary plot was discovered, and was put down with severity. After signing some decrees to that end, at one of his palaces beyond the Tagus, the King, with his whole family, returned to Lisbon and the party drove in open carriages from the wharf toward the Necessidades Palace. In the crowd at the corner of the great riverside square, the Praça do Comercio, stood two men named Buiça and Costa, with carbines concealed under their cloaks. They shot dead the King and the Crown Prince, and slightly wounded Dom Manuel. Both the assassins were killed on the spot.

It is said that there was no plot, and that these men acted entirely on their own initiative and responsibility. At any rate, none of the Republican leaders was in any way implicated in the affair. But on All Saints' day of 1910, Buiça's grave shared to the full in the rain of wreaths poured upon the tombs of the martyrs of the new Republic; and relics of the regicides hold an honored place in the historical museum which commemorates the revolution.

Franco vanished into space, and Dom Manuel, aged nineteen, ascended the throne. Had he possessed strong intelligence and character, or had he fallen into the hands of really able advisers, it is possible that the revulsion of feeling following on so grim a tragedy might have indefinitely prolonged the life of the Monarchy. But his mother was a Bourbon, and what more need be said? The opinion in Lisbon, at any rate, was that "under Dom Carlos the Jesuits entered the palace by the back door, under Dom Manuel by the front door." The Republican agitation in public, the revolutionary organization in secret, soon recommenced with renewed vigor; and the discovery of new scandals in connection with the tobacco monopoly and a financial institution, known as the "Credito Predial," added fuel to the fire of indignation. The Government, or rather a succession of Governments, were perfectly aware that the foundations of the Monarchy were undermined; but they seemed to be paralyzed by a sort of fatalistic despair. They persecuted, indeed, just enough to make themselves doubly odious; but they always laid hands on people who, if not quite innocent, were subordinate and uninfluential. Not one of the real leaders of the revolution was arrested.

The thoroughness with which the Republican party was organized says much for the practical ability of its leaders. The moving spirits in the central committee were Vice-Admiral Candido dos Reis, Affonso Costa (now Minister of Justice), Joao Chagas, and Dr. Miguel Bombarda. Simoes Raposo spoke in the name of the Freemasons; the Carbonaria Portugueza, a powerful secret society, was represented by Machado dos Santos, an officer in the navy. There was a separate finance committee, and funds were ample. The arms bought were mostly Browning pistols, which were smuggled over the Spanish frontier by Republican railway conductors. Bombs also were prepared in large numbers, not for purposes of assassination, but for use in open warfare, especially against cavalry. Meanwhile an untiring secret propaganda was going on in the army, in the navy, and among the peasantry. Almost every seaman in the navy, and in many regiments almost all the non-commissioned officers and men, were revolutionaries; while commissioned officers by the score were won over. It is marvelous that so wide-spread a propaganda was only vaguely known to the Government, and did not beget a crowd of informers. One man, it is true, who showed a disposition to use his secret knowledge for purposes of blackmail, was found dead in the streets of Cascaes. On the whole, not only secrecy but discipline was marvelously maintained.

At last the propitious moment arrived. Three ships of war—the Dom Carlos, the Adamastor, and the San Raphael—were in the Tagus to do honor to the President-elect of Brazil, who was visiting King Manuel; but the Government knew that their presence was dangerous, and would certainly order them off again as soon as possible. The blow must be struck before that occurred. At a meeting of the committee on October 2, 1910, it was agreed that the signal should be given in the early morning of October 4th. All the parts were cast, all the duties were assigned: who should call this and that barrack to arms, who should cut this and that railway line, who should take possession of the central telegraph-office, and so forth. The whole scheme was laid down in detail in a precious paper, in the keeping of Simôes Raposo. "You had better give it to me," said Dr. Bombarda, "for I am less likely than you to be arrested. Even if they should think of searching at Rilhafolles [the asylum of which he was director], I can easily hide it in one of the books of my library." His suggestion was accepted, the paper on which their lives and that of the Republic depended was handed to him, and the meeting broke up.

On the morning of Monday, October 3d, all was as quiet in Lisbon as King Carlos himself could have desired. At about eleven o'clock Dr. Bombarda sat in his office at the asylum, when a former patient, a young lieutenant who had suffered from the persecution mania, was announced to see him. Bombarda rose and asked him how he was. Without a word the visitor produced a Browning pistol and fired point blank at the physician, putting three bullets in his body. Bombarda had strength enough to seize his assailant by the wrists and hand him over to the attendants who rushed in. He then walked down-stairs unaided before he realized how serious were his wounds. It soon appeared, however, that he had not many hours to live; and when this became clear to him, he took a paper from his pocketbook and insisted that it should be burned before his eyes. What the paper was I need not say. At about six in the evening he died.

Bombarda was a passionate anticlerical, and his murderer was a fanatical Catholic. The citizens, with whom he was very popular, jumped at the conclusion that the priests had inspired the deed. As soon as his death was announced in the transparency outside the office of O Seculo, there were demonstrations of anger among the crowd and some conflicts with the police.

Meanwhile the Revolutionary Committee, to the number of fifty or thereabouts, were sitting in the Rua da Esperança, discussing the question, "To be or not to be." The military members counseled delay, for the Government had ordered all officers to be at their quarters in the various barracks which are scattered over the city. The intention had been to choose a time when most of the officers were off duty and the men could mutiny at their ease; but this plan had for the moment been frustrated. The military view might have carried the day, but for the determination shown by Candido dos Reis, who pointed out that it would be madness to give the Government time to order the ships out of the Tagus. Finally, he turned to the military group, saying, "If you will not go out, I will go out alone with the sailors. I shall have the honor of getting myself shot by my comrades of the army." His insistence carried all before it, and it was decided that the signal should be given, as previously arranged, at one o'clock in the morning.

That evening, at the Palace of Belem, some two miles down the Tagus from the Necessidades Palace, Marshal Hermes da Fonseca, President-elect of Brazil, was entertaining King Manuel at a State dinner. There was an electrical sense of disquiet in the air. Several official guests were absent, and every few minutes there came telephone-calls for this or that minister or general, some of whom reappeared, while some did not. At last the tension got so much on the nerves of the young King that he scribbled on his menu-card a request that the banquet might be shortened; and, in fact, one or two courses were omitted. Then followed the dreary ritual of toasts; and at last, at half-past eleven, Dom Manuel parted from his host and set off in his automobile, escorted by a troop of cavalry. Two bands played the royal anthem. Had he known, poor youth, that he was never to hear it again, there might have been a crumb of consolation in the thought.

It would be impossible without a map to make clear the various phases of the Battle of Lisbon. Nor would there be any great interest in so doing. There was no particular strategy in the revolutionary plans, and what strategy there was fell to pieces at an early point. It is not clear that the signal was ever formally given, but about the appointed hour mutinies broke out in several barracks. In some cases the Royalist officers were put under arrest, in one case a colonel and two other officers were shot. A mixed company of soldiers and civilians, with ten or twelve guns, marched, as had been arranged, upon the Necessidades Palace, to demand the abdication of the King; but they were met on the heights behind the palace by a body of the "guardia municipal," and, after a sharp skirmish, were forced to retire, leaving three of their guns disabled behind them. They retreated to the general rallying-point of the Republican forces, the Rotunda, at the upper end of the mile-long Avenida da Liberdade. This avenue stands to the Rocio very much in the relation of Charing Cross Road to Trafalgar Square: there is a curve at their junction which prevents you from seeing—or shooting—from the one into the other. On reaching the Rotunda, the insurgents learned that the Rocio had been occupied by Royalist troops, from the Citadel of St. George and another barrack, with one or two machine guns, but no cannon.

There, then, the two forces lay, with a short mile of sloping ground between them, awaiting the dawn. Under cover of darkness, a body of mounted gendarmes attempted to charge the insurgent position, but they were repulsed by bombs.

Meanwhile, what had become of the naval cooperation, on which so much reliance had been placed? It had failed, through the tragic weakness of one man. Candido dos Reis is one of the canonized saints of the Republic; but I think it shows a good deal of generosity in the Portuguese character that the Devil's Advocate has not made himself heard in the case. Dos Reis had undertaken the command of the naval side of the revolt; but oddly enough, he seems to have arranged no method of conveyance to his post of duty. He found at the wharf a small steamer, the captain of which agreed to take him off to the ships; but there was some delay in getting up steam. During this pause, some one as yet unidentified, but evidently a friend of Dos Reis, rushed down to the wharf and shouted to him that the revolt was crushed and all was lost. Dos Reis, who had assumed his naval uniform on board the steamer, took it off again, and, in civilian attire, went ashore. He proceeded to his sister's house, where he spent an hour; then he sallied forth again, and was found next morning in a distant quarter of the city with a bullet through his brain.

There is no doubt that he committed suicide. The theory of foul play is quite abandoned. As it was he who had vetoed the proposed postponement of the rising, one can understand that the sense of responsibility lay heavy upon him; but that, without inquiry into the alleged disaster, without the smallest attempt to retrieve it, he should have left his comrades in the lurch and taken the easiest way of escape, is surely a proof of almost criminal instability. The Republic lost in him an ardent patriot, but scarcely a great leader.

The dawn of Tuesday, October 4th, showed the fortunes of the revolt at rather a low ebb. The land forces were dismayed by the inaction of the ships; the sailors imagined, from the non-appearance of their leader, that some disaster must have occurred on land. It was in these hours of despondency that the true heroes of the revolution showed their mettle.

In the bivouac at the Rotunda, as the morning wore on, the Republican officers declared that the game was up, and that there was nothing for it but to disperse and await the consequences. They themselves actually made off; and it was then that Machado dos Santos came to the front, taking command of the insurgent force and reviving their drooping spirits. The position was not really a strong one. For one thing, it is commanded by the heights of the Misericordia; and there was, in fact, some long-range firing between the insurgents and the Guardia Municipal stationed on that eminence. Again, the gentle slope of the Avenida, a hundred yards wide, is clothed by no fewer than ten rows of low trees, acacias, and the like, five rows on each side of the comparatively narrow roadway, which is blocked at the lower end by a massive monument to the liberators of 1640. Thus the insurgents could not see their adversaries even when they ventured out of their sheltered position in the Rocio; and the artillery fire from the Rotunda did much more damage to the hotels that flanked the narrow neck of the Avenida than to the Royalist forces. On the other hand, it would have been comparatively easy for the Royalists, with a little resolution, to have crept up the Avenida under cover of the trees, and driven the insurgents from their position. Fortunately for the revolt, there was a total lack of leadership on the Royalist side, excusable only on the ground that the officers could not rely on their men.

While things were at a deadlock on the Avenida, critical events were happening on the Tagus. On all three ships, the officers knew that the men were only awaiting a signal to mutiny; but the signal did not come. At this juncture, and while it seemed that the Republican cause was lost, a piece of heroic bluff on the part of a single officer saved the situation. Lieutenant Tito de Moraes put off in a small boat from the naval barracks at Alcantara, rowed to the San Raphael, boarded it, and calmly took possession of it in the name of the Republic! He gave the officers a written guaranty that they had yielded to superior force, and then sent them off under arrest to the naval barracks. He now asked for orders from the Revolutionary Committee; and early in the afternoon the San Raphael weighed anchor and moved down the river in the direction of the Necessidades Palace. In doing so she had to pass the most powerful ship of the squadron, the Dom Carlos: would she get past in safety? Yes; the Dom Carlos made no sign. The officers were almost all Royalists, but they knew they could do nothing with the crew. As a matter of fact when the crew ultimately mutinied, the captain and a lieutenant were severely wounded; but I can find no evidence for the picturesque legend of a group of officers making a last heroic stand on the quarter-deck, and ruthlessly mowed down by the insurgents' fire. It is certain, at any rate, that no lives were lost.

In the Palace, on its bluff above the river, King Manuel was practically alone. No minister, no general, was at his side. It is said, on what seems to be good authority, that when he saw the San Raphael moving down-stream under the Republican colors, he telephoned to the Prime Minister, Teixeira de Sousa, to ask whether there was not a British destroyer in the river that could be got to sink the mutinous vessel. Even if this scheme had been otherwise feasible, it would have demanded an effort of which the minister was no longer capable. At about two in the afternoon the San Raphael, cruising slowly up and down, opened fire upon the Palace, and her second shot brought down the royal standard from its roof. What could the poor boy do? To sit still and be blown to pieces would have been heroic, but useless. Had he had the stuff of a soldier in him, he might have made his way to the Rocio and tried to put some energy into the officers, some spirit into the troops. But he had no one to encourage and support him. Such counselors as he had were all for flight. He stepped into his motor-car, set off for Cintra and Mafra, and is henceforth out of the saga.

The flight of Dom Manuel meant the collapse of his cause. It is true that the Royalists were reenforced by certain detachments of troops who came in from the country, and, beaten off by the insurgents at the Rotunda, made their way to the Rocio by a circuitous route. The Guardia Municipal, too, were stanch, and showed fight at several points. It was the total lack of spirited leadership that left the insurgents masters of the field. Having done its work at the Necessidades, the San Raphael moved up stream again, and began dropping shells over the intervening parallelogram of the "Low City" into the crowded Rocio. They caused little loss of life, for they were skilfully timed to explode in air; the object being, not to massacre, but to dismay. There is nothing so trying to soldiers as to remain inactive under fire; and as there had never been much fight in the garrison of the Rocio, the little that was left speedily evaporated. At eleven in the morning of Wednesday, October 5th, the Republic was proclaimed from the balcony of the Town Hall, and before night fell all was once more quiet in Lisbon.

The first accounts of the fighting which appeared in the European Press were, as was only natural, greatly exaggerated. A careful enumeration places the number of the killed at sixty-one and of the wounded at 417. Some of the latter, indeed, died of their wounds, but the whole death-roll certainly did not exceed a hundred.

The Portuguese Monarchy was dead; and the causes of death, as disclosed by the autopsy, were moral bankruptcy and intellectual inanition. It could not point to a single service that it rendered to the country in return for the burdens it imposed. Some of its defenders professed to see in it a safeguard for the colonies, which would somehow fly off into space in the event of a revolution. As yet there are no signs of this prophecy coming true; but the prophets may cling, if they please, to the hope of its fulfilment. For the rest, it was perfectly clear that the monarchy had done nothing for the material or spiritual advancement of the country, which remained as poverty-stricken and as illiterate as it well could be. Dom Carlos had not even the common prudence to affect, if he did not feel, a sympathy with the nation's pride in its "heroes." The Monarchy could boast neither of good deeds nor of good intentions. Its cynicism was not tempered by intelligence. It drifted toward the abyss without making any reasonable effort to save itself; for the dictatorship was scarcely an effort of reason. "The dictatorship," said Bernardino Machado, the present Foreign Minister, "left us only one liberty—that of hatred." And again, "The monarchy had not even a party—it had only a clientèle." That one word explains the disappearance of Royalism.

For it has simply disappeared. Even the Royalist Press is almost extinct. Some papers have ceased to appear, some have become Republican, the few who stick to their colors do so rather from clerical than from specifically Royalist conviction. All the leading papers of the country had long been Republican; and excellent papers they are. Both in appearance and in matter, O Mundo and A Lucta ("The Struggle") would do credit to the journalism of any country. In size, in excellence of production, and in the well-considered weight of their articles, they contrast strangely with the flimsy, ill-printed sheets that content the Spanish public.

The Provisional Government has been sneered at as a clique of "intellectuals"; but it is scarcely a reproach to the Republic that it should command the adhesion of the whole intelligence of the country. Nor is there any sign of lack of practical sense in the admirable organization which not only insured the success of the revolution (in spite of certain cross accidents) but secured its absolutely peaceful acceptance throughout the country. There are no doubt visionary and fantastic spirits in the Republican ranks, and ridiculous proposals have already been mooted. For instance, it has been gravely suggested that all streets bearing the names of saints—and there are hundreds of them—should be renamed in commemoration of Republican heroes, dates, exploits, etc. But the common sense of the people and Press is already on the alert, and such whimsies are being laughed out of court.

Of the Provisional Government I saw only the President and the Foreign Secretary. The President, an illustrious scholar, historian, and poet, is a delightful old man of the simplest, most unassuming manners, and eagerly communicative on the subjects which have been the study of his life. When I asked him to explain to me the difference of national character which made the Portuguese attitude toward the Church so different from the Spanish, he took me right back to the Ligurians—far out of my ethnological depth—and gave me a most interesting sketch of the development of the two nations. But when we came to topics of more immediate importance, he showed, if I may venture to say so, a clear practical sense, quite remote from visionary idealism. The Foreign Minister, Dr. Machado, is of more immediately impressive personality. Younger than the President by at least ten years, yet little short, I should guess, of sixty, he is extremely neat and dapper in person, while his very handsome face has a birdlike keenness and alertness of expression betokening not only great intelligence but high-strung vitality. He is a copious, eloquent, and witty talker, and his remarkable charm of manner accounts, in part at any rate, for his immense popularity. Assuredly no monarchy could have more distinguished representatives than this Republic.

The desire of the Republic to "play fair" was manifested in another little trait that interested me a good deal. In the window of every book-shop in Spain a translation from the Portuguese, entitled Los Escandalos de la Corte de Portugal, is prominently displayed. It is a ferocious lampoon upon the royal family and upon Franco; but in Lisbon I looked for it in vain. On inquiry I learned that it had been prohibited under the Monarchy, as it could not fail to be; but, had there been any demand for it, no doubt it might have been reprinted since the revolution. There was apparently no demand. The people to whom I spoke of it evidently regarded it as "hitting below the belt." "We do not fight with such weapons," said a leading journalist. In no one, in fact, did I discover the slightest desire or willingness to retail personal gossip with respect to the hated Braganzas.

A.D. 1910

JOHN JACKOL BARON VON PLEHVE BARON SERGIUS WITTE J.N. REUTER

In the midst of progress comes reaction. The far northern European country of Finland had for a century been progressing in advance of its neighbors. It was a true democracy. It had even established, first of European lands, the full suffrage for women; and numerous women sat in its parliament. But Finland was tributary to Russia; and Russia, as far back as 1898, began a deliberate policy of crushing Finland, "nationalizing" it, was the Russian phrase, by which was meant compelling it to abandon its independence, adopt the Russian language, and become an integral part of the empire under Russian officials and Russian autocracy.

Under pressure of this repressive policy, the Finns began leaving their country as early as 1903, emigrating to America in despair of successful resistance to Russia's tyranny. Many of them were exiled or imprisoned by the Czar's Government. Then came the days of the Russian Revolution; and the Czar and his advisers hurried to grant Finland everything she had desired, under fear that her people would swell the tide of revolution. But that danger once passed, the old policy of oppression was soon renewed, and was carried onward until in November of 1909 the Finnish Parliament was dismissed by imperial command. All through 1910 repressive laws were passed, reducing Finland step by step to a mere Russian province, so that before the close of that year the Finlanders themselves surrendered the struggle. One of their leaders wrote, "So ends Finland."

We give here first the despairing cry written in 1903 by a well-known Finn who fled to America. Then follows the official Russian statement by the "Minister of the Interior," Von Plehve, who held control of Finland in the early stages of the struggle, and was later slain by Russian revolutionists. Then we give the very different Russian view expressed by the great liberal Prime Minister, Baron Sergius Witte, who rescued Russia from her domestic disaster after the Japanese War. The story is then carried to its close by a well-known Finnish sympathizer.

"Russia is the rock against which the sigh for freedom breaks," said Kossuth, the great statesman and patriot of Hungary. Although fifty years have passed, and sigh after sigh has broken against it, the rock still stands like a colossal monument of bygone ages. It is pointing toward the northern star, as if to remind one of the all-enduring fixity. Other stars may go round as they will; there is one fixed in its place, and under that star the shadow of despotism hopes to endure forever.

While yet in Finland I used to fancy Russia as a giant devil-fish, whose arms extended from the Baltic to the Pacific, from the Black Sea to the Arctic Ocean. Then I would think of my native land as a beautiful mermaid, about whom the giant's cold, chilly arms were slowly creeping, and I feared that some day those arms would crush her. That day has come. The helpless mermaid lies prostrate in the clutch of the octopus. Not that the constitution of Finland has been annulled, as has been so often erroneously stated, and quite generally believed. The Russian Government has made only a few inroads upon it. The great grievance of the Finns is not with what has been absolutely done in opposition to their ancient rights and privileges, nor in the number of their rights which have in reality been curtailed, but with the fact that they have henceforth no security. The real grievance of the Finns is that the welfare of their country no longer rests upon an inviolable constitution, but upon the caprice of the ministers.

In 1898 the reactionists succeeded in getting one of their tools appointed as Governor-General. No sooner had General Bobrikoff taken his high office than he declared that the Finnish right to separate political existence was an illusion; that there was no substantial foundation for it in any of the acts or words of Alexander I. The people were amazed, appalled. But this was not all. Pobiedonostseff, the Procurator of the Holy Synod, and other men as reactionary as he, discovered the fact, or gave birth to the idea, that the fundamental rights of Finland could be interfered with if these fundamental rights interfered with the welfare of the Russian Empire. In other words, they discovered a loophole which they termed legal, on the principle that the parts should suffer for the whole, and that this principle was an integral part of the plan of Russian government.

The abrogation of maintenance of Finland's ancient rights would seem by this decision to rest on the arbitrary interpretation on the part of Russia as to whether or not they interfered with the welfare of the empire. It is possible that, according to the individual opinions of Russian autocrats, they might all interfere with the standard of welfare which certain individuals have arbitrarily established to fit the occasion.

In justice to the Russian Government it should be stated, however, that the joy of persecution was not the motive which led to the arbitrary acts. During the time that Finland was under Swedish control, the Finns had learned to dislike everything Russian. These anti-Russian tendencies were accentuated, after Finland became an appanage of the Russian crown, by the restrictive and often reactionary policy of the Imperial Government. Such a form of government was repugnant to the Finns, who had learned to be governed by good laws well administered, and by an enlightened public opinion. At the same time, owing to their larger liberties, their higher culture, and their susceptibility to western ideals, the Finns exerted an attractive influence over the peoples of the Baltic provinces, and even of Russia proper. A Finn would very seldom become Russianized, while many Russians became Finnicized. Unlike his Russian brother, the Finn enjoyed the privileges of free conscience, free speech, and free press.

To the average Russian such a life was enchanting, and many were so fascinated that they became citizens of Finland. In order to do so, however, they were obliged to go through the formality of changing their nationality and becoming subjects of the Grand Duchy. Doubtless this was distasteful to the Russians, but so many and so great were the advantages accruing from such a change that not a few renounced their nationality.

Such a state of affairs seemed unnatural and antagonistic to the propaganda of the Panslavistic party. Instead of Russian ideals pervading the province, provincial ideals, manners, and customs were gradually spreading into the empire. But there seemed to be no honorable way of checking the progress of the rapidly growing Finnish nationality. The Finns maintained that their rights and privileges and their laws rested upon an inviolable constitution, which could be changed only by a vote of the four estates of the Landtag. That body would never yield.

It was at this juncture that the Procurator of the Holy Synod conceived the idea that the fundamental rights of the Finns can be curtailed in so far as they interfere with those of the empire. Acting according to this new idea the Imperial Government in 1899 took for its pretext the army service of the Finns. Heretofore, according to a hereditary privilege, the Finns had not been called upon to serve in the Russian Army, and their army service had been only three years to the Russian's five. The officers of the Finnish Army were to be Finns, and this army could not be called upon to serve outside of the Grand Duchy. This was the first fundamental right of the Finns to be attacked by the Russian Government. In some mysterious way the very insignificant army of Finland "interfered with the general welfare of the Russian Empire."

Immediately following the Czar's startling proposal for a disarmament conference in 1899 came his call for a special session of the Finnish Landtag to extend the laws of conscription and the time of regular service from three to five years. Furthermore, the new law provided that instead of serving in their own country, the Finnish soldiers were to be scattered among the various troops of the empire. By this means it was hoped to Russianize them.

The representatives of the people had no time to consider the measure before the Czar's decree was issued, February 17, 1899, declaring that thenceforth the laws governing the Grand Duchy be made in the same manner as those of the empire.

It is not necessary to dwell upon the deep feeling of indignation and grief that pervaded the country. It has found a freer expression outside of the Grand Duchy than within its boundaries. Wherever the human heart is beating in sympathetic harmony with universal progress, the oppressed Finnish people have found moral support. In spite of this, one by one the Finns have been deprived of their hereditary rights and privileges. To the Finns this new order of things seems appalling. It is like the drawing of the veil of the dark ages over their beloved country. They have lost everything that is dear to the human heart: their language, their religion, and their independence. They can do nothing but mourn in silence and mortification, for a strict Russian censorship prevents the expression of their just indignation and grief.

The present condition of Finland is apathetic. Last fall the loss of crops was almost complete, and pestilence and famine are devastating the country, which has been drained of its vitality by an excessive migration and military conscription. The young men of Finland are forced to serve five years in the Russian Army, and the country is suffering from a lack of men to till the soil. The credit of the country has been mined, and panic is spreading rapidly. Wholesale migration of the more thrifty has made the already difficult problem of readjustment more complicated. Those who remain behind are literally suffering from physical, intellectual, and moral starvation. There is left nothing to refresh, fertilize, and energize the nation's vitality. The Finns are utterly helpless. In this sad extremity of their people the best men of Finland are exerting their utmost in the endeavor to alleviate suffering and infuse hope and inspiration among the masses. The young Finnish party has become exasperated by the humiliation that has been heaped upon the long-suffering people of their native land, and its leaders have advised active resistance. The old Finnish party has adopted the policy of passive resistance and protest. But the inroads upon the constitution of Finland, in the form of imperial decrees, rules, and regulations by the Governor-General and his subordinates, have been so many and so sweeping in their character that even the most conservative are beginning to lose patience. As long as the unconstitutional acts affected only the political life of the people, many were able to bear it, but when the new rules attacked the time-honored social institutions and customs, indignation could no longer be suppressed. For instance, the order to open private mail caused a general protest. The postal director and his secretary refused to sign the order and resigned. No less obnoxious was the order forbidding public meetings and directing the governors of the different provinces of Finland to appoint only such men to fill municipal rural offices as will be subservient to the Governor-General. The governor of the province of Ulrasborg resigned, while several other provinces were already governed by pliant tools of General Bobrikoff.

The long-suppressed anxiety of the people has changed into a heartrending sigh of anguish. These words of a national poet express the general sentiment, "Better far than servitude a death upon the gallows." A vicious circle has been established. The high-handed measures cause indignation, and the Governor-General is determined to suppress its expression. There is no safety in Finland for honest and patriotic men. The judiciary has been made subservient to General Bobrikoff. Latest advices are ominous. April 24, 1903, was a black day in the history of Finland. It witnessed the inauguration of a reign of terror which, by the ordinance of April 2d and the rescript of April 9th, General Bobrikoff had been authorized to establish.

Bobrikoff returned to Finland with authority, if necessary, to close hotels, stores, and factories, to forbid general meetings, to dissolve clubs and societies, and to banish without legal process any one whose presence in the country he considered objectionable.

For 700 years Finns have been free men; now they have become Russian serfs, and it is well to make closer connections between the Finnish railway system and the trans-Siberian road. Finns are long-suffering and patient, but who could endure all this?

While the expression of indignation is suppressed in Finland, outside of the Grand Duchy, especially in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, Russia's relentless tyranny has made the highest officers of state as resentful as the man in the street. Indeed entire Scandinavia is aflame with indignation and apprehension. The leading journals are warning Scandinavians "that the fate of Finland implies other tragedies of similar character, unless Pan-Scandinavia becomes something more than a political dream."

[Footnote 1: Reprinted by permission from the American Review of
Reviews.]

In criticizing Russian policy in Finland a distinction should be made between its fundamental principles—i.e., the ends which it is meant to attain, and its outward expression, which depends upon circumstances.

The former,—i.e., the aims and principles, remain unalterable; the latter,—i.e., the way in which this policy finds expression—is of an incidental and temporary character, and does not always depend on the Russian authority alone. This is what should be taken into consideration by Russia's western friends when estimating the value of the information which reaches them from Finland.

As to the program of the Russian Government in the Finland question, it is substantially as follows:

The fundamental problem of every supreme authority—the happiness and prosperity of the governed—can be solved only by the mutual cooperation of the government and the people. The requirements presented to the partners in this common task are, on the one hand, that the people should recognize the unity of state principle and policy and the binding character of its aims; and, on the other, that the Government should acknowledge the benefit accruing to the state from the public activity, along the lines of individual development, of its component elements.

Such are the grounds on which the government and the people should unite in the performance of their common task. The combination of imperial unity with local autonomy, of autocracy with self-government, forms the principle which must be taken into consideration in judging the action of the Russian Government in the Grand Duchy of Finland. The manifesto of February 3-15, 1899, is not a negation of such a peaceful cooperation, but a confirmation of the aforesaid leading principle of our Government in its full development. It decides that the issue of imperial laws, common both to Russia and Finland, must not depend altogether on the consent of the members of the Finland Diet, but is the prerogative of the Imperial Council of State, with the participation on such occasions of members of the Finland Senate. There is nothing in this manifesto to shake the belief of Russia's friends in the compatibility of the principles of autocracy with a large measure of local self-government and civic liberty. The development of the spiritual and material powers of the population by its gradual introduction to participation in the conscious public life of the state, as a healthy, conservative principle of government, has always entered into the plans of the sovereign leaders of the life of Russia as a state. These intentions were announced afresh from the throne by the manifesto of February 26, 1903. In our country this process takes place in accordance with the historical basis of the empire, with the national peculiarities of its population.

The result is that in Russia we have the organization of local institutions which give self-government in the narrow sense of the word—i.e., the right of the people to see to the satisfaction of their local economic needs. In Finland the idea of local autonomy was developed far earlier and in a far wider manner. Its present scope, which has grown and developed under Russian rule, embraces all sides, not only of the economic, but of the civil, life of the land. Russian autocracy has thus given irrefragable proof of its constructive powers in the sphere of civic development. The historian of the future will have to note its ethical importance in a far wider sphere as well: the greatest of social problems have found a peaceable solution in Russia, thanks to the conditions of its political organization.

For a full comprehension, however, of the manifesto of 1899, it must be regarded as one of the phases in the development of Finland's relations to Russia. It will then become evident that as a legacy of the past it is the outcome of the natural course of events which sooner or later must have led up to it. The initiation of Finland into the historical destinies of the Russian Empire was bound to lead to the rise of questions calling for a general solution common both to the empire and to Finland. Naturally, in view of the subordinate status of the latter, such questions could be solved only in the order appointed for imperial legislation. At the same time, neither the fundamental laws of the Swedish period of rule in Finland, which were completely incompatible with its new status, nor the Statutes of the Diet, introduced by Alexander II., and determining the order of issue of local laws, touched, or could touch, the question of the issue of general imperial laws. This question arose in the course of the legislative work on the systematization of the fundamental laws of Finland. This task, undertaken by order of the Emperor Alexander II. for the more precise determination of the status of Finland as an indivisible part of our state, was continued during the reign of his august successor, the Emperor Alexander III., and led to the question of determining the order of issue of general imperial laws. The rules drafted for this purpose in 1893 formed the contents of the manifesto of 1899. Thus we see that during six years they remained without application, there being no practical necessity for their publication. When, however, this necessity arose, owing to the lapse of the former military law, the manifesto was issued. It was, therefore, the finishing touch to the labor of many years at the determination of the manner in which the principle of a united empire was to find expression within the limits of Finland, and remained substantially true to the traditions which for a century had reigned in the relations between Russia and Finland. It presented a combination of the principle of autocracy with that of local self-government without any serious limitations of the rights of the latter. Moreover, while preserving the historical principle of Russian empire-building, this law determined the form of the expression of the autocratic power within the limits of the Grand Duchy in a manner so much in accord with the conditions of life in Finland that it did not touch the organization of a single one of the national local institutions of the duchy.

This law, in its application to the new conscription regulations, has alleviated the condition of the population of Finland. The military burden laid on the population of the land has been decreased from 2,000 men to 500 per annum, and latterly to 280. As you will see, there is in reality no opposition between the will of the Emperor of Russia as announced to Finland in 1899 and his generous initiative at The Hague Conference. But, you ask me, has not this confirmation of the ancient principles of Russian state policy in Finland been bought at too dear a price? I shall try to answer you. The hostility of public opinion toward us in the West in connection with Finnish matters is much to be regretted, but hopes may be entertained that under the influence of better information on Finnish affairs this hostility may lose its present bitterness. We are accustomed, moreover, to see that the West, while welcoming the progressive development of Russia along the old lines it, Europe, has followed itself, is not always as amicably disposed toward the growth of the political and social self-consciousness of Russia and toward the independent historical process taking place in her in the shape of the concentration of her forces for the fulfilment of her peaceful vocation in the history of the human race.

The attitude of the population of Finland toward Russia is not at all so inimical as would appear on reading the articles in the foreign press proceeding from the pen of hostile journalists. To the honor of the best elements of the Finnish population, it must be said that the degree of prosperity attained by Finland during the past century under the egis of the Russian throne is perfectly evident to them; they know that it is the Russian Government which has resuscitated the Finnish race, systematically crushed down as it had been in the days of Swedish power. The more prudent among the Finlanders realize that now, as before, the characteristic local organization of Finland remains unaltered, that the laws which guarantee the provincial autonomy of Finland are still preserved, and that now, as before, the institutions are active which satisfy its social and economic needs on independent lines.

They understand, likewise, the real causes of the increasing emigration from Finland. If, along with them, political agitation has also played a certain part, alarming the credulous peasantry with the specter of military service on the distant borders of Russia, yet their emigration was and remains an economic phenomenon. Having originated long before the issue of the manifesto of 1899, it kept increasing under the influence of bad harvests, industrial crises, and the demand for labor in foreign lands. Such is also the case in Norway, where the percentage of emigration is even greater than in Finland.

Having elucidated the substantially unalterable aims of Russian policy in Finland, let us proceed to the causes which have led to its present incidental and temporary form of expression. This, undoubtedly, is distinguished by its severity, but such are the requirements of an utilitarian policy. By the bye, the total of these severe measures amounts to twenty-six Finlanders expelled from the country and a few officials dismissed the service without the right to a pension. It was scarcely possible, however, to retain officials in the service of the state once they refused to obey their superiors. Nor was it possible to bear with the existence of a conspiracy which attempted to draw the peaceful and law-abiding population into a conflict with the Government, and that, too, at a moment when the prudent members of the population of the duchy took the side of lawful authority, thereby calling forth against themselves persecution on the part of the secret leaders of the agitation party. The upholders of the necessity for a pacific policy toward Russia were subjected to moral and sometimes physical outrage, and their opponents were not ashamed to institute scandalous legal processes against them for the purpose of damaging their reputations.

Very different is the attitude of the great mass of the population, as the following incident shows: The president of the Abo Hofgericht, declining to follow the instructions of the party hostile to Russia, was, on his arrival in Helsingfors, subjected to a variety of insults from the mob gathered at the railway station. On his return to Abo he was, on the contrary, presented with an address from the peasantry and local landowners, in which the following words occur: "We understand very well that you have been led to your patriotic resolve to continue your labors in obedience to the government by deep conviction, and do not require gratitude either from us or from any others; but at the important crisis our people is now experiencing it may be of some relief to you to learn that the preponderating majority of the people, and especially in broader classes, gratefully approve of the course you have taken."

It will scarcely be known to any one in the West that when signatures were being gathered for the great mass-address of protest dispatched to St. Petersburg in 1899, those who refused their signatures numbered martyrs among them. There are some who for their courage in refusing their signatures suffered ruin and disgrace and were imprisoned on trumped-up charges. Moreover, the agitators aimed at infecting the lower classes of the population with their intolerance and their hatred of Russians, but, it must be said, with scant success.

With regard to the essence of the question, I repeat that in matters of government temporary phenomena should be distinguished from permanent ones. The incidental expression of Russian policy, necessitated by an open mutiny against the Government in Finland, will, undoubtedly, be replaced by the former favor of the sovereign toward his Finnish subjects as soon as peace is finally restored and the current of social life in that country assumes its normal course. Then, certainly, all repressive measures will be repealed. But the realization of the fundamental aim which the Russian Government has set itself in Finland—i.e., the confirming in that land of the principle of imperial unity—must continue, and it would be best of all if this end were attained with the trustful cooperation of local workers under the guidance of the sovereign to whom Divine Providence has committed the destinies of Russia and Finland.

When we talk of the means requisite for assimilating Finland we can not help reckoning, first and foremost, with this fact, that by the will of Russian emperors that country has lived its own particular life for nearly a century and governed itself in quite a special manner. Another consideration that should be taken to heart is this: the administration of the conquered country on lines which differed from the organization of other territories forming part of the empire, and which gave to Finland the semblance of a separate state, was shaped by serious causes, and did good service in the political history of the Russian Empire. One is hardly justified, therefore, in blaming this work of Alexander I., as is now so often done…. The annexation of Finland, poor by nature and at that time utterly ruined by protracted wars, was of moment to Russia, not so much from an economic or financial as from a strategical point of view. And what in those days was important was not its Russification, but solely the military position which it afforded. Besides, the incorporation of Finland took place at a calamitous juncture—for Russia. On the political horizon of Europe the clouds were growing denser and blacker, and there was a general foreboding of the coming events of the year 1812. If, at that time, Czar Alexander I. had applied to Finland the methods of administration which are wont to be employed in conquered countries, Finland would have become a millstone round Russia's neck during the critical period of her struggle with Napoleon, which demanded the utmost tension of our national forces. Fear of insurrections and risings would have compelled Russia to maintain a large army there and to spend considerable sums in administering the country. But Alexander I. struck out a different course. His Majesty recognized the necessity of "bestowing upon the people, by means of internal organization, incomparably more advantages than it had had under the sway of Sweden." And the Emperor held that an effective means of achieving this would be to give the nation such a status "that it should be accounted not enthralled by Russia, but attached to her in virtue of its own manifest interests." "This valiant and trusty people," said Czar Alexander I., when winding up the Diet of Borgo, "will bless Providence for establishing the present order of things. And I shall garner in the best fruits of my solicitude when I shall see this people tranquil from without, free within, devoting itself to agriculture and industry under the protection of the laws and their own good conduct, and by its very prosperity rendering justice in my intentions and blessing its destiny."

Subsequent history justified the rosiest hopes of the Emperor. The immediate consequence of the policy he adopted toward Finland was that the country quickly became calmed and settled after the fierce war that had been waged there, and that in this way Russia was enabled to concentrate all her forces upon the contest with Napoleon. According to the words of Alexander I. himself, the annexation of Finland "was of the greatest advantage to Russia; without it, in 1812, we might not, perhaps, have won success, because Napoleon had in Bernadotte his steward, who, being within five days' march of our capital, would have been inevitably compelled to join his forces with those of Napoleon. Bernadotte himself told me so several times, and added that he had Napoleon's order to declare war against Russia." And afterward, during almost a century, Finland never occasioned any worries, political or economic, to the Russian Government, and did not require special sacrifices or special solicitude on its part.

If we may judge, not by the speeches and articles of particular Separatists, but by overt acts, during that long period of time the Finnish people never failed in their duty as loyal subjects of their monarch or citizens of the common fatherland, Russia. The successors of the conqueror of Finland spoke many times from the height of the throne "of the numerous proofs of unalterable attachment and gratitude which the citizens of this country have given their monarchs." And in effect, neither general insurrections against Russia's dominions, nor political plots, nor the tumults of an ignorant rabble—such as our cholera riots, workmen's outbreaks, Jewish pogroms, and other like disturbances—have ever occurred in Finland; and when disorders of that kind broke out in other parts of the empire or alarming tidings from abroad came in they never evoked the slightest dangerous echo there. It is a most remarkable fact that during the trying time the Russian Government had when the Polish insurrection was going on, and later, in the equally difficult period through which we passed at the close of the seventies, Finland remained perfectly calm; and in the long list of political criminals sprung from the various nationalities of Russia, we do not find a single Finlander.

In like manner fear of Finland's aspirations toward independence, of her inordinate demands in the matter of military legislation, of her turning her population into an armed nation; in a word, all the apprehensions felt that Finland may break loose from Russia are, down to the present moment, devoid of foundation in fact.

"Finland under the egis of the Russian realm," our present Emperor has said, "and strong in virtue of Russia's protection through the lapse of almost a whole century, has advanced along the way of peaceful progress unswervingly, and in the hearts of the Finnish people lived the consciousness of their attachment to the Russian monarchs and to Russia." In moments of stress and of Russia's danger, the Finnish troops have always come forward as the fellow soldiers of our armies, and Finland has shared with us unhesitatingly our military triumphs and also the irksome consequences and tribulations of war-time. Thus, in the year 1812 and in the Crimean campaign, her armies grew in number considerably; in that eastern war almost her entire mercantile marine was destroyed—a possession which was one of the principal sources of the revenue of the country. During the Polish insurrection and the war for the emancipation of Bulgaria Finnish troops took part in the expeditions, and when in 1885 the Diet was opened, the Emperor Alexander III., in his speech from the throne, bore witness to "the unimpeachable way in which the population of the country had discharged its military obligations," and he gave utterance to his conviction that the Finnish troops would attain the object for which they existed.

By way of proving Finland's striving to cut herself apart from Russia, people point to the doctrine disseminated about the Finnish State, to its unwillingness to establish military conscription on the same lines as the empire, and to the speeches of the Deputies of the Diets of 1877-1878 and 1879. But none of these arguments carries conviction.

The theory about the independence of Finland, as a separate realm, which was worked out for the purpose of devising "the means of safeguarding its idiosyncrasies," is far from proving that "Finland aims at separation from Russia." Down to the present moment separation has not been in her interests. She was never an independent State; her historical traditions do not move her to play a political part in Europe. Besides, her population is mixed. The Swedish element constitutes only the topmost layer, and is not powerful enough to move toward an independent existence or toward union with the Power which belongs to the same race as that layer, while the mass of Finns, dreading the oppression of the Swedish party, is drawn more to Russia by the simple instinct of self-preservation. That is why the Finnish patriot may well be a true and devoted citizen of the Russian Empire, and being, as Alexander III. termed it, "a good Finlander," can also "bear in mind that he is a member of the Russian family, at the head of which stands the Russian Emperor."

The unfavorable attitude of the Finns toward the proposal of the War Ministry for extending to them the general regulations that deal with the obligation to serve in the army is also intelligible. That obligation of military service is exceedingly irksome; and it is not only the Finns who desire to fight shy of it, nor can one discover any specially dangerous symptom in their wish to preserve the privileged position which they have hitherto enjoyed as to the way of discharging their military duties. They seek to perpetuate the privileges conferred upon them in the form of fundamental laws, and they strive to avoid being incorporated in the Russian Army, because service there would be very much more onerous for them than in their own Finnish regiments…

If we now turn from the political to the economic aspect of the matter, to the question how far the order of things as at present established in Finland has proved advantageous to Russia from the financial point of view, we shall search in vain for data capable of bearing out the War Minister's opinion that, for the period of a century the Budget of Finland has been sedulously husbanded at the cost of the Russian people.

Ever since Finland has had an independent State Budget, she has never required any sacrifices on the part of Russia for her economic development. Ill-used by nature and ruined by wars, the country, by dint of its own efforts, has advanced toward cultural and material prosperity. Without subsidies or guaranties from the Imperial Treasury, the land became furrowed with a network of carriage roads and railways; industries were created; a mercantile fleet was built, and the work of educating the nation was so successfully organized that one can hardly find an illiterate person throughout the length and breadth of the principality. It is also an interesting fact worth recording that, whereas the Russian Government has almost every year to feed a starving population, now in one district of the empire, now in another, and is obliged from time to time to spend enormous sums of money for the purpose, Finland, in spite of its frequent bad harvests, has generally dispensed with such help on the part of the State Treasury…

Under these circumstances it is hardly fair to assert that Finland has been living at Russia's expense. On the contrary, Finland is perhaps the only one of our borderlands which has not required for its economic or cultural development funds taken from the population of Russia proper. The Caucasus, the Kingdom of Poland, Turkestan, part of Siberia, and other portions of our border districts—nay, even the northern provinces themselves—are sources of loss to us, or, at any rate, they have cost the Russian Treasury very much, and some of them still continue to cost it much, but the expenses they involve are hidden in the totals of the Imperial Budget. A few data will throw adequate light on this aspect of the situation. It is enough, for instance, to call to mind what vast, what incalculable sacrifices the pacification of the Caucasus required from Russia and what worry and expense it still causes us. No less imposing is the expenditure which the Kingdom of Poland with its two insurrections necessitated in the course of last century…. And if we cast a glance at the youngest of our borderlands—Turkestan—we shall find that here also the outlay occasioned by the political situation of the country has already become sharply outlined…. When we set those figures and data side by side we shall find it hard to speak of "our expenditure on Finland" or of "the vast privileges" we have conferred on the principality.

It follows, then, that the system of administration established for Finland by the Emperor Alexander I. has not yet had any harmful political results for Russia, and that it has dispensed the Russian Government from incurring heavy expenditure for the administration and the well-being of the country, and in this way has enabled Russia to concentrate her forces and her care on other parts of the empire and to devote her attention to other State problems.

One can not, of course, contend that the system of government adopted in Finland satisfies, in each and all its parts, the requirements and the needs of the present time. On the contrary, it is indubitable that the independent existence of the principality, disconnected as it is from the general interests of the empire, has led to a certain estrangement between the Russian and the Finnish populations. That an estrangement really exists can not be doubted; but the explanation of it is to be found in the difference of the two cultures which have their roots in history. To the protracted sway of Sweden and Finland's continuous relations through her intermediary with Western Europe, the circumstance is to be ascribed that the thinking spirits among the Finns gravitate—in matters of culture—not to Russia but to the West, and in particular to Sweden, with whom Finland is linked by bonds of language—through her highest social class—and of religion, laws, and literature. For that reason the views, ideas, and interests of Western—and in particular of Scandinavian—peoples are more thoroughly familiar and more intelligible to them than ours. That also is why, when working out any kind of reforms and innovations, they seek for models not among us but in Western Europe.

It is, doubtless, impossible to look upon that state of things with approval. It is highly desirable that a closer union should take place between the interests, cultural and political, of the principality and those of the empire: that is postulated by the mutual advantages of both countries. As I have already remarked, Russians could not contemplate otherwise than with pleasure the possible union and assimilation—in principle—of the borderland with the other parts of our vast fatherland: they will also be unanimous in wishing this task as successful an issue as is possible…..

But what is not feasible is to demolish at one swoop everything that has been created and preserved in the course of a whole century. A change of policy, if it is not to provoke tumults and disorganization, must be carried out gradually and with extreme circumspection. The assimilation of Finland can never be efficacious if achieved by violence and constraint instead of by pacific means. The Finnish people should be left to appreciate the benefits which would accrue to them from union with a powerful empire: for an adequate understanding of their own interests will, in the words of the Imperial rescript of February 28, 1891, "inspire them with a desire to draw more closely the bonds that link Finland with Russia." There is no doubt that even at present a certain tendency is noticeable among the Finns in favor of closer relations with Russia: the knowledge of the Russian tongue is spreading more and more widely among them, and business relations between them and us are growing brisker from year to year. The desirable abolition of the customs cordon between the two countries is bound to give a powerful fillip to the growth of commerce, which is the most trustworthy and most pacific means of bringing about a better understanding and strengthening the ties that bind Finland to Russia.

Harsh, drastic expedients may easily loosen the threads that have begun to get tied, foster national hate, arouse mutual distrust and suspicion, and lead to results the reverse of those aimed at. Assimilative measures adopted by the Government, therefore, should be thought out carefully and applied gradually.

J.N. REUTER

"Might can not dominate right in Russia," said M. Stolypin, Russian Minister of the Interior and President of the Council of Ministers, in the speech which he delivered in the Duma on May 18, 1908, when pressed by the various parties to declare his policy with regard to Finland. This noble sentiment has the familiar ring of Russian officialdom. It may, perhaps, be worth while to consider it in the light of recent history and present-day issues.

Alexander I., the first Russian sovereign of Finland, addressed a Rescript to Count Steinheil on his appointment to the post of Governor-General. Therein he wrote: "My object in Finland has been to give the people a political existence so that they shall not regard themselves as subject to Russia, but as attached to her by their own obvious interests." It is not the place here to give an historical account of subsequent events. It may, however, be briefly stated that the political ideal expressed in the words quoted here was at times forgotten, but was again revived, and, in such times, even resulted in the extension of Finland's constitutional rights. Then, again, this ideal was abandoned, and gave way to a totally different one, which found its most acute expression in February, 1899, when the Czar, a year after the issue of his invitations to the first Peace Conference at The Hague, suppressed by an Imperial manifesto the constitutional right of Finland. The arbitrary and corrupt Russian bureaucratic regime little by little forced its way into the country, while Finlanders watched with bitter resentment the suppression, one by one, of their most cherished national institutions.

This manifesto was condemned in many European countries at the time, and a protest against it was signed by over a thousand prominent publicists and constitutional lawyers, who presented an international address to the Czar begging him to restore the rights of the Grand Duchy.

In 1905, however, it seemed at last that a new era was about to dawn. The change was brought about by the domestic crisis through which Russia herself was then passing. An Imperial manifesto promulgated in October, containing the principles of a constitutional form of government in Russia, was followed as an inevitable sequel by the manifesto of November 4th, which practically restored to Finland its full political rights. In 1906, a new Law of the Diet was enacted. Instead of triennial sessions of the Estates, annual sessions of the Diet were introduced, while an extension of the franchise to every citizen over twenty-four years of age without distinction of sex gave to women active electoral rights. Moreover, the door was opened to new and far-reaching reforms, the fulfilment of which infused fresh life into the democratic spirit of Finnish national institutions. While, however, so much was done to improve the political, social, and economic condition of the country, the promises which were then made have not been fulfilled. The principal reason for this failure to redeem their pledges lies in a change of attitude among Russian officials and their interference in Finnish affairs. It is by consideration of this change and of its effect upon Finland that we may best judge how much truth there is in M. Stolypin's claim that in Russia "might can not dominate right."

Ominous signs of a reversal of policy had appeared before, but the first official expression to it was given in the speech of M. Stolypin already referred to. In this speech he claimed for Russia as the sovereign power the right of control over Finnish administration and legislation whenever the interests of the empire were concerned. This claim meant practically the restoration of the old Bobrikoff régime and was based on the same ideas as those underlying the February manifesto of 1899. M. Stolypin attempts to justify his attitude by arguing that the constitutional relations between Russia and Finland are determined only by Clause 4 of the Treaty of Peace between Russia and Sweden, dated September 17,1809. This clause runs as follows:

"His Majesty the King of Sweden renounces irrevocably and forever, on behalf of himself as well as on behalf of his successors to the Swedish throne and realm, and in favor of his Majesty the Emperor of Russia and his successors to the Russian throne and empire, all his rights and titles of the governments enumerated hereafter which have been conquered by the arms of his Imperial Majesty from the Swedish Army, to wit: the Provinces of Kymmenegard, etc.

"These provinces, with all their inhabitants, towns, ports, forts, villages, and islands, with their appurtenances, privileges, and revenues, shall hereafter under full ownership and sovereignty belong to the Russian Empire and be incorporated with the same."

After quoting this clause, M. Stolypin exclaimed, "This is the act, the title, by which Russia possesses Finland, the one and only act which determines the mutual relations between Russia and Finland."

Now this clause contains no reference whatever to the autonomy of the Grand Duchy, and if it were the only act by which the mutual relations of Russia and Finland were determined, then Finland would have no constitution. The political autonomy of Finland, which has been recognized for exactly one hundred years, would have been without legal foundation. Even M. Stolypin admits that Finland enjoys autonomy. "There must be no room for the suspicion," he said, "that Russia would violate the rights of autonomy conferred on Finland by the monarch." On what, then, does the claim to Finnish autonomy rest and how was it conferred? Clause 6 of the Treaty of Peace contains the following passage:

"His Majesty the Emperor of all the Russias, having already given the most manifest proofs of the clemency and justice with which he has resolved to govern the inhabitants of the provinces which he has acquired, by generosity and by his own spontaneous act assuring to them the free exercise of their religion, rights, property, and privileges, his Swedish Majesty considers himself thereby released from performing the otherwise sacred duty of making reservations in the above respects in favor of his former subjects."

This entry in the Treaty of Peace refers to the settlement made at the Borgo Diet a few months earlier, and it is under this settlement, confirmed by deeds of a later date, that Finland claims her right to autonomy. M. Stolypin recognizes the claim of Finland to autonomy, but refuses to recognize the binding force of the acts of the Borgo Diet on which alone it can legally be based. This claim gives Finland no voice in her external relations. All international treaties, including matters relating to the conduct of war (though laws on the liability of Finnish citizens to military service fall under the competency of the Finnish Diet), are matters common to Russia and Finland as one empire, one international unit, and are dealt with by the proper Russian authorities. This is admitted by all Finlanders. But M. Stolypin extended Russian authority by making it paramount in all matters which have a bearing on Russian or Imperial interests.

The attempt to curtail Finnish constitutional liberty has taken different forms. Early in 1908 the Russian Council of Ministers, over which M. Stolypin presides, drew up a "Journal," or Protocol, to which the Czar on June 2d gave his sanction. The chief provisions of this Protocol were briefly as follows: All legislative proposals and all administrative matters "of general importance," before being brought to the Sovereign for his sanction, or, as is the case with Bills to be presented to the Diet, for his preliminary approval, as well as all reports drawn up by Finnish authorities for the Czar's inspection, must be communicated to the Russian Council of Ministers. The Council will then decide "which matters concerning the Grand Duchy of Finland also have a bearing on the interests of the empire, and, consequently, call for a fuller examination on the part of the Ministries and Government Boards." If the Council decide that a matter has a bearing on the interests of the empire the Council prepare a report on it, and, should the Council differ from the views taken up by the Finnish authorities, the Finnish Secretary of State, who alone should be the constitutional channel for bringing Finnish matters before the Sovereign's notice, can do so only in the presence of the President of the Council of Ministers or another Russian Minister. But in practise it has frequently happened that the Council send in their report beforehand, and the Czar's decision is practically taken when the Finnish Secretary is permitted an audience.

This important measure was brought about by the exclusive recommendation of Russian Ministers. Neither the Finnish Diet nor the Senate nor the Secretary of State for Finland, who resides in St. Petersburg, was consulted or had the slightest idea of what was going on before the Protocol was published in Russia. It has never been promulgated in Finland, and no Finnish authority has been officially advised of it. The whole matter has been treated as a private affair between the Czar and his Russian Ministers.

The excuse has been made that the Czar must be permitted to seek counsel with whomsoever he chooses in regard to the government of Finland. But this is not a question of privately consulting one man or the other. The new measure amounts to an official recognition of the Russian Council of Ministers as an organ of government exercising a powerful control over Finnish legislation, administration, and finance. The center of gravity of Finnish administration has, in fact, been shifted from the Senate for Finland, composed of Finnish men, to the Russian Council of Ministers.

The Finnish Senate protested to the Czar in three separate memoranda, dated respectively June 19, 1908, December 22, 1908, and February 25,1909. The Finnish Diet adopted on October 13, 1908, a petition to the Czar to reconsider the matter. On the occasion of the opening of the Diet's next session the Speaker, in his reply to the Czar's message, briefly referred to the anxiety prevailing in Finland, with the result that the Diet was immediately punished by an order of dissolution from the Czar. The Senate's memoranda, as well as the Diet's petition, were rejected, the Czar acting on the exclusive recommendation of the Russian Council of Ministers. They were not even brought before him through the constitutional channels, the Finnish Secretary of State having been refused a hearing. As a result all members of the Department of Justice, or half the number of the Senators, resigned.

In the same year another but less successful attack was made on the Finnish Constitution. In the autumn of 1908 the Finnish Diet adopted a new Landlord and Tenant Bill, but before it was brought up for the Czar's sanction the Diet was dissolved in the manner just described. The Bill being of a pressing nature, the Council of Ministers was at last prevailed upon to report on it to the Czar. The latter then gave his sanction to it, but, on the recommendation of the Council, added a rider in the preamble. This was to the effect that, though the Bill, having been adopted by a Diet which was dissolved before the expiration of the three years' period for which it was elected, should not have been presented for his consideration at all, the Czar would nevertheless make an exception from the rule and sanction it, prompted by his regard for the welfare of the poorer part of the population.

The Senate decided to postpone promulgation of this law in view of the constitutional doctrine involved in the preamble. It was pointed out that this doctrine was entirely foreign to Finnish law. The preamble which, according to custom, should have contained nothing beyond the formal sanction to the law in question, embodied an interpretation of constitutional law. Such an interpretation could only legally be made in the same manner as the enactment of a constitutional law, i.e., through the concurrent decision of the Sovereign and the Diet. The Senate, therefore, petitioned the Czar to modify the preamble in such a way as to remove from it what could be construed as an interpretation of constitutional law.

In reply, the Czar reprimanded the Senate for delaying promulgation, recommended it to do so immediately, but promised later on to take the representations made by the Senate into his consideration. Five of the Senators then voted against, while the Governor-General and five others voted for promulgation of, the law. The minority then tendered their resignations. The inconveniences resulting from this new constitutional doctrine proved, however, of so serious a practical nature that the Czar eventually, in July, 1909, issued a declaration that "the gracious expressions in the preamble to the Landlord and Tenant Law concerning the invalidity of the decisions of a dissolved Diet do not constitute an interpretation of the constitutional law and shall not in the future be binding in law."

A third and most important encroachment by the Russian Council of Ministers on the autonomy of Finland was also carried out at the instigation of M. Stolypin. The Finnish Constitution makes no distinction between matters that may have, or may not have, a bearing on the interests of Russia. At the same time Russian interests have never been disregarded in Finnish legislation. It had been the practise, when a legislative proposal was brought forward in Finland, and a Russian interest might be affected by it, to communicate with the Russian Minister whom the matter most closely concerned, in order that he might make his observations. This practise was confirmed by law in 1891. In its memoranda of 1908 and 1909, on the interference of the Russian Council of Ministers in Finnish affairs, the Senate suggested that, in case the procedure under the ordinance of 1891 were not satisfactory, a committee of Russian and Finnish members should be appointed to discuss a modus procedendi of such a nature that the Constitution of Finland should not be violated. On the recommendation of the Council of Ministers, the Czar rejected these suggestions, but the Council of Ministers took the matter in hand and summoned a "Special Conference," consisting of several Russian Ministers, other high Russian functionaries, the Governor-General of Finland, who is also a Russian, with M. Stolypin as President. Their business was to draw up a program for a joint committee to be appointed "for the drafting of proposals for regulations concerning the procedure of issuing laws of general Imperial interest concerning Finland." This conference accordingly drew up a program, approved by the Czar on April 10, 1909, in which it was resolved that the joint committee should suggest a definition of the term "laws of general Imperial interest concerning Finland." These laws, it was proposed, should be totally withdrawn from the competency of the Finnish Diet and should be passed by the legislative bodies of Russia, that is, the Council of State and the Duma. The only safeguard for the interests of Finland suggested in the program is that a representative for Finland should be admitted to these two bodies when Finnish questions were discussed there.

It is impossible to say what laws concerning Finland will be defined as being of "general interest." Having regard, however, to the wide interpretation which Russian reactionaries are wont to put on the expression, there is every reason to suppose that the Russian members of the committee will insist on its extension so as to include every important category of law.

The Finnish members through their spokesman, Archbishop Johansson, declared that they proceeded to work on the committee on the assumption that in case alterations in the law of Finland should be found necessary, having regard to Imperial interests, such alterations should be made through modifications in the constitutional laws of Finland. The Finlanders are prepared to do their duty by the empire, but, the Archbishop said: "Sacrifices have been demanded from us to which no people can consent. The Finnish people can not forego their Constitution, which is a gift of the Most High, and which, next to the Gospel, is their most cherished possession."

M. Deutrich, who spoke on behalf of the Russian members, explained that any law resulting from the labors of the committee would not be submitted to the ratification of the Finnish Diet.

So M. Stolypin's way was now clear. The sanction of the people will not be required. The Finlanders have practically no other help than that given by a consciousness of the justice of their cause. They have no appeal.

In November of 1909 the Finnish Diet was dissolved by a ukase of the Czar. Since then the Russian Government has been passing decree after decree for Finland, giving the constitutional authorities no voice even of protest. So ends Finland.

A.D. 1911

C.F. CARTER ISAAC MARCOSSON

On April 23, 1911, an automobile was driven along the hard, smooth sand of a Florida sea beach, covering a mile in 25-2/5 seconds. And it continued for a second mile at the same tremendous speed. These were the fastest two miles ever made by man. They were at the rate of a trifle over 140 miles an hour. As this record was not equaled in the three years that followed, it may be regarded as approaching the maximum speed of which automobiles are capable. And as another automobile, in endeavoring to reach such a speed, dissolved into its separate parts, practically disintegrated, and left an astonished driver floundering by himself upon the sand, we may assume that no noticeably greater speed can be attained except by some wholly different method or new invention.

In contrast to this picture of "speed maniacs" darting more swiftly than ever eagle swooped or lightning express-train ran, let us contemplate for a moment that first automobile race held in Chicago in 1894. A twenty-four horse-power Panhard machine showed a speed of thirty miles an hour and was objected to by the newspapers as a "racing monster" likely to cause endless tragedy, menacing death to its owners and to the public. Thus in the brief space of seventeen years did the construction of automobiles improve and the temper of the world toward them change. The present day may almost be called the "automobile age." The progress by which this has come about, and the enormous development of this new industry is here traced by two men who have followed it most closely. The narrative of the "auto's" triumphs by Mr. C.F. Carter appeared first in the Outing Magazine. The account of the industry's growth by Mr. Isaac Marcosson appeared in Munsey's Magazine, of which he was the editor. Both are given here by the permission of the magazines.

C.F. CARTER

When the marine architects and engineers catch up with the automobile makers they can build a ship capable of crossing the Atlantic in twenty-three hours; or, if we forget to make allowance for the difference in longitude, capable of making the run from Liverpool to New York in the same apparent time in which the Twentieth Century Limited makes the run from New York to Chicago. That is, the vessel leaving Liverpool at three o'clock in the afternoon would arrive at New York at nine o'clock the following morning, which, allowing for the five hours' difference in time, would make twenty-three hours.

When the railroad engineers provide improved tracks and motive power that will enable them to parallel the feats of the automobile men, if they ever do, the running time for the fastest trains between New York and Chicago will be reduced to seven hours, while San Francisco will be but a day's run from the metropolis.

And when the airship enthusiasts are able to dart through the air at the speed attained by the automobile, it will be time enough to think of taking seriously the extravagant claims made in behalf of aviation.

For the automobile is the swiftest machine ever built by human hands. It is so much swifter than its nearest competitor that those who read these lines to-day are likely to be some years older before its speed is even equaled, to say nothing of being surpassed, by any other kind of vehicle.

So far as is known, but one human being ever traveled faster than Robert Burman did in his racing auto on the beach at Daytona, Florida, on April 23, 1911. This solitary exception was a Hindu carrier who chanced to tumble off the brink of a chasm in the Himalayas. His name has not been preserved, he never made any claim to the record, he was not officially timed, and altogether the event has no official standing. Still, as he is the only man who is ever alleged to have covered so great a distance as six thousand feet in an obstructed fall, the matter is not without interest; for, according to the accepted rule for finding the velocity of a body falling freely from rest, he must have been going at the rate of seven miles a second when he reached the bottom.

About Burman's record there can be no doubt, for it was made in the presence of many witnesses, and it was duly timed with stop-watches by men skilled in the art. The straightaway mile over the smooth, hard beach was covered from a running start in the almost incredibly short time of 25.40 seconds.

The next fastest mile ever traveled by human beings who lived to tell about it was made in an electric-car on the experimental track between Berlin and Zossen, in 1902. As the engineers who achieved this record for the advancement of scientific knowledge of the railroad considered such speed dangerous, it is not at all likely to become standard practise. The fastest time ever made by a steam locomotive of which there is any record, was the run of five miles from Fleming to Jacksonville, Florida, in two and a half minutes by a Plant system locomotive in March, 1901. This was at the rate of 120 miles an hour. As for steamships, the record of 30.53 miles per hour is held by the Mauretania.

These things, if borne in mind, will serve to throw into stronger relief the things that an automobile can do, and to supply a substantial basis for the premise that, at least in some respects, the automobile is the most marvelous machine the world has yet seen. It can go anywhere at any time, floundering through two feet of snow, ford any stream that isn't deep enough to drown out the magneto, triumph over mud axle deep, jump fences, and cavort over plowed ground at fifteen miles an hour. It has been used with brilliant success in various kinds of hunting, including coyote coursing on the prairies of Colorado, where it can run all around the bronco, formerly in favor, since it never runs any risk of breaking a leg in a prairie-dog hole. Educated automobiles have been trained to shell corn, saw wood, pump water, churn, plow, and, in short, do anything required of them except figure out where the consumer gets off under the new tariff law.

But to get back to the subject of speed, as automobile talk always does, the supremacy of the motor-car has been established by so many official records that any attempt to select the most striking only results in bewilderment. The best that can be done is to recite a few representative ones.

That was a most interesting illustration, for instance, of the capacity for sustained high speed made by a Stearns car on the mile track at Brighton Beach in 1910. In twenty-four hours the car covered the amazing distance of 1,253 miles, which was at the average speed of 52-1/5 miles per hour. This record is all the more remarkable from the fact the car was not a racer, but a stock car which had been driven for some months by its owner before it was borrowed for the race, and did not have any special preparation. The men who drove it were not notified that their services were wanted until the morning of the race.

While this is about the average rate per hour of the fastest train between New York and Chicago, it should be remembered that the trains run on steel rails, that curves are comparatively few, and they are not sharp, while the automobile was spinning around a mile track made of plain dirt, and was obliged to negotiate 2,506 sharp curves. Besides, the locomotives on the fast trains are changed every 120 to 150 miles, while the entire run of 1,253 miles was made by one auto which had already run 7,500 miles in ordinary service before it was entered in the race.

Unfortunately for the automobile, it has achieved so many remarkable speed records that its name is suggestive of swiftness. If the English language were not the stereotyped, inelastic vehicle for the communication of thought that it is we should now be speaking of "automobiling" a shady bill through the city council instead of "railroading" it. There are few places where it is permissible to attain record speed, and fewer men who, with safety to others, may be entrusted with the attempt. The true value of the automobile to the average man lies in its ability to keep right on going indefinitely at moderate speed under any and all conditions.

One of the innumerable tests in which the staying qualities of the automobile were brought out was the trip from Pittsburg to Philadelphia by way of Gettysburg by S.D. Waldon and four passengers in a Packard car, September 20, 1910. This run of 303 miles over three mountain ranges, with the usual accompaniments of steep grades, rocks, ruts, and thank-you-ma'ms to rack the machinery and bruise the feelings of the riders, was made in 12 hours and 51 minutes.

A little run of three or four hundred miles, though, is scarcely worth mentioning by way of showing what an auto can do in a real endurance contest. A much more notable trip was the non-stop run from Jackson, Michigan, to Bangor, Maine, in November, 1909, by E.P. Blake and Dr. Charles Percival. The distance of 1,600 miles was covered in 123 hours, which meant traveling at an average speed of 13 miles an hour in rain and snow and mud over country roads at their worst. In all that time the motor never once stopped. In the Munsey historical tour of 1910 a Brush single-cylinder car covered the 1,550 miles of a schedule designed for big cars and came through with a perfect score. If you know the hill roads of Pennsylvania you'll realize what that means in the way of car performance.

Still more remarkable endurance tests are the transcontinental trips which are undertaken so frequently nowadays that they no longer attract attention. One such trip which shows what very little trouble an automobile gives when handled with reasonable care was that made in 1909 by George C. Rew, W.H. Aldrich, Jr., R.A. Luckey, and H.G. Toney. Traveling by daylight only, they made the journey of 2,800 miles from San Francisco to Chicago in nineteen days in a Stearns car. They might have done better if they had not loitered along the way. On one occasion they stopped to haul water a distance of twenty-five miles for some cowboys on a round-up. The motor gave no trouble whatever, while the only trouble with tires was a single puncture caused by a spike when they tried to avoid a bad stretch of road by running on a railroad track.

The time record from ocean to ocean was held by L.L. Whitman, who left New York in a Reo four-thirty at 12.01 A.M. on Monday, August 8, 1910, and arrived in San Francisco on the 18th, covering the 3,557 miles in 10 days 15 hours and 13 minutes. This achievement may be more fully appreciated by comparing it with the transcontinental relay race in which a courier carried a message from President Taft to President Chilberg, of the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition, in September-October, 1909, in 10 days 5 hours, by using thirty-two cars and as many different drivers who knew the roads over which they ran.

Those who are fortunate enough to have friends who own cars know that automobiles can climb hills; and that the accepted way to do it is to throw in the extra special high gear, tear the throttle out by the roots, advance the spark twenty minutes, and push hard on the steering wheel. The fact that the car will overlook such treatment and go ahead is a source of never-failing wonder. Indeed, when it comes to hill-climbing the automobile is so far ahead of the locomotive that it seems like wanton cruelty to drag the latter into the discussion at all.

The steepest grade on a railroad doing a miscellaneous transportation business climbed by a locomotive relying on adhesion only is on the Leopoldina system in Brazil between Bocca do Monte and Theodoso, where there is a stretch of 8-1/3 per cent. grade with curves of 130 feet radius. There are some logging roads in the United States with grades of 16 per cent. How trifling this seems when compared with the feat of a Thomas car which climbed Fillmore Street, San Francisco, which is alleged to have a gradient of 34 per cent., with twenty-three persons on board. As 25 per cent. is regarded as the maximum safe gradient for an Abt rack railway, since the cog-wheel is liable to climb out of the rack on any steeper grade, it will be seen that the strain upon the credulity of the hearer of this story is almost as great as that upon the car must have been.

Enthusiasm may be expected to run high in the presence of such astounding triumphs, and it should, therefore, not be deemed surprising that accounts of hill-climbing contests are generally lacking in definiteness. The name of the car and the driver are always given with scrupulous care, but such incidental details as length of ascent, minimum, maximum, and average gradient, maximum curvature, and so on, are generally left to the imagination.

Among the few exceptions to this rule was the hill-climbing contest at Port Jefferson, Long Island, in which Ralph de Palma went up an ascent of two thousand feet with an average gradient of 10 per cent. and a maximum of 15 per cent. in 20.48 seconds in his 190-horse-power Fiat. A little Hupmobile, one of the lightest cars built, reached the top in 1 minute 10 seconds. De Palma climbed the "Giant's Despair" near Wilkesbarre, Pennsylvania, an ascent six thousand feet long, with grades varying from 10 to 22 per cent., in his big machine in 1 minute 28-2/5 seconds. A Marmon stock car reached the top in 1 minute 50-1/5 seconds. Pike's Peak, Mount Washington, Ensign Mountain, in Utah, and lesser mountains elsewhere have also been climbed repeatedly by automobiles. As the mere announcement of the fact vividly exhibits the staying powers of the auto in a long, stiff climb, the engineering details may be disregarded.

Next to its ability to do the exceptional things when required, the most useful accomplishment of the automobile is its wonderful capacity for standing up to its work day in and day out in fair weather or foul, regardless of the condition of the roads. This is shown every year in the spectacular Glidden tours, otherwise the National Reliability tests, in which a number of cars of various makes cover a scheduled route of two or three thousand miles, in which are included all the different kinds of abominations facetiously termed "roads." Other tests without number are constantly being evolved to demonstrate the already established fact that an automobile can do anything required of it.

There was the New York to Paris race, for instance. Starting from New York on February 12, 1908, when traveling was at its worst, and arriving in Paris July 30, the winner floundered in snow, mud, sand, and rocks, over mountain ranges and through swamps, in eighty-eight days' running time for the 12,116 miles of land travel. That was a demonstration of what an automobile can do that has never been surpassed. Yet the Thomas car that did it was restored to its original condition at a cost of only $90 after the trip was ended.

Another remarkable demonstration of endurance was that given by a Chalmers-Detroit touring car, which was driven 208 miles every day for a hundred consecutive days over average roads. When the 20,800 miles were finished, just to show that it still felt its oats, the car which had already covered 6,000 miles of roads through Western States before the test began, ran over to Pontiac, Michigan, and hauled the Mayor 26 miles to Detroit. Then it was run into the shops and taken down for examination. Being found to be in perfect condition except for the valves, which required some trifling adjustment to take up the wear on the valve stems, and for the piston rings, which needed setting out, it was reassembled and started on another test.

But, after all, the most wonderful thing about an automobile is its almost infinite capacity to endure cruel and inhuman treatment. No matter whether the brutality is inflicted through ignorance or awkwardness, or, rarest of all, through unavoidable accident, the effect on steel and wood and rubber is the same. Yet the auto stands it.

In brake tests it has been demonstrated that a car traveling at the rate of eighteen miles an hour can be stopped in a distance of twenty-five feet. The knowledge that this can be done in an emergency is a great comfort, but it should be equally well known that it does not improve the car to make all stops that way. Yet how often are drivers seen tearing up to the curb at twenty miles an hour or more to slam on the brakes at the last instant with a violence that nearly causes the car to turn a somersault, bringing it to a standstill in twenty feet, when there was no earthly reason why they should not have used four times that distance. Or if occasion arises for slowing down in a crowded street, the same kind of driver throws out his clutch and applies the brakes with the throttle wide open so the motor can race unhindered.

With the greenhorn the automobile is long-suffering. There was a new owner in Boston, whose name is mercifully suppressed, who took his family out for a first ride. In going down a hill on which the clay was slippery from recent rain it became necessary to turn out for a car coming up. The new driver made the turn so successfully that he turned clear over the edge of the embankment. Having nothing but air to support it, the auto turned completely over without spilling a passenger and landed right side up and on an even keel in a marsh fifteen feet below. It was necessary to get a team to pull the car out of the mud, but once on the solid road the new owner simply cranked 'er up and went on his way rejoicing.

Another new owner could not find the key to fasten one rear wheel on the axle when he unloaded his auto from the car in which it had been shipped from the factory. Nevertheless, he started up the motor according to directions and traveled twelve miles with one wheel driving. By this time the outraged motor was red hot. Whereupon the new owner stopped at a farm-house and dashed several buckets of cold water on it. Then he plugged around the country a week or so before he decided to go to the agent to lodge a complaint that his derned car didn't "pull" well.

Still another new owner complained that his car did not give satisfactory service. The agent was not at all surprised that it didn't when, upon investigation, he found that the car had been driven five hundred miles without a single drop of oil being applied to transmission gear and rear axle.

George Robertson, the racing driver, in tuning up for the Vanderbilt race, went over the embankment at the Massapequa turn on Long Island at the rate of sixty miles an hour. The car turned over twice, but finally stopped right side up. Robertson received a cut on one arm in the fracas, but neither he nor the car was so badly injured but what they could get back to New York, a distance of twenty-five miles, under their own power. There the steering wheel was repaired at a cost of $5, the radiator at a cost of $3, and Robertson's arm at $2.

But the prize-winner was the Fiat racing machine which threw a tire while going fifty-five miles an hour on the Brighton Beach track. The flying racer, now utterly uncontrollable, dashed through two fences, one of them pretty substantial, cut down a tree eight inches in diameter, and finally came to a stop right side up. E.H. Parker, the driver, and his mechanician, were somewhat surprised, but otherwise undamaged. They put on a new tire and in twenty minutes were back in the race again.

What the automobile can do in the way of cheapness was shown by the cost tests, sanctioned and confirmed by the American Automobile Association, between a Maxwell runabout and a horse and buggy. In seven days, in all kinds of weather and over city and country roads, the horse and buggy traveled 197 miles at a cost per passenger mile of 2-1/2 cents. The runabout made 457 miles in the same time, and the cost per passenger mile was 1.8 cents. This covered operation, maintenance, and depreciation, and, incidentally, all speed laws were observed.

The Winton Company, which conducts a sort of private Automobile Humane Society, offers prizes for chauffeurs who can show the greatest mileage on the lowest charge for upkeep. The first prize winner in the contest for the eight months ending June 30, 1909, drove his car 17,003 miles with no expense whatever for up-keep. The second prize winner drove 11,000 miles at an outlay of thirty cents, while the third man drove 10,595 miles without any expense. This makes a total of 38,598 miles by three cars at a cost of thirty cents for repairs. And all the cars were two years old when the contest began.

The moral for those who really want to see what an automobile can do is obvious.

Every automobile that you see is a link in a chain of steel and power which, if stretched out, would reach from New York to St. Louis. What was considered a freak fifteen years ago, and a costly toy within the present decade, is now a necessity in business and pleasure. A mechanical Cinderella, once rejected, despised, and caricatured, has become a princess.

Few people realize the extent of her sway. Hers is perhaps the only industry whose statistics of to-day are obsolete to-morrow, so rapid is its growth. In 1895 the value of the few hundred cars produced in the United States was one hundred and fifty thousand dollars; in 1910 the year's output of approximately two hundred thousand machines was worth two hundred and twenty-five millions. Behind them is a stalwart business representing, with parts and accessory makers, an investment of more than a billion and a quarter of dollars. Four hundred thousand men, or more than five times the strength of our standing army, depend upon it for a livelihood, and more than five millions of people are touched or affected by it every day.

Through its phenomenal expansion new industries have been created and old ones enriched. It withstood panic and rode down depression; it has destroyed the isolation of the farm and made society more intimate. There is a car for every one hundred and sixty persons in the United States; twenty-five States have factories; the honk of the horn on the American car is heard around the world.

Such, in brief, is the miracle of the motor's advance. Its development is a real epic of action and progress.

Before going further, it might be well to ask why and how the automobile has achieved such a remarkable development. One reason, perhaps, is that it appeals to vanity and stirs the imagination. A man likes to feel that by a simple pressure of the hand he can control a ton of quivering metal. Besides, we live, work, and have our being in a breathless age, into which rapid transit fits naturally. So universal is the impress of the automobile that there are in reality but two classes of people in the United States to-day—those who own motor-cars and those who do not.

It must be kept in mind, too, in analyzing the causes of the automobile's amazing expansion, that it is the first real improvement in individual transportation since the chariot rattled around the Roman arena. The horse had his century-old day, but when the motor came man traded him for a gas-engine.

Characteristic of the pace at which the automobile has traveled to success is the somewhat astonishing fact that while it took inventive genius nearly fifty years to develop a locomotive that would run fifty miles an hour on a specially built track, it has taken less than ten years to perfect an automobile that will run the same distance in less time on a common road.

Since this business is so invested with human interest, let us go back for a moment to its beginnings. Here you find all the properties, accessories, and environment to fit the launching of a great drama.

Toward the close of the precarious nineties, a few men wrestled with the big vision of a horseless age. Down in Ohio and Indiana were Winton and Haynes; Duryea was in Pennsylvania; over in Michigan were Olds, Ford, Maxwell, with the brilliant Brush, dreaming mechanical dreams; in New York Walker kept to the faith of the motor-car.

At that time some of the giants of to-day were outside the motor fold. Benjamin Briscoe was making radiators and fenders; W.C. Durant was manufacturing buggies; Walter Flanders was selling machinery on the road; Hugh Chalmers was making a great cash-register factory hum with system; Fred W. Haines was struggling with the problem of developing a successful gasoline engine.

Scarcely anybody dreamed that man was on the threshold of a new era in human progress that would revolutionize traffic and set a new mark for American enterprise and achievement. And yet it was little more than ten years ago.

Those early years were years of experimentation, packed with mistakes and changes. Few of the cars would run long or fast. It was inevitable that the automobile should take its place in jest and joke. Hence the comic era. With the development of the mechanism came the speed mania, which hardly added to the machine's popularity.

You must remember in this connection that the automobile was a new thing with absolutely no precedent. The makers groped in the dark, and every step cost something. New steels had to be welded; new machinery made; a whole new engineering system had to be created. The model of to-day was in the junk heap to-morrow. But just as curious instinct led the hand of man to the silver heart of the Comstock Lode, so did circumstance, destiny, and invention combine to point the way to the commercially successful car.

Out of the wreck, the chaos, and the failure of the struggling days came a cheap and serviceable car that did not require a daily renewal of its parts. It proved to be the pathfinder to motor popularity, for with its appearance, early in this decade, the automobile began to find itself.

Now began the "shoe-string" period, the most picturesque in the whole dazzling story of the automobile. There could be no god in the car without gold. Here, then, was the situation—on the one hand was the enthusiastic inventor; on the other was the conservative banker.

"We will make four thousand machines this year," said the inventor.

"Who will buy them?" asked the banker in amazement; he refused to lend the capital that the inventor so sorely needed.

The idea of selling four thousand motor-cars in a year seemed incredible. Yet within ten years they were selling fifty times as many, and were unable to supply the demand. No fabulous gold strike ever had more episodes of quick wealth than this business. Here is an incident that will show what was going on:

A Detroit engineer, who had served his apprenticeship in an electric-light plant, evolved a car which he believed would sell for a popular price. He tried to interest capitalists in vain. Finally, he fell in with a stove-manufacturer, who agreed to lend him twenty-seven thousand dollars.

"But I can't afford to be identified with your project," said the backer, who feared ridicule for his hardihood.

That small investment paid a dividend as high as thirteen hundred per cent. in a year. To-day the name of the struggling inventor is known wherever cars are run, and his output is measured by thousands. This, in substance, is the story of Henry Ford.

A young machinist worked in one of the first Detroit automobile factories, earning three dollars and fifty cents a day. One day he said to himself: "I can build a better car than we are making here."

He did so, and the car succeeded. Then he went to his employers, and said: "I am worth three thousand dollars a year."

They did not think so, and he left, to go into business on his own account. A manufacturer staked him at the start. Later, through a friend, some Wall Street capital was interested. Such was the start of J.D. Maxwell, whose interests to-day are merged in a company with a capitalization of sixteen million dollars.

A curly haired Vermont machinery salesman, who had sweated at the lathe, became factory manager for a Detroit automobile-maker. His genius for production and organization made him the wonder and the admiration of the automobile world. He was making others rich. "If I can do this for others, why can't I do it for myself?" he reasoned one day.

With a stake of ninety-five thousand dollars, supplemented with a hundred thousand dollars which he borrowed from some bankers, he built up a business that in twenty months sold for six millions. This was the feat of Walter E. Flanders. I might cite others. The "shoe-strings" became golden bands that bound men to fortune.

All the while the years were speeding on, but not quite so fast as the development of the automobile. The production of ten thousand cars in 1903 had leaped to nearly twenty thousand in 1905. The thirty-thousand mark was passed in 1906. Bankers began to sit up, take notice, and feed finance to this swelling industry, which had emerged from fadhood into the definite, serious proportions of a great national business.

The reign of the inventor-producer became menaced, because men of trained and organized efficiency in other activities joined the ranks of the motor-makers. With them there came a vivifying and broadening influence that had much to do with giving assured permanency to the industry.

But other things had happened which contributed to the stability of the automobile. One was the fact that automobile-selling, from the start, had been on a strictly cash basis. Yet how many people save those in the business, or who have bought cars, know this interesting fact?

No automobile-buyer has credit for a minute, and John D. Rockefeller and the humblest clerk with savings look alike to the seller. It was one constructive result of those early haphazard days. Every car that is shipped has a sight draft attached to the bill of lading, and the consignee can not get his car until he has paid the draft.

Why was the cash idea inaugurated? Simply because there was so much risk in a credit transaction. If a man bought a car on thirty days' time, and had a smash-up the day after he received it, there would be little equity left behind the debt. The owner might well reason that it was the car's fault, and refuse to pay. Besides, the early makers needed money badly. In addition to the cash stipulation, they compelled all the agents to make a good-sized deposit, and these deposits on sales gave more than one struggling manufacturer his first working capital.

Another reason why the business developed so tremendously was that good machines were produced. They had to be good—first, because of the intense rivalry, and then because the motor-buyer became the best informed buyer in the world.

This reveals a striking fact that few people stop to consider. If a man owns a cash-register or an adding-machine, it never occurs to him to wonder how, or of what, it is made. But let him buy an automobile, and ten minutes after it is in his possession he wants to know "what is inside." He is like a boy with his first watch. Hence the automobile-purchaser knows all about his car, and when he buys a second one it is impossible to fool him.

Perhaps the first real test of the stability of the automobile business came with the panic of 1907. It resisted the inroads of depression more than any other industry. Most of the big factories kept full working hours, and the only reason why some others stopped was because of their inability to secure currency for the pay-rolls.

Still another significant thing has happened—more important, perhaps, than all the rest of the changes that have crowded thick and fast upon this leaping industry. It began to be plain that certain features must be present in every first-class car. Hence came the standardization of the mechanism, which is a big step forward.

What is the result to-day? The automobile has become less of a designing proposition and more of a manufacturing proposition; less of an engineering problem and more of a factory problem. The whole, wide throbbing range of the business is bending to one great end—to meet a demand which, up to the present time, has exceeded the supply.

You have only to go to Detroit to see this pulsating drama of production in action. Here beats the heart of the motor world; here a mighty army is evolving a vast industrial epic.

Its banners are the smoke that trails from a hundred soaring stacks; its music is the clang of a thousand forges and the rattle of a maze of machinery.

You feel this quickening life the moment you enter the city, for the tang of its uplift is in the air. There is an automobile for every fifty people in Detroit. The children on the streets know the name, make, and model of nearly all the cars produced. You can stand in front of the Hotel Pontchartrain, in the public square, and see the whole automobile world chug by.

Formerly our cities were motor-mad; now, as in the case of Detroit, they are motor-made. Ten years ago the proudest boast of the Michigan metropolis was that she produced more pills, paint, stoves, and freight-cars than any other American city. The volume of the largest of these industries did not exceed eighteen million dollars a year. To-day she leads the world in automobile production. Her twenty-five factories turn out, in a year, more than ninety thousand cars, or more than sixty per cent, of the total output of the United States. These cars alone would stretch from New York to Boston.

But these figures do not convey any adequate idea of what the motor-car has done for Detroit. You must go to the spot to feel the galvanic and compelling force that the industry projects. The city is like a mining-camp in the days of a fabulous strike. Instead of new mines, there are new factories every day, and the record of this industrial high tide is being made in brick, stone, and mortar. Energy, resource, and ingenuity are being pushed to the last limit to take advantage of the golden opportunity that the overwhelming demand for the automobile has created. It is a thrilling and distinctively American spectacle, and it makes one feel proud and glad to be part of the people who are achieving it.

Some of the new plants have risen almost overnight, and on every hand there are miracles of rapid construction. The business is overshadowing all other activities. A leading merchant of Detroit asked a contractor the other day if he could do some work for him. On receiving a negative reply, he asked the reason, whereupon the man said: "These automobile people keep me so busy that I can't do anything else. I have a year's work ahead now."

A visit to any one of the great automobile factories reveals an inspiring picture of cheerful labor. As you wind through the wildernesses of lathes, hearing a swirling industry singing its iron song of swelling progress, you find enthusiasm blending with organized ability in a marvelous attack on work. Plants with a daily capacity of forty cars turn out sixty. You can behold a complete machine produced every three minutes; you can see the evolution from steel billet to finished car in six days. Formerly it took five months.

While the development of the automobile business is in itself a wonder story, no less amazing is its effect on all the allied industries. On rubber alone it has wrought a revolution.

Ten years ago practically all the rubber that we imported went into boots, shoes, hose, belting, and kindred products, The introduction of rubber tires on horse-drawn vehicles only drew slightly on the supply. To-day more than eighty per cent. of the crude article that reaches our shores goes into automobile tires; and the biggest problem in the whole automobile situation is not a question of steel and output, but a fear that we may not be able to get enough rubber to shoe the expanding host of cars. You have only to look at the change in price to get a hint of the growth of this feature of the business. In 1900 crude rubber sold at sixty-five cents a pound; now it brings about two dollars and fifty cents.

The facts about rubber have a peculiar human interest. When you sit back comfortably in your smooth-running car, you may not realize that the rubber in the tire that stands between you and the jolting of the road was carried on the back of a native for a thousand miles out of the Amazon jungle; that for every twenty pounds of the crude juice brought in from the wilds, one human life has been sacrificed. No crop is garnered with so great a hazard; none takes so merciless a toll.

The natives who gather rubber in the wilds of Brazil, in the Congo, in Ceylon, and elsewhere must combat disease, insects, war, flood, and a hundred hardships. The harvest is slow and costly. Only the planting of vast new areas in Ceylon has prevented what many believe would have been a famine in rubber, and this would have been a serious check to the development of the whole automobile business, for as yet no man has found a substitute for it. In such a substitute, or in a puncture-proof tire, lies one of the unplucked fortunes of the future.

Meanwhile, it has started a speculative mania that almost rivals the tulip excitement in Holland. In London alone hundreds of fortunes have been made by daring plungers in a crude article which only a few years ago was regarded as being absolutely outside the pale of the gambling marketplace.

Closely allied with the rubber end of the trade is the growing demand for sea-island cotton, which is used in the tires. A few years ago we used only fifty thousand yards a year; now we absorb ten million yards, worth seven and one-half millions of dollars.

Now take machinery, and you find that the automobile business has created a whole new phase of this time-tried industry. In many motor-cars there are three thousand parts. In view of the extraordinary demand for cars, the machinery to produce them must be both swift and accurate. The old standard tools and engine lathes were inadequate to perform the service. The automobile-makers had to have new machinery, and have it in a hurry.

This demand came at a heaven-sent moment for the tool-manufacturers. They were staggering under the depression of 1907, and many were tottering toward failure. Here came, almost out of the blue sky, a condition that at once taxed their brains, their resource, and their energy, and at the same time rescued them from bankruptcy.

You have only to go to any of the great factories in Detroit, in Cleveland, in Indianapolis, in Buffalo, in Flint, or elsewhere to see the result of this hurry call for tools and machinery. You find automatics cutting the finest gears by the score, while one man operates a whole battery; you see drills doing from fifteen to twenty operations on a piston or a flywheel; you see an almost human machine making seventeen holes at one time without observation or care.

Through these machines run rivers of oil. From them streams a steady line of parts. The whole scope of the tool business is broadened. In the old days—which means, in the automobile business, about ten years ago—an order for ten turret-lathes was considered large; now the motor-makers order seventy-five at a time by telegraph, and do not regard it as more than part of the day's work.

The whole effect of this revolution in machinery is that time is saved, labor is economized, and it is possible to achieve quantity production. This, in turn, enables the large manufacturer to turn out a good car at a moderate price.

So with steel, where likewise wonders have been wrought. Ten years ago the great mass of the steel output in this country was in structural metal and rails. We had to import our fine alloy and carbon steels from Germany and France. But the automobile-makers had to have the lightest and toughest metal, and they did not want to import it. The result was that our mills began to produce the finer quality to meet all motor needs, and it is now one of the biggest items in the business.

In half a dozen other allied industries you find the same expansion as you saw in rubber, steel, and machinery. For instance, the automobile-makers buy twenty million dollars' worth of leather a year. So great is the demand that a composition substitute was created, which is used on sixty per cent. of the tops. A new industry in colored leather for upholstery has been evolved.

Wood, too, has had the same kind of experience. Whole forest areas in the South have been denuded for hickory for spokes. A few years ago, aluminum was used on ash-trays and exposition souvenirs. Now hundreds of thousands of pounds are employed each year for sheathing and casings on motor-cars.

No essential of the automobile, however, is of more importance than gasoline. Here is the life-blood of the car. It is estimated that there are to-day three hundred thousand cars in the United States that travel fifteen miles a day. There are fifteen miles of travel in each gallon of gasoline. This makes the daily consumption three hundred thousand gallons. At an average price of fourteen cents a gallon, here is an expenditure of forty-two thousand dollars for gasoline each day, or more than fifteen million dollars a year. To this must be added the excess used in cars that work longer and harder, and in the host of taxicabs that are in business almost all the time, which will probably swell the annual expenditure for gasoline well beyond twenty millions.

As in the case of rubber, there is beginning to be some apprehension about the future supply of high-power gasoline, so great is the demand. Many students of this fuel problem believe that before many years there will be substitutes in the shape of alcohol and kerosene. The efficiency of alcohol has been proved in commercial trucks in New York, but its present price is prohibitive for a general automobile fuel. If denatured alcohol can be produced cheaply and on a large scale, it will help to solve the problem.

This brings us to the maker of parts and accessories, who has been termed "the father of the automobile business." Without him, there might be no such industry; for it was he that gave the early makers credit and materials which enabled them to get their machines together.

Ten years ago, the parts were all turned out in the ordinary forge and machine-shops; to-day there are six hundred manufacturers of parts and accessories, and their investment, including plants, is more than a billion dollars. They employ a quarter of a million people.

No one was more surprised at the growth of the automobile business than the parts-makers themselves. A leading Detroit manufacturer summed it up to me as follows:

"Ten years ago I was in the machine-shop business, making gas engines. Along came the demand for automobile parts. I thought it would be a pretty good and profitable specialty for a little while, but I developed my general business so as to have something to fall back on when it ended. To-day my whole plant works night and day to fill automobile orders, and we can't keep up with the demand."

What was looked upon as the tail now wags the whole dog, and is the dog. The volume of business is so large, and the interests concerned so wide, that the manufacturers have their own organization, called the Motor and Accessory Manufacturers. It includes one hundred and eighty makers, whose capitalization is three hundred millions, and whose investment is more than half a billion dollars.

There still remain to be discussed two phases of the automobile which have tremendous significance for the future of the industry—its commercial adaptability and its relation with the farmer and the farm. Let us consider the former first.

No matter in what town you live, something has been delivered at your door by a motor-driven wagon or truck. These vehicles at work to-day are only the forerunners of what many conservative makers believe will be the great body of the business. Here is a field that is as yet practically unscratched. Now that the pleasure-car has practically been standardized, vast energy will be concentrated on the development of the truck. Wherever I went on a recent trip through the automobile-making zone, I found that the manufacturers had been experimenting in this direction, and were laying plans for a big output within the next few years. This year's production will be about five thousand vehicles.

The ability and efficiency of the commercial truck for hard city work are undisputed. It has had its test in New York, where traffic is dense and most difficult to handle. Here, of course, are the ideal conditions for the successful use of the motor-truck—which are a full load, a long haul, and a good road. In a city, a horse vehicle can make only about five miles an hour, while a motor-truck makes twelve miles, and carries three times the load.

Some idea of motor-truck possibilities in New York may be gained when it is stated that there are nearly three hundred thousand licensed carrying vehicles there.

The amount of work to be got out of a motor-truck is astonishing. John Wanamaker, for instance, gets a hundred miles of travel per day out of some of his delivery-wagons. The average five-ton truck, in a ten-hour day, can make eighty miles, and keep constantly at work. On the other hand, a one-horse wagon can scarcely average half that mileage.

Already your doctor whirls around in an automobile, and he can make five times more visits than with a horse. So, too, with the contractor and the builder. The drummer carries his samples in a gasoline runabout, and, in addition to seeing twice the number of customers, he can get their goodwill by taking them for a spin. Fire-engines, hose-wagons, and police patrols race to conflagrations propelled by motors, and get there quicker than ever before.

Just as practically every great American activity ultimately harks back to the soil and has its real root there, so, in a certain sense, may the farmer be regarded as the backbone of the automobile business. We have six million farms, and more than forty-five millions of our population live on the farm, or in communities of less than four thousand people. To these dwellers in the country the automobile has already proved an agency for uplift, progress, and prosperity.

It began as a pleasure-car; now it is a necessity on many farms. In Kansas you can see it hitched up to the alfalfa-stacker; in Illinois and Iowa it is harnessed up to the corn-cutter; in Indiana it runs the dairy machinery. But these are slight compared with the other services it performs for the farmer.

For years the curse of farm life was its isolation. Its workers were removed from the shops, the theaters, the libraries, and good schools. More farm women went insane than any other class. The horses worked in the fields all week, and had to rest on Sunday, so that the farmer could not go to church.

The automobile provided a vehicle not excessive in cost, and able to provide pleasure for the farmer's whole family. It annihilated the distance between town and country. Contact with his coworkers and proximity to the market made the fanner more efficient and prosperous. More than this, the motor-car has made the whole rural life more attractive, and offers the one inducement that will keep the boy on the farm.

A hundred instances could be cited of the automobile's aid to the farm. One will suffice. In times of harvest, when a big gang is at work, the breakdown of a thresher will stop operations for a whole day, if the farmer has to drive to town behind a horse to get needed parts. With an automobile, he can dash in and out in a few hours.

No one expects the automobile to replace the horse on the farm. But for work that the horse can not do efficiently—such as the quick transit of milk, butter, and garden products to the markets—the motor-car has a future of wide utility. Incidentally, the farmer may be the first to solve the fuel problem, for by means of cooperative distilling he could produce denatured alcohol for almost nothing.

The more you go into the study of the automobile on the farm, the bigger becomes its significance. In the United States, four hundred and twenty-five million acres of land are uncultivated, largely on account of their inaccessibility. The motor-car will make them more accessible. Through the wide use of automobiles by the farmer we shall get, in time, that most valuable agency for prosperity, the good road.

One emerges from an investigation of the automobile industry in wonder over its expansion, and with admiration for the men behind it. Clear-cut youth, fresh vigor, compelling action galvanize it. Yet what seems to be a miracle at the end of less than ten years of growth may only be the prelude to a vaster era.

Meanwhile, each day records a new chapter of its triumphant progress.

MEXICO PLUNGES INTO REVOLUTION

A.D. 1911

MRS. E.A. TWEEDIE

DOLORES BUTTERFIELD

On May 25, 1911, Porfirio Diaz resigned the Presidency of Mexico, under the compulsion of a revolution headed by Francisco Madero. This act ended an era, the Diaz era, in Mexican history. Diaz had been President for over thirty years. He had found Mexico an impoverished barbarism; he raised it to be a wealthy and at least outwardly civilized state. Some able critics, even among Europeans, had declared that Diaz, "the grand old man," was the greatest leader of the past century. All Mexicans honored him. But unfortunately for his fame he grew too old: he outlived his wisdom and his power.

Of the downfall of such a man there must naturally be conflicting views. We give here the story from the pathetic Diaz side by a well-known English writer upon Mexico, Mrs. Tweedie. Then we give the warm picture of Madero's heroic struggle against tyranny, as it appeared to Dolores Butterfield, a young lady brought up in Mexico, but driven thence by the more recent revolution which resulted in Madero's death.

MRS. E. A. TWEEDIE

Diaz has been hurled from power in his eighty-first year! The rising against him in Mexico has the character of a national revolutionary movement, the aims of which, perhaps, Madero himself has not clearly understood. One thing the nation wanted apparently was the stamping out of what the party considered political immorality, fostered and abetted by the acts of what they called the grupo cientifico, or grafters, and by the policy of the Minister of Finance, Limantour, in particular. Therefore, when Madero stood up as the chieftain of the revolution, inscribing on his banner the redress of this grievance, with some Utopias, the people followed him without stopping to measure his capabilities. His promises were enough.

It is one of the saddest episodes in the history of great rulers, and at the same time one of the most important in the history of a country. Mexico, which has pushed so brilliantly ahead in finance, industry, and agriculture, has still lagged behind in political development. The man who made a great nation out of half-breeds and chaos was so sure of his own position, his own strength, and I may say his own motives, that he did not encourage antagonism at the polls, and "free voting" remained a name only.

A German author has said that all rulers become obsessed with the passion of rule. They lose their balance, clearness of sight, judgment, and only desire to rule, rule, rule! He was able to quote many examples. I thought of him and his theory when following, as closely as one is able to do six thousand miles away, the recent course of events in Mexico. Would he in a new edition add General Diaz to his list?

Diaz has reached a great age. On the 15th September, 1910, he celebrated his eightieth birthday. He has ruled Mexico, with one brief interval of four years, since 1876. For thirty-five years, therefore, with one short break, the country has known no other President; and Madero, who has laid him low, was a man more or less put into office by Diaz himself. A new generation of Mexicans has grown up under the rule of Diaz. Time after time he has been reelected with unanimity, no other candidate being nominated—nor even suggested. Is it to be wondered at that, by the time his seventh term expired in 1910, he should have at last come to regard himself as indispensable?

That he was so persuaded permits of no doubt. "He would remain in office so long as he thought Mexico required his services," he said in the course of the first abortive negotiations for peace—before the capture of the town of Juarez by the insurrectionists, and the surrender of the Republican troops under General Navarro took the actual settlement out of his hand.

It was a fatal mistake, and it has shrouded in deep gloom the close of a career of unexampled brilliancy, both in war and statesmanship. The Spanish-American Republics have produced no man who will compare with Porfirio Diaz. Simon Bolivar for years fought the decaying power of Spain, and to him what are now the Republics of Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Bolivia, and Peru owe their liberation. But Diaz has been more than a soldier, and his great achievement in the redemption of modern Mexico from bankruptcy and general decay completely overshadows his successes in the field during the ceaseless struggles of his earlier years.

Had he retired in 1910 he would have done so with honor, and every hostile voice in Mexico would have been stilled. All would have been forgotten in remembrance of the immense debt that his country owed him. He would have stood out as the great historic figure of a glorious era in the national annals. It was the first time he had broken his word with the people. Staying too long, he has been driven from office by a movement of ideas, the strength of which it is evident that he never realized until too late, and by a rebellion that in the days of his vigorous autocracy he would have stamped out with his heel.

It is a sad picture to look on, especially when I turn to that other one of the simple palace-home in Mexico City, with the fine old warrior, with dilating nostrils like a horse at the covert side, his face aglow, his eyes flashing as he told me of bygone battles, escapes from imprisonment and death, and deeds of wild adventure and romance. These inspiriting recollections he freely gave me for the "authentic biography" which he had given me permission to write. Up to that time he had refused that favor to every one; and in spite of his grateful recognition of the "honesty and veracity" of the volume I had written about his country five years before, he was long in giving his consent. "I have only done what I thought right," he said, "and it is my country and my ministers who have really made Mexico what she is." In the days of his strength, corruption was unknown in his country, and even now no finger can point at him. He retires a poor man, to live on his wife's little fortune. Diaz had the right to be egotistical, but he was modesty itself.

Yet he had risen from a barefoot lad of humble birth and little education to the dictatorship of one of the most turbulent states in the world, and this by powers of statesmanship for which, owing to want of opportunity, he had shown no aptitude before he reached middle life. Before that he seemed but a good soldier, true as steel, brave, hardy, resourceful in the field, and nothing more. It was not until he was actually President, when nearing fifty, that his gifts for government asserted themselves. Such late developments are rare, although Cromwell was forty before he made any mark. Chatham, again, was fifty before he was heard outside his own circle, and yet a few years, barely months, later, the world was at his feet.

It is rather the cry nowadays that men's best work is done before forty; and even their good work no later than sixty; but among endless exceptions General Diaz must take high rank.

His real career began at forty-six. Up to that time he had been an officer in a somewhat disorganized army, and his ambition at the outset never soared beyond a colonelcy.

He was nearly fifty when he entered Mexico City at the head of a revolutionary force. Romance and adventure were behind him, although personal peril still dogged his steps. He had to forget that he was a soldier, and to be born again as leader and politician, a maker and not a destroyer. In that capacity he had absolutely no experience of public affairs, but such as he had gained in a smaller way in early years spent in Oaxaca. Yet Diaz became a ruler, and a diplomat, and assumed the courtly manners of a prince.

Paradoxical as it may seem, his overthrow is the result of a revolution mainly pacific in its nature, and in substance a revolt of public feeling against abuses that have become stereotyped in the system of government by the too long domination of one masterful will. The military rising was but its head, spitting fire. Behind was an immense body of opinion, in favor of effecting the retirement of the President by peaceful means, and with all honor to one who had served his country well.

In 1908 General Diaz had stated frankly, in an interview granted to an American journalist, that he was enjoying his last term of office, and at its expiration would spend his remaining years in private life. There is no reason to doubt that this assurance represented his settled intention. The announcement was extensively published in the Mexican Press, and was never contradicted by the President himself. Then rumors gained currency that Diaz was not unprepared to accept nomination for the Presidency for an eighth term. The statement was at first discredited, then repeated without contradiction in a manner that could hardly have failed to excite alarm. At length came the fatal announcement that the President would stand again.

Hardly had the bell of Independence ceased ringing out in joyous clang on September 15, 1910, in celebration of free Mexico's centenary, hardly had the gorgeous fêtes for the President's birthday or the homage paid him by the whole world run their course, when the spark of discontent became a blaze. He had mistaken the respect and regard of his people for an invitation to remain in office.

By the time the Presidential election approached, signs of agitation had increased. A political party rose in direct hostility, not so much to General Diaz himself or Limantour, as to the Vice-President, who, as next in the succession, in the event of the demise of the President, would have been able to rivet the autocracy on the country.

Corral was the Vice-President. What little I saw of him I liked; but then he had hardly taken up the reins of power. He did not make himself popular; in fact, a large part of the country hated and distrusted him. But for that, probably nothing would have been heard of the troubles which ensued. As the party anxious for the introduction of new blood into the Government increased in vigor, the people showed themselves more and more determined to get rid of Corral. They wanted a younger man than Diaz in the President's chair: they wanted, above all, the prospect of a better successor.

But the official group whose interests depended on the maintenance of the Diaz régime was, for the moment, too powerful, and it succeeded in inducing the President to accept reelection.

To the general hatred of this group on the part of the nation, Madero owed his success. He was almost unknown, but the malcontents were determined to act, and to act at once, and they could not afford to pick and choose for a leader. As a proof that the country thought less of the democratic principles invoked than of the destruction of the official "cientificos," may be cited the fact that it at first placed all its trust and confidence in General Reyes, who is just as despotic and autocratic as General Diaz, but has at the same time, to them, a redeeming quality—his avowed opposition to the gang. Reyes refused to head the insurrection, and it was then Madero or nobody.

In the spring of 1910 Francis I. Madero came to the front. He was a man of education, of fortune, of courage, and a lawyer by profession. He had written a book entitled the Presidential Succession, and although without experience in the management of State affairs, he had shown that he had the courage of his convictions. He consented to stand against Diaz in a contest for the Presidency of the Republic.

The malcontents had found their leader. Madero not only accepted nomination, but began an active campaign, making speeches against the Diaz administration, denouncing abuses, more especially the retention of office by the Vice-President and the tactics of Limantour, and showing the people that as General Diaz was then eighty years of age, and his new term would not expire until 1916, Corral would almost certainly succeed to the inheritance of the Diaz regime.

Energetic, courageous, and outspoken, Madero had full command of the phraseology of the demagog. His only shortcoming in the eyes of his own party was that he had not been persecuted by the Government. The officials, alas, soon supplied this deficiency. A few days before the Presidential election in July, 1910, when making a speech in Monterey, Madero was arrested as a disturber of the peace and thrown into prison, where he was kept until the close of the poll.

The election resulted, as usual, in a triumphant majority for General Diaz, though votes were recorded, even in the capital itself, for the anti-reelectionist leader.

As soon as opportunity offered, Madero escaped to the United States, and from that vantage-ground kept up a correspondence with his friends and partizans. Though the election had been held in July, the inauguration of the President did not take place until December, 1910. A fortnight before that date, a conspiracy, at which Madero probably connived, was discovered in Puebla. The first victim was the Chief of the Police at Puebla. He was shot dead by a woman who at his knock had opened the door of a house wherein the revolutionists were holding a meeting. The revolution had begun. Risings took place in different parts of the Republic, but were quickly quelled, with the exception of one in the State of Chihuahua, where the rebels had a special grievance against the all-powerful family of the great landowner, General Terrazas. These large landed proprietors are a subject of hatred to the new Socialist party.

Trouble followed trouble in the north, which, be it remembered, runs to a distance of over a thousand miles from Mexico City itself. But nothing very serious occurred, until suddenly, in the early weeks of 1911, President Taft mobilized a force of 20,000 American troops to watch the Mexican frontier. From that time events developed rapidly till the end of the Diaz regime in May. One thing became clear, that the revolution was rapidly making its way to victory, and that Diaz, prostrate with an agonizing disease, an abscess of the jaw, was in no condition to rally his disheartened followers in person. He saved his honor, as the phrase goes, by a declaration that he would not retire from office until peace was declared, and he kept his word. He was too ill to leave his simple home in one of the chief streets of the city, where he lived less ostentatiously than many of his fellow citizens, but this did not prevent the mob from firing upon his home. On the afternoon of May 25, 1911, he resigned, and Señor De La Barra, formerly Minister at Washington, became provisional President until the next election, fixed for October.

Madero was the hero of the hour. He entered Mexico City in triumphal procession, June 7, 1911. His entrance was preceded by the most severe earthquake the capital had known in years. Many buildings were wrecked and some hundreds of people killed. An arch of the National Palace fell, one beneath which Diaz had often passed.

Three days after signing his abdication, General Diaz was well enough to leave Mexico City. In the early hours of the morning three trains drew up filled with his own solders and friends, in the middle one of which the ex-President, his wife, the clever and beautiful Carmelita, Colonel Porfirio Diaz, his son, with his young wife, several children, and their ten-days-old baby, were seated. Along the route the train came upon a force of seven hundred rebels. A sharp encounter ensued. The revolutionists left thirty dead upon the field; the escort, which numbered but three hundred, lost only three men. The old fighting spirit returned to the old lion, and, unarmed, the ex-President descended from his car and took part in the engagement. He entered Mexico City fighting, and he has left her shores with bullets ringing in the air. This was but the second time that Diaz had left the land of his birth.

His work is now imperishable. Mexicans, I am sure, will regret the pitiful circumstances under which his fall has come about, and he will live long in the hearts of his countrymen. Nothing can alter the fact that he made modern Mexico. It was no easy task; the Mexicans are a cross-breed of Spaniards and countless Indian tribes. There are still half a million Aztecs. Diaz has given this strange mixed race education, and a high order of education for such a people; he has brought his country to a financial position in which the Government can, or could, borrow all the money it wanted at four per cent. Railways intersect the land in every direction. The largest financial interests are American, the next in importance are British. Except Germany, no other foreign country has much capital invested in Mexico.

Thus closes one of the most wild and romantic episodes of the world's history—a peasant boy who became a soldier, a general who became a President—a President who became a great autocrat, who raised a country from obscurity to greatness, and was finally driven from power by the very people he had educated, and to whom he had brought vast blessings.

The great Diaz in his eighty-first year has passed from power, the power he used so well. Verily a moving spectacle from first to last.

DOLORES BUTTERFIELD[1]

[Footnote 1: Reproduced by permission from the North American Review.]

In contemplating the present situation in Mexico there is a tendency of late to deplore the Madero revolution and the overthrow of Diaz, and to overlook the fact that the Diaz regime itself not only made and forced, by its political abuses, the revolution that overthrew it, but, by its economic abuses, prepared the country for the anarchy now rife in it; and also that it is the very same ring of men who surrounded Diaz and finally rendered his rule unbearable who are now financing and fomenting the present rebellion against a Government not in sympathy with them nor subservient to their interests.

Porfirio Diaz attained the presidency of Mexico thirty-five years ago by overthrowing Lerdo de Tejada. He put an end to brigandage, which was at that time wide-spread. Such bandits as he could not buy he exterminated. His political opponents he also bought or exterminated, so that without the slightest disturbance to the national peace he could be unanimously reelected whenever his term expired. Out of bankruptcy he established credit; he put up schools; he invited foreign capital into his country and made it possible for foreign capital to go in; and so he gradually built up a material progress which won him the name of "nation-builder." There were railroads and telegraphs; the cities were graced with beautiful edifices, with theaters and parks, with electricity and asphalt. There was the appearance of a civilization and progress, which, considering the time in which it was compassed, was indeed marvelous.

But all this was only a shell and a semblance. The economic condition of the Mexican lower classes was not touched—the process of "nation-building" seemed not to include them. In the shadow of a modern civilization stalked poverty and ignorance worthy of the Middle Ages. And it was notorious that in the capital city itself, under the very eyes of the central Government, was where the very worst conditions and the most glaring extremes of poverty and wealth were to be seen. On the one hand, splendid paseos lined with magnificent palaces, where, in their automobiles, the pleasure-seeking women of the rich displayed their raiment worth thousands of dollars; and, on the other, streets filled with beggars, their clothes literally dropping off them in filthy rags, reeking with the typhus which for years has been endemic in the City of Mexico.

Let it be said to Diaz's credit that he did try, in a measure, at first to better those conditions. Hence the public schools which, though inadequate for the scattered rural population, have accomplished much in the cities. He also attempted years ago a division of the lands, but dropped it when he saw that the great landowners were stronger than he and that to persist might cost him the Presidency.

It was natural and inevitable that a Government in which there was never any change or movement should stagnate and become corrupt. Porfirio Diaz was not a President, but, in all save the name, an absolute monarch, and inevitably there formed about his throne a cordon of men as unpatriotic and self-interested as he may have been patriotic and disinterested—as to a great extent he undeniably was. These men were the Cientificos.

The term is, of course, not their own. It was applied to them by the Anti-reelectionists, meaning that they were scientific grafters and exploiters. The full-fledged Cientifico was at once a tremendous landholder and high government official. To illustrate, the land of the State of Chihuahua is almost entirely owned by the Terrazas family. In the days of Diaz, Don Luis Terrazas was always the governor, being further reenforced by his relative, Enrique C. Creel, high in the Diaz ministry. In Sonora the land was held by Ramon Corral, Luis Torres, and Rafael Izabal. These three gentlemen, who were called "The Trinity," used to rotate in the government of the state until Corral was made vice-president, when Torres and Izabal took turn about until the death of the latter shortly before the Madero revolution. In every state there was either one perpetual governor or a combine of them.

Thus in each state a small group of men were the absolute masters politically, economically, and industrially. They made and unmade the laws at their pleasure. For instance, Terrazas imposed a prohibitory tax upon cattle which forced the small owners to dispose of their stock, which he, being the only purchaser, bought at his own price, after which he repealed the law. They adjusted taxation to suit themselves, assessing their own huge estates at figures nothing short of ridiculous, while levying heavily upon the small farmer, and especially upon enterprise and improvements. They practised peonage, though peonage is contrary to the Constitution of the Republic, to the Federal laws, and, in many cases, to the laws of the separate states as well. They drew public salaries for perverting the government to their private benefit and enrichment; and as the dictator grew older and surrendered to his satellites more and more of his once absolute power, the conditions became so intolerable, and the tyranny and greed of the Cientificos so shameless and unbridled (infinitely more so in the southern than in the northern states), that it would have been a reversal of the history of the world if there had been no revolution.

In 1910 the aged Diaz declared his intention of resigning. Perhaps he even intended to keep that promise when he made it; but if so, the Cientificos, who knew that his prestige and the love of the nation for him were their only shield, induced him to think better of it. The strongest of the opposing parties was the Anti-reelectionist party. It embodied the best elements and the best ideals of the country and from the first was the one of which the Diaz regime was most afraid.

Now by its very name this party was pledged to no reelection, and yet it so far compromised with the regime as to nominate Diaz for President, only repudiating Corral, who was odious to the entire nation. However, the Cientificos saw that this was to be the entering wedge, and they promptly prepared to crush the new political faction. Anti-reelectionists were arrested right and left; their newspapers were suppressed, the presses wrecked, and the editors thrown into prison. But the party's blood was up. It did not dissolve. It did not nominate Corral. Instead it struck Porfirio Diaz's name from its ticket and tendered to Francisco Madero, Jr., not the vice-presidential but the presidential nomination. The bare fact that he accepted it speaks volumes for his courage.

Francisco Madero was born October 4, 1873. He was educated from childhood in the United States and Europe; and upon returning to his country, imbued with the advanced ideas of the most broad-minded men of the most enlightened countries in the world, it was perhaps only natural that he should resent the conditions which he saw in his own country. The Madero family owns great tracts of land in Coahuila, besides properties in other states. Madero introduced modern methods and modern machinery in the management of his estates. Already a millionaire, he made more millions, at the same time doing much toward the betterment of conditions for his own immediate dependents among the lower class.

Madero first attracted attention by writing The Presidential Succession in 1910. The Cientifico clique laughed at him as a visionary. Suddenly they awoke to the fact that his book, with its calm, dispassionate logic and democratic tone, was doing them more harm than a thousand soldiers, and they suppressed its publication. It was the writing of this book that led to Madero's nomination for President by the Anti-reelectionist party when every one else had failed it.

Madero took the attitude that he was a presidential candidate in a free republic and began what he called his democratic campaign. He went from city to city, delivering speeches and laying his platform before the people. He was called "the apostle of democracy," and the multitudes followed him like an apostle indeed. But he did not carry out his democratic campaign without sacrifice and risk. When he passed through Hermosillo, Sonora, the hotel-keepers closed their-doors to him. Torres, feudal lord of the state, had given out the necessary hint and Madero, for all his millions, could find no apartments for himself and his wife until a Spaniard—relying upon the fact of being a foreigner— offered them lodgings, "not wishing to lend himself to so ignoble an intrigue." This was but one city of many. In all places he had the most tremendous difficulty in renting halls for his addresses. Frequently he was reduced to speaking in tumble-down sheds or mule-yards or vacant lots, the local authorities often hiring rowdies to create disturbances at his meetings. He was ridiculed, he was threatened, he was persecuted, but he went on unafraid.

Just before and during the elections every known Maderista, from Madero down, was arrested on charges of "sedition." Things came to such a pass that in the city where I lived some sixty prominent Maderistas were arrested at two o'clock one morning without warrants and on no charge, it being noteworthy that the men arrested were almost without exception some of the best and most honorable men in the state. And this happened at the same hour of the same day in every city in Mexico. But in spite of the fact that many votes were lost to Madero through intimidation or actual imprisonment, so strong a vote was registered for the Madero electors that fraud was resorted to to cover his gains. The result of the elections was that Diaz and Corral were unanimously reelected—the former for his eighth term and the latter for his second.

The Anti-reelectionists then appealed to Congress and the Senate to annul the elections, alleging fraud and intimidation. Without the slightest pretense of considering or investigating these charges Congress and Senate—long the mouthpieces of Cientificismo—ratified the elections as just and legal. Every peaceful measure to bring about justice in the elections and insure the free expression of the nation's will was now exhausted. The only recourse left to the people by the Cientifico regime was war. Their leader at the polls became their leader in the preparations for that war.

In the midst of this riot of tyranny, while the nation yet seethed with indignation at the outrageous electoral farce imposed upon it, the first Centennial of Mexican independence was being celebrated before the foreign diplomats with unprecedented pomp and display. The Anti-reelectionists declared that Liberty was dead and that instead of celebrating they were going to don deep mourning. They were thus a mark for all manner of persecutions from petty annoyances to the most unprovoked armed attacks. Some students were fired upon by troops while they were carrying wreaths to the monument of the boy heroes of Chapultepec; a young lawyer was arrested for making a speech beneath the statue of Juarez; and in Tlaxcala a procession of unarmed working men was fired upon and ridden down by rurales, several men and a woman being killed. Consecrating hypocritical hymns to liberty that did not exist and heaping with wreaths the tombs and monuments of the heroes of Mexico, while violating all the ideals for which those heroes died, drunk with the power they had wielded so long, the Cientificos pressed blindly on, following the path that Privilege has taken since the beginning of history and which has only one end.

These are some of the causes and circumstances that made the revolution of 1910-11—not all of them, for there must be remembered in addition the Yaqui slave traffic, the contract-labor system of the great southern haciendas, and a dozen other iniquities, greater and lesser, which also contributed to precipitating the revolt. It was fortunate that that revolt was captained by a man of Francisco Madero's type—a man who knew how to win the world's sympathy for his cause and how to make his subordinates merit that sympathy by their observance of the rules of civilized warfare.

The actual armed contention of the Madero revolution was singularly brief, culminating in the capture of Ciudad Juarez, which was followed by the resignation of Diaz and Corral. There can be no doubt that the dictatorship could have held together for a considerable time longer and that Diaz surrendered before he actually had to. But he could probably see by this time that it was inevitable in any case, and he was willing to sacrifice his personal pride and ambition sooner than necessary to avoid bloodshed in Mexico if he could. And also he had it upon his conscience, and it was brought home to him by the mobs outside his palace, that he was not the constitutional President of Mexico, but the tool of the betrayers of her Constitution. That he had been shamelessly deceived and played upon by the impassable cordon of Cientificos about him is easy to judge. His message of resignation was one to touch any heart, combining pathos with absolute dignity.

The resignation of Diaz and Corral was taken by many to signify the complete surrender of the old régime and the triumph of the revolution. Indeed, for the moment it so appeared. But although the Cientificos were ousted from direct political control, their wealth and power and the tremendous machinery of their domination were still to be contended with before the revolution could follow up its political success with the economic reforms which were its real object.

Madero had pledged himself primarily to the division of the lands. He realized that only by the abolition of the landed aristocracy, and an equitable distribution among moderate holders for active development of the huge estates, held idle in great part or worked by peons, could the progress and prosperity of the nation be put upon a solid basis. He knew exactly what the remedy was and, though a landed aristocrat himself by birth and inheritance, was not afraid of it.

As soon as he was elected to the presidency he set a committee of competent, accredited engineers to work appraising property values in the different states, and great tracts of hundreds of thousands and millions of acres, previously assessed at half as many thousands as they were worth millions, were revalued and reassessed at their true inherent value. The haciendados raised a frightful cry. They tried threats, intrigue, and bribery. It was useless; the revaluation went on. The new administration reclaimed as national property all that it could of the terrenos baldios, or public lands, which under Diaz had been rapidly merging into the great estates. It established a government bank for the purpose of making loans on easy terms, and thus assisting the poor to take up and work these public lands in small parcels. Even before becoming President, Madero had advised the working men to organize and demand a living wage, which they did. He attacked the lotteries, the bull-fights, the terrible pulque trust, the unbridled traffic of which, more than any other one factor, has contributed to the degradation of the lower classes. He began to extend the public-school system.

From the first the Cientificos hampered and impeded him. To foment a counter-revolution they took advantage of the fact that in various parts of the country there were disorderly bands of armed men committing numerous depredations. These men had risen up in the shadow of the Maderista revolution, and at its close, instead of laying down their arms, they devoted themselves to the looting of ranches and ungarrisoned isolated towns. Of these brigands—for they were neither more nor less, whatever they may have called themselves then or may call themselves now—the most formidable was Emiliano Zapata. His alleged reason for continuing in arms after the surrender of the dictatorship was that his men had not been paid for their services. President De la Barra paid them, but their brigandage continued. And at the most critical moment Pascual Orozco, Jr., Madero's trusted lieutenant, in command of the military forces of Chihuahua, issued—on the heels of reiterated promises of fealty to the Government—a pronunciamiento in favor of the revolution and delivered the state which had been entrusted to his keeping to the revolutionists, at whose head he now placed himself.

The new malcontents declared that Madero had betrayed the revolution, and that they were going to overthrow him and themselves carry out the promises he had made. This sounds heroic, noble, and patriotic, but will not bear close inspection. In the first place, many of the revolutionists with whom the new faction allied itself had been in arms since before Madero was even elected—a trivial circumstance, however, which did not seem to shake their logic. Moreover, as any honest, fair-minded person must have recognized, the promises of Madero were not such as he could fulfil with a wave of his hand or a stroke of his pen. They were big promises and they required time and careful study for their successful undertaking and the cooperation of the people at large against the public enemies, whereas Madero was not given time nor favorable circumstances nor the intelligent cooperation of any but a small proportion of the population.

As a matter of fact, Madero himself, far from overstating the benefits of the revolution led by him or making unwise promises of a Utopia impossible of realization, addressed these words to the Mexican people at the close of that conflict: "You have won your political freedom, but do not therefore suppose that your economic and social liberty can be won so suddenly. This can only be attained by an earnest and sustained effort on the part of all classes of society."

It is to be feared that for long years to come Mexico must stand judged in the eyes of the world by the disgraceful and uncivilized conduct of the various rebels, or so-called rebels, and simon-pure bandits who are contributing to the revolt and running riot over the country; but there is, nevertheless, in Mexico a class of people as educated, as refined, as honorable as those existing anywhere. And these people—the obreros (skilled working men) and the professional middle class, as well as the better elements of the laboring classes, are supporting Madero—not all in the spirit of his personal adherents, but because they realize the tremendous peril to Mexico of continued revolution. In 1911 the revolution was necessary—the peril had to be incurred, because nothing but arms could move the existing despotism; but none of the pretended principles of the revolution can now justify that peril when the man attacked is the legal, constitutional, duly elected President, overwhelmingly chosen by the people, and venomously turned upon immediately following his election without being given even an approach to a fair chance to prove himself.

All the better elements of the country realize that Madero no longer represents an individual or even a political administration. He represents the civilization of Mexico struggling against the unreined savagery of a population which has known no law but abject fear, and having lost that fear and the restraint which it imposed upon it, threatens to deliver Mexico to such a reign of anarchy, rapine, and terror as would be without a parallel in modern history. He represents the dignity and integrity of Mexico before the world.

Whatever the outcome, whether it triumphs or fails, the new administration, assailed on every side by an enemy as treacherous and unscrupulous as it is powerful, and making a last stand—perhaps a vain one—for Mexico's economic liberty and political independence, merits the support and comprehension of all the progressive elements of the world.

GREAT BRITAIN CHANGES HER CONSTITUTION BY RESTRICTING THE POWER OF THE LORDS

A.D. 1911

ARTHUR PONSONBY SYDNEY BROOKS CAPTAIN GEORGE SWINTON

On August 10, 1911, the ancient British House of Lords gathered in somber and resentful session and solemnly voted for the "Parliament Bill," a measure which reduced their own importance in the government to a mere shadow. This vote came as the climax of a five-year struggle. The Lords have for generations been a Conservative body, holding back every Liberal measure of importance in England. Of late years the Liberal party has protested with ever-increasing vehemence against the unfairness of this unbalanced system, by means of which the Conservatives when elected to power by the people could legislate as they pleased, whereas the Liberals, though they might carry elections overwhelmingly, were yet blocked in all their chief purposes of legislation.

When the Liberals found themselves elected to power by a vast majority in 1905, they were still seeking to get on peaceably with the Lords, but this soon proved impossible. In January of 1910 the Liberals deliberately adjourned Parliament and appealed to the people in a new election. They were again returned to power, though by a reduced majority; yet the Lords continued to oppose them. Again they appealed to the people in December of 1910, this time with the distinct announcement that if re-elected to authority they would pass the "Parliament Bill" destroying the power of the Lords. In this third election they were still upheld by the people. Hence when the Lords resisted the Parliament Bill, King George stood ready to create as many new Peers from the Liberal party as might be necessary to pass the offensive bill through the House of Lords. It was in face of this threat that the Lords yielded at last, and voted most unwillingly for their own loss of power.

Of this great step in the democratizing of England, we give three characteristic British views—first, that of a well-known Liberal member of Parliament, who naturally approves of it; secondly, that of a fair-minded though despondent Conservative; and thirdly, that of a rabid Conservative who can see nothing but shame, ruin, and the extreme of wickedness in the change. He speaks in the tone of the "Die-hards," the Peers who refused all surrender and held out to the last, raving at their opponents, assailing them with curses and even with fists, and in general aiding the rest of the world to realize that the manners of some portion of the British Peerage needed reform quite as much as their governmental privileges.

A great and memorable struggle has ended with the passage of the Parliament Bill into law. In the calm atmosphere of retrospect we may now look back on the various stages of this prolonged conflict, from its inception to its completion, and further, with the whole scene before us, we may reflect on the wider meaning and real significance of the victory which has been gained on behalf of democracy, freedom, and popular self-government.

In the progressive cause there can be no finality, no termination to the combat, no truce, no rest. But we may fairly regard the conclusion of this particular struggle as the achievement of a notable step in advance and as the acquisition of territory that can not well be recaptured. The admission of the Parliament Bill to the statute-book marks an epoch and fills the hearts of those who are pursuing high ideals in politics and sociology with great hopes for the future. The long sequence of the events which have led up to this achievement has not been smooth or without incident. There have been moments of failure, of rebuff, and even of disaster. It would almost seem as if the motive power which has carried the party of progress through the storm and stress, and landed it in security, had been outside the control of any one man or any set of men. Although distinguished men have led and there have been many valiant workers in the field, a movement that has extended over nearly a hundred years must have its origin and energy deeper down than in any mere party policy. It is the inevitable outcome of the steady but inexorable evolution of free institutions among a liberty-loving people.

In order, first of all, to trace the course of the actual controversy as it has been carried on in the House of Commons and in the country, it is not necessary to go further back than 1883. In that year the Lords had rejected the Franchise Bill, and it was then that Mr. Bright, in a speech at Leeds dealing with the deadlocks between the two Houses, sketched a plan which was really the essence and origin of the principle adopted in the Parliament Act that has just become law. The Lords had rejected many Liberal measures before then; attempts had been made to get round or overcome their opposition; but not till then was any practical method formulated for dealing with the serious and permanent obstruction to progressive legislation. Mr. Bright himself had condemned the peers and declared that "their arrogance and class selfishness had long been at war with the highest interests of the nation," and now he advocated a specific remedy, which he declared would be obtained by "limiting the veto which the House of Lords exercises over the proceedings of the House of Commons." The actual plan was that a Bill rejected by the Lords should be sent up to them again, "but when the Bill came down to the House of Commons in the second session, and the Commons would not agree to the amendments of the Lords, then the Lords should be bound to accept the Bill." This method of procedure, it will be seen, was more expeditious and drastic than the scheme in the Parliament Act.

Mr. Chamberlain joined vigorously in the campaign against the Peers. Telling passages from his speeches are quoted to this day, such as when he declared that "the House of Lords had never contributed one iota to popular liberty and popular freedom, or done anything to advance the common weal," but "had protected every abuse and sheltered every privilege."

No further mention of the Bright scheme was made for some time. Six years of Conservative rule (1886-1892) diverted the attention of Liberals as a party in opposition to other matters, and the Lords subsided, as they always have done in such periods, into an entirely innocuous, negligible, and utterly useless adjunct of the Conservative Government.

In the brief period between 1892-1895, the animus against the House of Lords was kindled afresh. Several Liberal Bills were mutilated or lost, and the rejection of the second Home Rule Bill served to fan the flames into a dangerous blaze. The Bright plan was recalled by Lord Morley. "I think," he said (at Newcastle on May 21, 1894), "there will have to be some definite attempt to carry out what Mr. Bright at the Leeds Conference of 1883 suggested, by which the power of the House of Lords—this non-elected, this non-representative, this hereditary, this packed Tory Chamber—by which the veto of that body shall be strictly limited." Mr. Gladstone, too, in his last speech in the House of Commons on the wrecking amendments which the Lords had made on the Parish Councils Bill, dwelt on the fundamental differences between the two Houses, and said that "a state of things had been created which could not continue," and declared it to be "a controversy which once raised must go forward to an issue."

But by far the most formidable, the most vigorous, the most animated, and, at the time, apparently sincere attack was contained in a series of speeches delivered in 1894 by Lord Rosebery, who was then in a position of responsibility as leader of the Liberal party. If, as subsequent events have shown, he was unmoved by the underlying principle and cause for which his eloquent pleading stood, anyhow we must believe he was deeply impressed by the prospect of his personal ambition as the leader of a party being thwarted by the contemptuous action of an irresponsible body. His words, however, stand, and have been quoted again and again as the most effective attack against the partizan nature of the Second Chamber:—"What I complain of in the House of Lords is that during the tenure of one Government it is a Second Chamber of an inexorable kind, but while another Government is in, it is no Second Chamber at all… Therefore the result, the effect of the House of Lords as it at present stands, is this, that in one case it acts as a Court of Appeal, and a packed Court of Appeal, against the Liberal party, while in the other case, the case of the Conservative Government, it acts not as a Second Chamber at all. In the one case we have the two Chambers under a Liberal Government, under a Conservative Government we have a single Chamber. Therefore, I say, we are face to face with a great difficulty, a great danger, a great peril to the State." So vehement and repeated were Lord Rosebery's denunciations that grave anxiety is said to have been caused in the highest quarters.

But for the next ten years (1895-1905) the Conservatives were in office, and again it was impossible to bring the matter to a head, though the past was not forgotten. When the Liberals were returned in 1906 with their colossal majority, every Liberal was well aware that before long the same trouble would inevitably arise, and that a settlement of the question could not be long delayed. The record of the House of Lords' activities during the last five years has been so indelibly impressed on the public mind that only a very brief recapitulation of events is necessary.

At the outset their action was tentative. This was shown by the conferences and negotiations to arrive at a settlement on the Education Bill, which was the first Liberal measure in 1906. But these broke down, and defiance was found to be completely successful. Mr. Balfour, the leader of the Conservative party, realized that although he was in a small minority in the House of Commons, yet he could still control legislation, and when he saw how effectively the destructive weapon of the veto could be used he became bolder, and, as with all vicious habits, increased indulgence encouraged appetite. Had Mr. Balfour played his trump-card—the Lords' veto—with greater foresight and restraint, it may safely be said that the House of Lords might have continued for another generation, or, at any rate, for another decade, with its authority unimpaired, though sooner or later it was bound to abuse its power; but the temptation was too great, and Mr. Balfour became reckless.

The three crucial mistakes on the part of the Opposition from the point of view of pure tactics were: First, the destruction of the Education Bill of 1906. In view of the historic attitude of the Lords to all questions of religious freedom and general enlightenment, it was not surprising that they should stand in the way of a greater equality of opportunity for all denominations in matters of education. Six times between 1838 and 1857 they rejected Bills for removing Jewish disabilities; three times between 1858 and 1869 they vetoed the abolition of Church Rates. For thirty-six years (1835-1871) the admission of Nonconformists to the universities by the abolition of tests was delayed by them. It was only to be expected, therefore, that they would be deaf to the popular outcry that had been caused by the Balfour Education Bill of 1902. But in the very first session of the Parliament in which the Government had been returned to power by the immense majority of 354, that they should immediately show their teeth and claws was, from their own point of view, as events proved, a vital error. Their second mistake was the rejection in 1908 by a body of Peers at Lansdowne House of the Licensing Bill, which had occupied many weeks of the time of the House of Commons. This was rightly regarded as a gratuitous insult to the House of elected representatives. Finally, their culminating act of folly was the rejection of the Budget in 1909. It was an outrageous breach of acknowledged constitutional practise, which alienated from them a large body of moderate opinion. In addition to these three notable measures there were, of course, a number of other Bills on land, electoral, and social reform that were either mutilated or thrown out during this period. How could any politician in his senses suppose that a party who possessed any degree of confidence in the country would tamely submit to treatment such as this? While the Lords proceeded light-heartedly with their wrecking tactics, the Liberal Government slowly and cautiously, but with great deliberation, took action step by step. A provocative move on the part of the Lords was met each time by a counter-move, and thus gradually the final and decisive phase of the dispute was reached.

After the loss of the Education Bill of 1906, the first note of warning was sounded by Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman. "The resources of the House of Commons," he declared, "are not exhausted, and I say with conviction that a way must be found, and a way will be found, by which the will of the people expressed through their elected representatives in this House will be made to prevail."

The first mention of the subject in a King's Speech occurred in March, 1907, when this significant phrase was used: "Serious questions affecting the working of our party system have arisen from unfortunate differences between the two Houses. My Ministers have this important subject under consideration with a view to the solution of the difficulty."

On June 24, 1907, the matter was first definitely brought before the House. Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman moved that "in order to give effect to the will of the people as expressed by their elected representatives, it is necessary that the power of the other House to alter or reject Bills passed by this House should be so restricted by law as to secure that within the limits of a single Parliament the final decision of the Commons shall prevail." To the evident surprize of the Opposition he sketched a definite plan for curtailing the veto of the House of Lords. This was followed in July by the introduction of resolutions laying down in full detail the exact procedure. In his statement Sir Henry made it very clear that the issue was confined to the relations between the two Houses:—"Let me point out that the plan which I have sketched to the House does not in the least preclude or prejudice any proposals which may be made for the reform of the House of Lords. The constitution and composition of the House of Lords is a question entirely independent of my subject. My resolution has nothing to do with the relations of the two Houses to the Crown, but only with the relations of the two Houses to each other."

In 1908, Mr. Asquith became Prime Minister, but no further action was taken. On the rejection of the Licensing Bill, however, he showed that the Government were fully aware of the extreme gravity of the question, but intended to choose their own time to deal with it. Speaking at the National Liberal Club in December, he said: "The question I want to put to you and to my fellow Liberals outside is this: Is this state of things to continue? We say that it must be brought to an end, and I invite the Liberal party to-night to treat the veto of the House of Lords as the dominating issue in politics—the dominant issue, because in the long run it overshadows and absorbs every other." When pressed on the Address at the beginning of the following session by his supporters, who were impatient for action, he explained the position of the Government: "I repeat we have no intention to shirk or postpone the issue we have raised…. I can give complete assurance that at the earliest possible moment consistent with the discharge by this Parliament of the obligations I have indicated, the issue will be presented and submitted to the country."

The rejection of the Budget in 1909 led to a general election, in which the Government's method of dealing with the Lords was the main issue. The Liberals were returned again, but when the King's Speech was read some confusion was caused by the distinct question of the relations between the two Houses being coupled with a suggested reform of the Second Chamber. This was a departure from the very clear and wise policy of Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, and had it been persisted in it might have broken up the ranks of the Liberal party—very varied and different opinions being held as to the constitution of a Second Chamber. But the stronger course was adopted, and the resolutions subsequently introduced and passed in the House of Commons dealt only with the veto and were to form the preliminary to the introduction of the Bill itself.

Just as matters seemed about to result in a final settlement, King Edward died, and a conference between the leaders of both parties was set up to tide over the awkward interval. The conference was an experiment doomed to failure, as the Liberals had nothing to give away and compromise could only mean a sacrifice of principle. The House met in November to wind up the business, and the Prime Minister announced that an appeal would be made to the country on the single issue of the Lords' veto, the specific proposals of the Government being placed before the electorate. A Liberal Government was returned to power for the third time in December, 1910, with practically the same majority as in January. The Parliament Bill was introduced and passed in all its stages through the House of Commons with large majorities.

Meanwhile, the Conservatives made no attempt to defend either the action or composition of the House of Lords, but adopted an apologetic attitude. They agreed that the Second Chamber must be reformed, and during the second general election in 1910 some of them declared for the Referendum as a solution of the difficulty of deadlocks between the two Houses. But there was an entire absence of sincerity about their proposals, which were not thought out, but obviously only superficial expedients hurriedly grasped at by a party in distress. Their reform scheme, introduced by Lord Lansdowne, was revolutionary, and, at the same time, fanciful and confused. It was ridiculed by their opponents, and received with frigid disapproval by their supporters. Still, they acted as if they were confident that in the long run they could ward off the final blow. They were persuaded that the Liberal Government would neither have the courage nor the power to accomplish their purpose. "Why waste time over abstract resolutions?" asked Mr. Balfour. "The Liberal party," he said, "has a perfect passion for abstract resolutions"—and again, "it is quite obvious they do not mean business." Even when the Bill itself was introduced, they still did not believe that its passage through the House of Lords could be forced. The opposition to the Bill was not so much due to hatred of the actual provisions as fear of its consequences. The prospect of a Liberal Government being able to pass measures which for long have been part of their program, such as Home Rule, Welsh Disestablishment, or Electoral Reform, exasperated the party who had hitherto been secured against the passage of measures of capital importance introduced by their opponents. The anti-Home Rule cry and the supposed dictatorship of the Irish Nationalist leader were utilized to the full, and were useful when constitutional and reasoned argument failed. At the same time as much as possible was made of the composite character of the majority supporting the Government.

Throughout the latter part of the controversy there is little doubt that the Conservatives would have been in a far stronger position had they acted as a united party with a definite policy and a strong leader ready at a moment's notice to form an alternative Government. But they were deplorably led, they could agree on no policy, and their warmest supporters in the Press and in the country were the first to admit that the formation of an alternative Conservative Administration was unthinkable. Nevertheless, there could be no rival for the leadership. Mr. Balfour, aloof, indifferent, without enthusiasm, and without convictions, although discredited in the country and harassed in his attempts to save his party from Protection, remains in ability, Parliamentary knowledge, experience and skill, head and shoulders above his very mediocre band of colleagues in the House of Commons.

The Bill went up to the House of Lords, where Lord Morley, with the tact and skill of an experienced statesman and the unflinching firmness of a lifelong Liberal, conducted it through a very rough career. The Lords' amendments were destructive of the principle, and therefore equivalent to rejection. But even a few days before those amendments were returned to the Commons the Conservatives refused to believe that the passage of the Bill in its original form was guaranteed. When at last it was brought home to them that, if necessary, the King would be advised to create a sufficient number of Peers to insure the passage of the Bill into law, a howl of indignation went up. Scenes of confusion and unmannerly exhibitions of temper took place in the House of Commons. A party of revolt was formed among the Peers, and the Prime Minister was branded as a traitor who was guilty of treason and whose advice to the King in the words of the vote of censure was "a gross violation of constitutional liberty."

As a matter of fact, Mr. Asquith was adhering very strictly to the letter and spirit of the Constitution. Lord Grey, who was confronted with a similar problem in 1832, very truly said: "If a majority of this House (House of Lords) is to have the power whenever they please of opposing the declared and decided wishes both of the Crown and the people without any means of modifying that power, then this country is placed entirely under the influence of an uncontrollable oligarchy. I say that if a majority of this House should have the power of acting adversely to the Crown and the Commons, and was determined to exercise that power without being liable to check or control, the Constitution is completely altered, and the Government of the country is not a limited monarchy; it is no longer, my Lords, the Crown, the Lords and Commons, but a House of Lords—a separate oligarchy—governing absolutely the others."

Had the Prime Minister submitted to the Lords' dictation after two general elections, in the second of which the verdict of the country was taken admittedly and exclusively on the actual terms of the Parliament Bill, he would have basely betrayed the Constitution in acknowledging by his submission that the Peers were the supreme rulers over the Crown and over the Commons, and could without check overrule the declared expression of the people's will. The Lord Chancellor pointed out the danger in one sentence. "This House alone in the Constitution is to be free of all control." No doubt the creation of ten Peers would not have caused such a commotion as the creation of 400, but the principle is precisely the same, and it was only the magnitude of partizan bias in the Second Chamber that made the creation of a large number necessary in the event of there being determined opposition. It was a most necessary and salutary lesson for the Lords that they should be shown, in as clear and pronounced a way as possible, that the Constitution provided a check against their attempt at despotism, just as the marked disapproval of the electorate, as shown, for instance, in the remarkable series of by-elections in 1903-1905, or by a reverse at a general election, is the check provided against the arbitrary or unpopular action of any Government. The Peers were split up into two parties, those who accepted Lord Lansdowne's pronouncement that, as they were no longer "free agents," there was nothing left for them but to submit to the inevitable, and those who desired to oppose the Bill to the last and force the creation of Peers. The view of the latter section, led by Lord Halsbury, was an expression of the wide-spread impatience and annoyance with Mr. Balfour's weak and vacillating leadership. All the counting of heads and the guesses as to how each Peer would behave afforded much material for sensational press paragraphs and rather frivolous speculation and intrigue. The action of any Peer in any circumstance is always supposed to be of national importance. The vision of large numbers of active Peers was a perfect feast for the public mind, at least so the newspapers thought. But in reality the final outcry, the violent speeches, the sectional meetings, the vituperation and passion were quite unreal and of very little consequence. One way or the other, the passage of the Bill was secure.

The Vote of Censure brought against the Government afforded the Prime Minister a convenient opportunity of frankly taking the House into his confidence. With the King's consent, he disclosed all the communications, hitherto kept secret, which had passed between the Sovereign and his Ministers. He rightly claimed that all the transactions had been "correct, considerate, and constitutional." Mr. Asquith's brilliant and sagacious leadership impressed even his bitterest opponents. It only remained for the Lords not to insist on their amendments. Unparalleled excitement attended their final decision. The uncompromising opponents among the Unionist Peers, rather than yield at the last moment, threw over Lord Lansdowne's leadership. They were bent on forcing a creation of Peers, although Lord Morley warned them of the consequences. "If we are beaten on this Bill to-night," he declared, "then his Majesty will consent to such a creation of Peers as will safeguard the measure against all possible combinations in this House, and the creation will be prompt." In numbers the "Die-hards," as they were called, were known to exceed a hundred, and it was extremely doubtful right up to the actual moment when the division was taken if the Government would receive the support of a sufficient number of cross-bench Peers, Unionist Peers, and Bishops to carry the Bill. After a heated debate, chiefly taken up by violent recriminations between the two sections of the Opposition, the Lords decided by a narrow majority of seventeen not to insist on their amendments, and the Bill was passed and received the Royal assent.

Now that the smoke has cleared off the field of battle, let us state in a few sentences what the Parliament Bill which has caused all this uproar really is. It is by no means unnecessary to do this, as those who take a close interest in political events are, perhaps, unaware of the incredible ignorance which exists as to the cause and essence of the whole controversy, especially among that class of society who read head-lines but not articles, who never attend political meetings, but whose strong prejudices make them active and influential. The Parliament Bill, or rather the Act, does not even place a Liberal Government on an equal footing with a Unionist Government. It insures that Liberal measures, if persisted in, may become law in the course of two years in spite of the opposition of the Second Chamber. It lays down once and for all that finance or money Bills can not be vetoed or amended by the House of Lords—which, after all, is only an indorsement of what was accepted till 1909 as the constitutional practise—and it limits the duration of Parliament to five years. The preamble of the Bill, which is regarded with a good deal of suspicion by advanced Radicals, indicates that the reform of the Second Chamber is to be undertaken subsequently.

This is the bare record of the sequence of events in the Parliamentary struggle between the two Houses, each supported by one of the two great political parties. In the course of the controversy the real significance of the conflict was liable to be hidden under the mass of detail connected with constitutional law, constitutional and political history, and Parliamentary procedure, which had to be quoted in speeches on every platform and referred to repeatedly in debate. The serious deadlock between the Lords and Commons was not a mere inconvenience in the conduct of legislation, nor was it purely a technical constitutional problem. The issue was not between the 670 members of the House of Commons and the 620 members of the House of Lords, nor between the Liberal Government and the Tory Opposition. The full purport of the contest is broader and far more vital; it must be sought deeper down in the wider sphere of our social and national life. In a word, the rising tide of democracy has broken down another barrier, and the privileges and presumptions of the aristocracy have received a shattering blow. This aspect of the case is worth studying.

There could be no conflict of any importance between the two Houses so long as the Commons were practically nominees of the Lords. At the end of the eighteenth century no fewer than 306 members of the House of Commons were virtually returned by the influence of 160 persons, landowners and boroughmongers, most of whom were members of the other House. Things could work smoothly enough in these circumstances, as the two Houses represented the same interests and the same class, and the territorial aristocracy dominated without effort over a silent and subservient people.

The Reform Bill of 1832 was the real beginning of the change. By its provisions not only was the franchise extended, but fifty-six rotten boroughs, represented by 143 members, were swept away. There was something more in this than electoral reform. It was the first step toward alienation between the two Houses. There was a bitter fight at the time because the Lords foresaw that if they once lost their hold over the Commons the eventual results might be serious for them. It was far more convenient to have a subordinate House of nominees than an independent House of possible antagonists. The enfranchisement and emancipation of the people once inaugurated, however, were destined to proceed further. The introduction of free education served more than anything, and is still serving, to create a self-conscious democracy fully alive to its great responsibilities, for knowledge means courage and strength. Changes in the industrial life of the country led to organization among the workers and the formation of trade-unions. The extension of local government brought to the front men of ability from all classes of society, and the franchise became further extended at intervals. The House of Commons, now completely free and independent, kept in close touch with the real national awakening and reflected in its membership the changes in social development. But the House of Lords, unlike any other institution in the country, remained unchanged and quite unaffected by outside circumstances. Its stagnation and immobility naturally made it increasingly hostile to democratic advance. The number of Liberal Peers or Peers who could remain Liberal under social pressure gradually diminished. Friction caused by diversity of aim and interest became consequently more and more frequent. There were times of reaction, times of stagnation, times when the national attention was diverted by wars, but the main trend taken by the course of events was unalterable. The aristocracy, finding that it was losing ground, made attempts to reenforce itself with commercial and American wealth, thereby sacrificing the last traces of its old distinction. Money might give power of a sort—a dangerous power in its way—but not-power to recover the loss of political domination. The South African War and the attempt to obliterate the resentment it caused in the country by instituting a campaign for the revival of Protection brought about the downfall of the Tory party. The electoral débâcle of 1906 was the consequence and served as a signal of alarm in the easy-going Conservative world. Till then many who were accustomed to hold the reins of government in their hands, as if by right, had not fully realized that the control was slipping from them. The cry went up that socialism and revolution were imminent. The Times quoted The Clarion. Old fogies shook their heads and declared the country would be ruined and that a catastrophe was at hand. But it was soon found, on the contrary, that the government of the country was in the hands of men of great ability, enlightenment, and imagination; trade prospered, social needs were more closely attended to, and, most important of all, peace was maintained. The House of Commons had opened its doors to men of moderate means, and the Labor party, consisting of working men, miners, and those with first-hand knowledge of industrial conditions, came into existence as an organized political force.

The last six years have shown the desperate attempts of the ancient order to strain every nerve against the inevitable, and to thwart and destroy the projects and ambitions of those who represented the new thought and the new life of the nation. Though apparently successful at first, the rash action of the Chamber which still represented the interest, privileges, and prejudices of the wealthier class and of vested interests, only helped in the long run to hasten the day when they were to be deprived of their most formidable weapon. They still retain considerable power: their interests are guarded by one of the political parties, and socially they hold undisputed sway. In an amazing defense of the past action of the House of Lords, Lord Lansdowne in 1906 said: "It is constantly assumed that the House of Lords has always shown itself obstructive, reluctant, an opponent to all useful measures for the amelioration of the condition of the people of this island. Nothing is further from the truth. You will find that in the past with which we are concerned the House of Lords has shown itself not only tolerant of such measures but anxious to promote them and to make them effectual to the best of its ability. And that, I believe, has been, and I am glad to think it, from time immemorial, the attitude of what I suppose I may call the aristocracy toward the people of this country" The last sentence is a fair statement of their case. The aristocracy are not the people. They are by nature a superior class which Providence or some unseen power has mercifully provided to govern, to rule, and to dominate. They are kind, charitable, and patronizing, and expect gratitude and subservience in return. As a mid-Victorian writer puts it: "What one wants to see is a kind and cordial condescension on the one side, and an equally cordial but still respectful devotedness on the other." But these are voices from a time that has passed.

Democracy has many a fight before it. False ideals and faulty educational systems may handicap its progress as much as the forces that are avowedly arrayed against it. Its achievements may be arrested by the discord of factions breaking up its ranks. Conceivably it may have to face a severe conflict with a middle-class plutocracy. But whatever trials democracy has to undergo it can no longer be subjected to constant defeat at the hands of a constitutionally organized force of hostile aristocratic opinion. At least, it may now secure expression in legislation for its noblest ideals and its most cherished ambitions. A check on progressive legislation is harmful to the national welfare, especially when there is no check on the real danger of reaction. To devise a Second Chamber which will be a check on reaction as well as on so-called revolution is a problem for the future. For the time being, therefore, the best security for the country against the perils of a reactionary regime is to allow freer play to the forces of progress, which only tend to become revolutionary when they are resisted and suppressed. The curtailment of the veto of the Second Chamber fulfils this purpose. Whatever further adjustment of the Constitution may be effected in time to come, the door can no longer be closed persistently against the wishes of the people when they entrust the work of legislation to a Liberal Government.

The first but by no means the last or most crucial stage of our twentieth-century Revolution has now been completed; the old Constitution, which was perhaps the most adaptable and convenient system of government that the world has ever known, is definitely at an end; the powers of an ancient Assembly have been truncated with a violence that in any other land would have spelled barricades and bloodshed long ago; and the road has been cleared, or partially cleared, for developments that must profoundly affect, and that in all probability will absolutely transform, the whole scheme of the British State.

Thus far, with their usual effective, good-humored, shortsighted common sense, with few pauses for inquiry, and with a characteristically indifferent grasp on the ultimate trend of things, have our politicians brought us. Our politicians, I say, and not our people, because one of the distinctive features of the Revolution so far is that it has been a political rather than a popular movement. It did not originate in the constituencies, but in the Cabinet; it was not forced upon the caucus by an aroused and indignant country, but by the caucus upon the country; nine-tenths of its momentum has been derived from above and not from below; the true centers of excitement throughout its polite and orderly progress have been the lobbies of the House and the correspondence columns of The Times; it was only at the last that the urbanities of the struggle between the "Die-hards" and their fellow Unionists furnished the public as a whole with material for a mild sporting interest. When Roundheads and Cavaliers were lining up for the battle of Edgehill a Warwickshire squire was observed between the opposing forces placidly drawing the coverts for a fox. The British people during the past twenty months have seemed more than once to resemble that historic huntsman. They have answered the screaming exhortations of the politicians with whispers of more than Delphic ambiguity; they have gone unconcernedly about their pleasures and their business, to all appearances unvexed by the din of Revolution in their ears; they have presented the spectacle, more common in France than in England, of a tranquil nation with agitated legislators.

The Ministerial explanation of this lethargy and indifference is that the people had no occasion to grow excited; their "mandate" was being fulfilled, they were getting what they wanted, demonstrations were superfluous. But no one who has read the history of the Reform Bill of 1832 or of the Chartist movement or who remembers the passions stirred up by the Franchise agitation and the Home Rule struggle of the eighties will swallow that explanation without mentally choking.

The truth probably is, first, that the multiplication of cheap distractions and enjoyments and of cheaper newspapers has not only weakened the popular interest in politics, but has impaired that faculty of concentrated and continuous thought which used to invest affairs of State with an attractiveness not so greatly inferior to that of football; secondly, that for the great masses of the democracy the politics of bread and butter have completely ousted the politics of ideas and abstractions; and thirdly, that the Constitutional issue was precisely the kind of issue in which our people had had no previous training, either actual or theoretical, and which found them therefore without any intellectual preparation for its advent. Up till the end of 1909 we had always taken the Constitution for granted, and were for the most part comfortably unaware that it even existed. We had never as a nation, or never rather within living memory, troubled ourselves about "theories of State," or whetted our minds on the fundamentals of government. There is nothing in our educational curriculum that corresponds with the instruction civique of the French schools, nor have we the privilege which the Americans enjoy of carrying a copy of our organic Act of Government in our pockets, of reading it through in twenty minutes, and of hearing it incessantly expounded in the class-room and the Press, debated in the national legislature, and interpreted by the highest judicial tribunal in the land.

When, therefore, we were suddenly called upon to decide the infinitely delicate problems of the place, powers, and composition of a Second Chamber in our governing system, the task proved as bewildering as it was unappetizing. Any nation which regarded its Constitution as a vital and familiar instrument would have heavily resented so gross an infraction of it as the Lords perpetrated in rejecting the 1909 Budget. But our own electorate, so far from punishing the party responsible for the outrage, sent them back to the House over a hundred stronger, a result impossible in a country with any vivid sense, or any sense at all, of Constitutional realities, and only possible in Great Britain because the people adjudged the importance of the various issues submitted to them by standards of their own, and placed the Constitutional problem at the bottom, or near the bottom, of the list. In no single constituency that I have ever heard of was the House of Lords question the supreme and decisive factor at the election of January, 1910. It deeply stirred the impartial intelligence of the country, but it failed to move the average voter even in the towns, while in the rural parts it fell unmistakably flat.

Even at the election of December, 1910, when all other issues were admittedly subordinate to the Constitutional issue, it was exceedingly difficult to determine how far the stedfastness of the electorate to the Liberal cause was due to a specific appreciation and approval of the Parliament Bill and of all it involved, and how far it was an expression of general distrust of the Unionists, of irritation with the Lords, and of sympathy with the social and fiscal policies pursued by the Coalition. That the Liberals were justified, by all the rules of the party game, in treating the result of that election as, for all political and Parliamentary purposes, a direct indorsement of their proposals, may be freely granted. It was as near an approach to an ad hoc Referendum as we are ever likely to get under our present system. Party exigencies, or at any rate party tactics, it is true, hurried on the election before the country was prepared for it, before it had recovered from the somnolence induced by the Conference, and before the Opposition had time or opportunity to do more than sketch in their alternative plan. But though the issue was incompletely presented, it was undoubtedly the paramount issue put before the electorate, and the Liberals were fairly entitled to claim that their policy in regard to it had the backing of the majority of the voters of the United Kingdom.

Whether, however, this backing represented a reasoned view of the Constitutional points involved and of the position, prerogatives, and organization of a Second Chamber in the framework of British Government, whether it implied that our people were really interested in and had deeply pondered the relative merits of the Single and Double Chamber systems, is much more doubtful. "When he was told," said the Duke of Northumberland on August 10th, "that the people of England were very anxious to abolish the House of Lords, his reply was that they did not understand the question, and did not care two brass farthings about it." That perhaps is putting it somewhat too strongly. The country within the last two years has unquestionably felt more vividly than ever before the anomaly of an hereditary Upper Chamber embedded in democratic institutions. It has been stirred by Mr. Lloyd-George's rhetoric to a mood of vague exasperation with the House of Lords and of ridicule of the order of the Peerage. It has accepted too readily the Liberal version of the central issue as a case of Peers versus People. But while it was satisfied that something ought to be done, I do not believe it realizes precisely what has been accomplished in its name or the consequences that must follow from the passing of the Parliament Bill. There are no signs that it regards the abridgment of the powers of the Upper House as a great democratic victory. There are, on the contrary, manifold signs that it has been bored and bewildered by the whole struggle, and that the extraordinary lassitude with which it watched the debates was a true reflex of its real attitude.

It has been more like a bull-fight than anything else, or perhaps the bull-baiting, almost to the death, which went on in England in days of old. For the Peerage is not quite dead, but sore stricken, robbed of its high functions, propped up and left standing to flatter the fools and the snobs, a kind of painted screen, or a cardboard fortification, armed with cannon which can not be discharged for fear they bring it down about the defenders' ears. And in the end it was all effected so simply, so easily could the bull be induced to charge. A rag was waved, first here, then there, and the dogs barked. That was all.

It is not difficult to be wise after the event. Everybody knows now that with the motley groups of growing strength arrayed against them it behooved the Peers to walk warily, to look askance at the cloaks trailed before them, to realize the danger of accepting challenges, however righteous the cause might be. But no amount of prudence could have postponed the catastrophe for any length of time, for indeed the House of Lords had become an anachronism. Everything had changed since the days when it had its origin, when its members were Peers of the King, not only in name but almost in power, princes of principalities, earls of earldoms, barons of baronies. Then they were in a way enthroned, representing all the people of the territories they dominated, the people they led in war and ruled in peace. They came together as magnates of the land, sitting in an Upper House as Lords of the shire, even as the Knights of the shire sat in the Commons. And this continued long after the feudal system had passed away, carried on not only by the force of tradition, but by a sentiment of respect and real affection; for these feelings were common enough until designing men laid themselves out to destroy them.

Many things combined to make the last phase pass quickly. It was impossible that the Peerage could long survive the Reform Bill, for it took from the great families their pocket boroughs, and so much of their influence. And there followed hard upon it the educational effect of new facilities for exchange of ideas, the railway trains, the penny post, and the halfpenny paper, together with the centralization of general opinion and all government which has resulted therefrom. But above all reasons were the loss of the qualifying ancestral lands, a link with the soil; and the ennobling of landless men. Once divorced from its influence over some countryside a peerage resting on heredity was doomed; for no one can defend a system whereby men of no exceptional ability, representative of nothing, are legislators by inheritance. Should we summon to a conclave of the nations a king who had no kingdom? But the pity of it! Not only the break with eight centuries of history—nay, more, for when had not every king his council of notables?—not only the loss of picturesqueness and sentiment and lofty mien, but the certainty, the appalling certainty, that, when an aristocracy of birth falls, it is not an aristocracy of character or intellect, but an aristocracy—save the mark—of money, which is bound to take its place.

Five short years and four rejected measures. Glance back over it all. The wild blood on both sides, and the cunning on one. The foolish comfortable words spoken in every drawing-room throughout the United Kingdom. "Yes, they are terrible: what a lot of harm they would do if they could. Thank God we have a House of Lords." Think now that this was commonplace conversation only three short years ago. And all the time the ears of the masses were being poisoned. Week after week and month after month some laughed but others toiled. The laughers, like the French nobles before the Revolution, said contemptuously, "They will not dare." Why should they not? There were men among them for whom the Ark of the Covenant had no sanctity. And then, when the combinations were complete, when those who stood out had been kicked—there can be no other word—into compliance, the blows fell quickly. A Budget was ingeniously prepared for rejection, and, the Lords falling into the trap, the storm broke, with its hurricane of abuse and misrepresentation. We had one election which was inconclusive. Then befell the death of King Edward. There was a second election, carefully engineered and prepared for, rushed upon a nation which had been denied the opportunity of hearing the other side. The Government had out-maneuvered the Opposition and muzzled them to the last moment in a Conference sworn to secrecy. It was remarkably clever and incredibly unscrupulous. They won again. They had not increased their numbers, but they had maintained their position, and this time their victory, however achieved, could not be gainsaid. For a moment there was a lull, only some vague talk of "guaranties," asserted, scoffed at and denied, for the ordinary business of the country was in arrears, and the Coronation, with all its pomp of circumstance and power, all its medieval splendor and appeal to history and sentiment, turned people's thoughts elsewhere.

And then, on the day the pageantry closed, Mr. Asquith launched his Thunderbolt. Few men living will ever learn the true story of the guaranties, suffice it that somehow he had secured them. Whatever the resistance of the Second Chamber might be, it could be overcome. At his dictation the Constitution was to fall. There was no escape; the Bill must surely pass. It rested with the Lords themselves whether they should bow their heads to the inevitable, humbly or proudly, contemptuously or savagely—characterize it as you will—or whether there should be red trouble first.

Surely never in our time has there been a situation of higher psychological interest, for never before have we seen a body of some six hundred exceptional men called on to take each his individual line upon a subject which touched him to the core. I say "individual line" and "exceptional men." Does either adjective require defending?

The Peers are not a regiment, they are still independent entities, with all the faults and virtues which this implies; free gentlemen subject to no discipline, responsible to God and their own consciences alone. At times they may combine on questions which appeal to their sense of right, their sentiment, perhaps some may say their self-interest; but this was no case for combination. Here was a sword pointed at each man's breast. What, under the circumstances, was to be his individual line of conduct?

And who will deny the word "exceptional"? To a seventh of them it must perforce be applicable, for they have been specially selected to serve in an Upper House. And to the rest, those who sit by inheritance, does it not apply even more? It is not what they have done in life. This was no question of capacity or achievement. By the accident of birth alone they had been put in a position different from other men. How shall each in his wisdom or his folly interpret that well-worn motto which still has virtue both to quicken and control, "Noblesse oblige"?

Very curious indeed was the result. It is useless to consider the preliminaries, the pronouncements, the meetings, the campaign which raged for a fortnight in the Press both by letter and leading article. It is even useless to try and discover who, if anybody, was in favor of the Bill which was the original bone of contention. Its merits and defects were hardly debated. On that fateful 10th of August the House of Lords split into three groups on quite a different point. The King's Government had seized on the King's Prerogative and uttered threats. Should they or should they not be constrained to make good their threats, and use it?

The first group said: "Yes. They have betrayed the Constitution and disgraced their position. Let their crime be brought home to them and to the world. All is lost for us except honor. Shall we lose that also? To the last gasp we will insist on our amendments."

The second group said: "No. They have indeed betrayed the Constitution and disgraced their position, but why add to this disaster the destruction of what remains to safeguard the Empire? We protest and withdraw, washing our hands of the whole business for the moment. But our time will come."

The third group said: "No. We do not desire the King's Prerogative to be used. We will prevent any need for its exercise. The Bill shall go through without it."

And, the second group abstaining, by seventeen votes the last prevailed against the first. But whether ever before a victory was won by so divided a host, or ever a measure carried by men who so profoundly disapproved of it, let those judge who read the scathing Protest, inscribed in due form in the journals of the House of Lords by one who went into that lobby, Lord Rosebery, the only living Peer who has been Prime Minister of England.

It is unnecessary to print here more than the tenth and last paragraph of this tremendous indictment. It runs—"Because the whole transaction tends to bring discredit on our country and its institutions."

How under these extraordinary circumstances did the Peerage take sides, old blood and new blood, the governing families and the so-called "backwoodsmen," they who were carving their own names, and they who relied upon the inheritance of names carved by others?

The first group, the "No-Surrender Peers," mustered 114 in the division. Two Bishops were among them, Bangor and Worcester, and a distinguished list of peers, first of their line, including Earl Roberts and Viscount Milner. When the story of our times is written it will be seen that there are few walks of life in which some one of these has not borne an honorable part.

Then at a bound we are transported to the Middle Ages. At the Coronation, when the Abbey Church of Westminster rang to the shouts, "God Save King George!" five Lords of Parliament knelt on the steps of the throne, kissed the King's cheek, and did homage, each as the chief of his rank and representing every noble of it. They are all here:—

The Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal and premier Peer of England, head of the great house of Howard, a name that for five centuries has held its own with highest honor.

The Marquis of Winchester, head of the Paulets, representative of the man who for three long years held Basing House for the King against all the forces which Cromwell could muster, but descended also from that earlier Marquis of Tudor creation, who, when he was asked how in those troublous times he succeeded in retaining the post of Lord High Treasurer, replied, "By being a willow and not an oak." To-day the boot is on the other leg.

The Earl of Shrewsbury, head of the Talbots, a race far famed alike in camp and field from the days of the Plantagenets.

The Viscount Falkland, representative of that noble Cavalier who fell at Newbury.

The Baron Mowbray and Segrave and Stourton, titles which carry us back almost to the days of the Great Charter.

Nor does the feudal train end there. We see also a St. Maur, Duke of Somerset, whose family has aged since in the time of Henry VIII. men scoffed at it as new; a Clinton, Duke of Newcastle; a Percy, Duke and heir of Northumberland, that name of high romance; a De Burgh, Marquis of Clanricarde; a Lindsay, Earl of Crawford, twenty-sixth Earl, and head of a house which for eight centuries has stood on the steps of thrones; a Courtenay, Earl of Devon; an Erskine, Earl of Mar, an earldom whose origin is lost in the mists of antiquity, and many another.

And if we come to later days we have the Duke of Bedford, head of the great Whig house of Russell; the Dukes of Marlborough and Westminster, heirs of capacity and good fortune; Lords Bute and Salisbury, descendants of Prime Ministers; and not only Lord Selborne, but Lords Bathurst and Coventry, Hardwicke and Rosslyn, representatives of past Lord Chancellors.

These, and others such as they, inheritors of traditions bred in their very bones, spurning the suggestion that they should purchase the uncontamination of the Peerage by the forfeiture of their principles, fought the question to the end. If they asked for a motto, surely theirs would have been, "Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra."

And so we pass to the group who abstained, the great mass of the Peerage, too proud to wrangle where they could not win, too wise to knock their heads uselessly against a wall, too loyal not to do their utmost to spare their King. More than three hundred followed Lord Lansdowne's lead, taking for their motto, perhaps, the "Cavendo tutus" of his son-in-law. And still there was fiery blood among them, and strong men swelling with righteous indignation. There were Gay Gordons, as well as a cautious Cavendish, an Irish Beresford to quicken a Dutch Bentinck, and a Graham of Montrose as well as a Campbell of Argyll. Three Earls, Pembroke, Powis, and Carnarvon, represented the cultured family of Herbert, and, as a counterpoise to the Duke of Northumberland, we see six Peers of the doughty Douglas blood. Lord Curzon found by his side three other Curzons, and the Duke of Atholl three Murrays from the slopes of the Grampians. There were many-acred potentates, such as the Dukes of Beaufort and Hamilton and Rutland, Lord Bath, Lord Leicester, and Lord Lonsdale, and names redolent of history, a Butler, Marquis of Ormonde, a Cecil, Marquis of Exeter, the representative of Queen Elizabeth's Lord Burleigh, and a Stanley, Earl of Derby, a name which to this day stirs Lancashire blood. If it were a question of tactics, then Earl Nelson agreed with the Duke of Wellington, and they were backed by seven others whose peerages had been won in battle on land or sea in the course of the last century; while if the Law should be considered, there were nine descendants of Lord Chancellors. Coming to more recent times, there was the son of John Lawrence of the Punjab, and of Alfred Tennyson the poet, Lord St. Aldwyn and Lord Balfour of Burleigh and Lord Lister, and Lords Rothschild, Aldenham, and Revelstoke. What need to mention more?—for there were men representative of every interest in every quarter; but if we wish to close this list with two names which might seem to link together the Constitutional history of these islands, let us note that there was agreement as to action between Viscount Peel, the sole surviving ex-Speaker of the House of Commons, and Lord Wrottesley, the head of the only family which can claim as of its name and blood one of the original Knights of the Garter.

What more is there to say? As, nearly two years ago, we stood round the telegraph-boards watching the election results coming in, many of us saw that the Peerage was falling. The end has come quicker than we expected. The Empire may repent, a new Constitution may spring into being, and there may be raised again a Second Chamber destined to be far stronger than that which has passed, but it will never be the proud House of Peers far-famed in English history.

EUROPE SEIZES THE LAST OF NORTHERN AFRICA A.D. 1911

WILLIAM T. ELLIS

THE WAR CORRESPONDENTS

Italy, by her sudden action in seizing possession of Tripoli in September of 1911, established the authority and suzerainty of western Europe over the last unclaimed strip of territory along the African shore of the Mediterranean.

For over a thousand years the Mohammedans, as represented by either Arabs or Turks, held control of this southern half of the classic Mediterranean Sea. During the past century France, England, and Spain have been snatching this land from the helpless Turks, and Europeanizing it. Only the barren, desert stretch between Egypt and Tunis remained. It seemed almost too worthless for occupation. But a few Italian colonists had settled there, and Italy resolved to annex the land.

Few wars have ever been so obviously forced by a determined marauder upon a helpless victim. Italy wanted to show her strength, both to her own people and to assembled Europe. Hence she prepared her armies and then delivered to Turkey, the nominal suzerain of Tripoli, a sudden ultimatum. The Turks must do exactly what Italy demanded, and immediately, or Italy would seize Tripoli. The "Young Turks" offered every possible concession; but Italy, hurriedly rejecting every proposition, made the seizure she had planned.

The strife that followed had its opéra-bouffe aspect in the utter helplessness of far-off Turkey, incapable of reaching the seat of war; but it had also its tragic scandal in the accusation of cruelty made against the Italian troops. It had also, in the Balkan wars and other changes which sprang more or less directly from it, a permanent effect upon the political affairs of Europe as well as upon those of Africa.

[Footnote 1: Reprinted by permission from Lippincott's Magazine.]

There are conversational compensations for life in the Orient. Talk does not grow stale when there are always the latest phases of "the great game" of international politics to gossip about. Men do not discuss baseball performances in the cafés of Constantinople; but the latest story of how Von Bieberstein, the German Ambassador, bulldozed Haaki Pasha, the Grand Vizier, and sent the latter whining among his friends for sympathy, is far more piquant. The older residents among the ladies of the diplomatic corps, whose visiting list extends "beyond the curtain," have their own well-spiced tales to tell of "the great game" as it is played behind the latticed windows of the harem. It is not only in London and Berlin and Washington and Paris that wives and daughters of diplomats boost the business of their men-folk. In this mysterious, women's world of Turkey there are curious complications; as when a Young Turk, with a Paris veneer, has taken as second or third wife a European woman. One wonders which of these heavily veiled figures on the Galata Bridge, clad in hideous ezars, is an Englishwoman or a Frenchwoman or a Jewess.

Night and day, year in and year out, with all kinds of chessmen, and with an infinite variety of byplays, "the great game" is played in Constantinople. The fortunes of the players vary, and there are occasional—very occasional—open rumpuses; but the players and the stakes remain the same. Nobody can read the newspaper telegrams from Tripoli and Constantinople intelligently who has not some understanding of the real game that is being carried on; and in which an occasional war is only a move.

The bespectacled professor of ancient history is best qualified to trace the beginning of this game; for there is no other frontier on the face of the globe over which there has been so much fighting as over that strip of water which divides Europe from Asia, called, in its four separate parts, the Bosporus, the Sea of Marmora, the Dardanelles, and the Aegean Sea. Centuries before men began to date their calendars "A.D.," the city on the Bosporus was a prize for which nations struggled. All the old-world dominions—Greek, Macedonian, Persian, Roman—fought here; and for hundreds of years Byzantium was the capital of the Roman and Christian world. The Crusaders and the Saracens did a choice lot of fighting over this battle-ground; and it was here that the doughty warrior, Paul of Tarsus, broke into Europe, as first invader in the greatest of conquests. Along this narrow line of beautiful blue water the East menacingly confronts the West. Turkey's capital, as a sort of Mr.-Facing-Both-Ways, bestrides the water; for Scutari, in Asia, is essentially a part of Greater Constantinople. That simple geographical fact really pictures Turkey's present condition: it is rent by the struggle of the East with the West, Asia with Europe, in its own body.

"The great game" of to-day, rather than of any hoary and romantic yesterday, holds the interest of the modern man. Player Number One, even though he sits patiently in the background in seeming stolidity, is big-boned, brawny, hairy, thirsty Russia. Russia wants water, both here and in the far East. His whole being cries from parched depths for the taste of the salt waters of the Mediterranean and the China Sea. At present his ships may not pass through the Dardanelles: the jealous Powers have said so. But Russia is the most patient nation on earth; his "manifest destiny" is to sit in the ancient seat of dominion on the Bosporus. Calmly, amid all the turbulence of international politics, he awaits the prize that is assuredly his; but while he waits he plots and mines and prepares for ultimate success. A past master of secret spying, wholesale bribery, and oriental intrigue, is the nation which calls its ruler the "Little Father" on earth, second only to the Great Father in heaven. If one is curious and careful, one may learn which of the Turkish statesmen are in Russian pay.

Looming larger—apparently—than Russia amid the minarets upon the lovely Constantinople horizon is Germany, the Marooned Nation. Restless William shrewdly saw that Turkey offered him the likeliest open door for German expansion and for territorial emancipation. So he played courtier to his "good friend, Abdul Hamid," and to the Prophet Mohammed (they still preserve at Damascus the faded remains of the wreath he laid upon Saladin's tomb the day he made the speech which betrayed Europe and Christendom), and in return had his vanity enormously ministered to. His visit to Jerusalem is probably the most notable incident in the history of the Holy City since the Crusades. Moreover, he carried away the Bagdad Railway concession in his carpet-bag. By this he expects to acquire the cotton and grain fields of Mesopotamia, which he so sorely needs in his business, and also to land at the front door of India, in case he should ever have occasion to pay a call, social or otherwise, upon his dear English cousins.

True, the advent of the Turkish constitution saw Germany thrown crop and heels out of his snug place at Turkey's capital, while that comfortable old suitor, Great Britain, which had been biting his finger-nails on the doorstep, was welcomed smiling once more into the parlor. Great was the rejoicing in London when Abdul Hamid's "down-and-out" performance carried his trusted friend William along. The glee changed to grief when, within a year—so quickly does the appearance of the chess-board change in "the great game"—Great Britain was once more on the doorstep, and fickle Germany was snuggling close to Young Turkey on the divan in the dimly lighted parlor. Virtuous old Britain professed to be shocked and horrified; he occupied himself with talking scandal about young Germany, when he should have been busy trying to supplant him. Few chapters in modern diplomatic history are more surprising than the sudden downfall and restoration of Germany in Turkish favor. With reason does the Kaiser give Ambassador von Bieberstein, "the ablest diplomat in Europe," constant access to the imperial ear, regardless of foreign-office red tape. During the heyday of the Young Turk party's power, this astute old player of the game was the dominant personality in Turkey.

The disgruntled and disappointed Britons have comforted themselves with prophecy—how often have I heard them at it in the cosmopolitan cafes of Constantinople!—the burden of their melancholy lay being that some day Turkey would learn who is her real friend. That is the British way. They believe in their divine right to the earth and the high places thereof. They are annoyed and rather bewildered when they see Germany cutting in ahead of them, especially in the commerce of the Orient; any Englishman "east of Suez" can give a dozen good reasons why Germany is an incompetent upstart; but however satisfactory and soothing to the English soul this line of philosophy may be, it drives no German merchantmen from the sea and no German drummers from the land. The supineness of the British in the face of the German inroads into their ancient preserves is amazing to an American, who, as one of their own poets has said,

     Turns a keen, untroubled face
     Home to the instant need of things.

In this case, however, the proverbial luck of the British has been with them. The steady decline of their historic prestige in the near East was suddenly arrested by Italy's declaration of war. For more than a generation Turkey has been the pampered enfant terrible of international politics, violating the conventions and proprieties with impunity; feeling safe amid the jealousies of the players of "the great game." Every important nation has a bill of grievances to settle with Turkey; America's claim, for instance, includes the death of two native-born American citizens, Rogers and Maurer, slain in the Adana massacre, under the constitution. Nobody has been punished for this crime, because, forsooth, it happened in Turkey. Italy made a pretext of a cluster of these grievances, and startled the world by her claims upon Tripoli, accompanied by an ultimatum. Turkey tried to temporize. Pressed, she turned to Germany with a "Now earn your wages. Get me out of this scrape, and call off your ally."

And Germany could not. With the taste of Morocco dirt still on his tongue, the Kaiser had to take another unpalatable mouthful in Constantinople. His boasted power, upon which the Turks had banked so heavily, and for the sake of which they had borne so much humiliation, proved unequal to the demand. He could not help his friend the Sultan. Italy would have none of his mediation; for reasons that will hereinafter appear.

Then came Britain's vindication. The Turks turned to this historic and preeminent friend for succor. The Turkish cabinet cabled frantically to Great Britain to intercede for them; the people in mass-meeting in ancient St. Sophia's echoed the same appeal. For grim humor, the spectacle has scarcely an equal in modern history. Besought and entreated, the British, who no doubt approved of Italy's move from the first, declined to pull Turco-German chestnuts out of the fire. "Ask Cousin William to help you," was the ironical implication of their attitude. Well did Britain know that if the situation were saved, the Germans would somehow manage to get the credit of it. And if the worst should come, Great Britain could probably meet it with Christian fortitude! For in that eventuality the Bagdad Railway concession would be nullified, and Britain would undoubtedly take over all of the Arabian Peninsula, which is logically hers, in the light of her Persian Gulf and Red Sea claims. The break-up of Turkey would settle the Egyptian question, make easy the British acquisition of southern Persia, and put all the holy places of Islam under the strong hand of the British power, where they would be no longer powder-magazines to worry the dreams of Christendom. Far-sighted moves are necessary in "the great game."

Small wonder that Germany became furious; and that the Berlin newspapers burst out in denunciations of Italy's wicked and piratical land-grabbing—a morsel of rhetoric following so hard upon the heels of the Morocco episode that it gave joy to all who delight in hearing the pot rail at the kettle. "The great game" is not without its humors. But the sardonic joke of the business lies deeper than all this. The Kaiser had openly coquetted with the Sultan upon the policy of substituting Turkey for Italy in the Triple Alliance. Turkey has a potentially great army: the one thing the Turk can do well is to fight. With a suspicious eye upon Neighbor Russia, the Kaiser figured it out that Turkey would be more useful to him than Italy, especially since the Abyssinian episode had so seriously discredited the latter. Then, of a sudden, with a poetic justice that is delicious, Italy turns around and humiliates the nation that was to take its place The whole comic situation resembles nothing more nearly than a supposedly defunct spouse rising from his death-bed to thrash the expectant second husband of his wife.

Here "the great game" digresses in another direction, that takes no account of Turkey. Of course, it was more than a self-respecting desire to avenge affronts that led Italy to declare war against Turkey; and also more than a hunger for the territory of Tripoli. Italy needed to solidify her national sentiment at home, in the face of growing socialism and clever clericalism. Even more did she need to show the world that she is still a first-class power. There has been a disposition of late years to leave her out of the international reckoning. Now, at one skilful jump, she is back in the game—and on better terms than ever with the Vatican, for she will look well to all the numerous Latin missions in the Turkish Empire, and especially in Palestine. These once were France's special care, and are yet, to a degree; but France is out of favor with the Church, and steadily declining from her former place in the Levant, although French continues to be the "lingua franca" of merchandising, of polite society, and of diplomacy, in the Near East.

Let nobody think that this is lugging religion by the ears into "the great game." Religion, even more than national or racial consciousness, is one of the principal players. In America politicians try to steer clear of religion; although even here a cherry cocktail mixed with Methodism has been known to cost a man the possible nomination for the Presidency. In the Levant, however, religion is politics. The ambitions and policies of Germany, Russia, and Britain are less potent factors in the ultimate and inevitable dissolution of Turkey than the deep-seated resolution of some tens of millions of people to see the cross once more planted upon St. Sophia's. Ask anybody in Greece or the Balkans or European Russia what "the great idea" is, and you will get for an answer, "The return of the cross to St. Sophia's." Backward and even benighted Christians these Eastern churchmen may be, but they hold a few fundamental ideas pretty fast, and are readier to fight for them than their occidental brethren.

The world may as well accept, as the principal issue of "the great game" that centers about Constantinople, the fact that the war begun twelve hundred years ago by the dusky Arabian camel-driver is still on. This Turco-Italian scrape is only one little skirmish in it.

* * * * *

The outbreak of war between Italy and Turkey came as a surprize to the great majority of the European public, and even in Italy until the last moment few believed that the crisis would come to a head so soon. Those who had closely followed the course of political opinion in the country during the past year, however, saw that a change had come over the public spirit of Italy, and that a new attitude toward questions of foreign policy was being adopted. It may be of interest in the present circumstances to examine the causes and the course of this development.

Since the completion of Italian unity with the fall of the Temporal Power in 1870, the Italian people had devoted all its energies to internal affairs, for everything had to be created—roads, railways, ports, improved agriculture, industry, schools, scientific institutions, the public services, were either totally lacking or quite inadequate to the needs of a great modern nation. Above all, the finances of the State, shattered by the wars of independence and by bad administration, had to be placed on a sound footing. Consequently, foreign affairs attracted but slight public interest. Such a state of things was at that time inevitable owing to the precarious situation at home, but it proved a most unfortunate necessity, as it was during this very period that the great no-man's-lands of Asia and Africa were being partitioned among the other nations, and vast uncultivated, undeveloped, and thinly populated territories annexed by various European Powers, and converted into important colonial empires offering splendid outlets for trade and emigration. Italy had appeared last in this field, when nearly all the best lands had been annexed and when conquests could not be attempted, even in the still available regions, without large, well-organized armed forces and a determined, intelligent, and well-informed public opinion to back them up. In Italy neither was to be found. The country was too poor to launch forth into colonial and foreign politics with any chance of success, and the people were too untraveled and too little acquainted with the development of other countries to pay much attention to events outside Italy, or, at all events, outside Europe.

In the meanwhile, considerable progress in the economic and social conditions of the Italian people had been achieved, and by grinding economy and incredible sacrifices the finances were being restored. There came a moment, however, when the need for colonial expansion began to be felt. As a sop to public opinion, which had been exasperated by the French occupation of Tunis, the Italian Government decided in 1885 to occupy Massowah and the surrounding territories on the Red Sea coast. But that country was not suited to Italian colonization, and Italy was not yet ready to develop a purely trading colony at so great a distance from the homeland. A long series of errors were committed, relieved at times by the heroism and devotion of the army fighting against huge odds in an inhospitable and unknown land, culminating in the disaster of Adowa in 1896. What wrought the greatest injury to Italian prestige was not so much the defeat in itself as the fact that it was allowed to remain unavenged. There was a fresh Italian army on the scene under an admirable leader, General Baldissera, who enjoyed the full confidence of his men, and it was clear that the Abyssinian forces could not hold together much longer. The Premier, however, Signor Crispi, a man of unquestioned ability, but who lived in advance of his time, before the nation was ready to follow him in his Imperial policy, was overwhelmed by a storm of indignation, and his successor, Marchese di Rudini, terrified by the riots promoted by unscrupulous Socialist and Anarchist agitators as a protest against the African campaign, concluded a disastrous peace with the enemy.

In the meanwhile, Italian Socialism, which had found a suitable field for action in the unsatisfactory condition of the working class, had evolved a theory of government which, although common to some extent to the Socialists of other countries, was nowhere carried to such lengths as in Italy. Socialism in theory has everywhere adopted an attitude of hostility to militarism, imperialism, and patriotism, and professes to be internationalist and pacificist, and regards class hatred and civil disorders as the only moral and praiseworthy forms of warfare. But in countries where the masses have reached a certain degree of political education such views, if carried to their logical conclusion, are sure to be rejected by the majority, and even the Socialist leaders realize that Nationalism is a vital force which has to be reckoned with, and that a sane Imperialism and efficient military policy are as necessary in the interests of the masses as in those of the classes. In Italy, on the other hand, where even the bourgeoisie took but a lukewarm interest in the wider questions of world policy, the Socialist leaders conducted an avowedly anti-patriotic propaganda against every form of national sentiment, against the very existence of Italy as a nation, and they achieved considerable success. By representing patriotism and the army as the causes of low wages, and war and colonial Imperialism as the result of purely capitalist intrigues because it is only the capitalists who profit by such adventures, they met with wide-spread acceptance among a large part of the working classes.

Thus a general feeling got possession of the Italian people that war was played out, and that even if it were to occur Italy was sure to be defeated by any other Power, that nothing must be done to provoke the resentment of the foreigner, that the only form of expansion to be encouraged was emigration to foreign lands, and even the export trade which was growing so rapidly was looked upon askance by the Socialists as a mere capitalist instrument. This attitude, which was certainly not conducive to a healthy public spirit, was reflected in the conduct of the Government, which felt that it would not be backed by the nation if it gave signs of energy. The result was that Italy found her interests blocked at every turn by other nations which were not imbued with such "humanitarian" theories, and that she was subjected to countless humiliations on the part of Governments who were convinced that under no provocation would Italy show resentment.

Gradually and imperceptibly a change came over public feeling, and the necessity for a sane and vigorous patriotism began to be dimly realized. One of the earliest symptoms of this new attitude was the publication, in 1903, of Federigo Garlanda's La terza Italia; the book professed to be written by a friendly American observer and critic of Italian affairs, and the author regards the absence of militant patriotism as the chief cause of Italy's weakness in comparison with other nations. Mario Morasso, in his volume, L'Imperialismo nel Secolo XX, published in 1905, opened fire on the still predominant Socialistic internationalism and sentimental humanitarianism, and extolled the policy of conquest and expansion adopted by Great Britain, Germany, France, and the United States as a means of strengthening the fiber of the national character.

In December, 1910, a congress of Italian Nationalists was held in Florence, and at that gathering, which was attended by several hundred persons, including numerous well-known names, many aspects of Italian national life were examined and discussed. The various speakers impressed on their hearers the importance of Nationalism as the basis for all political thought and action. The weakness of the country, the contempt which other nations felt for Italy, the unsatisfactory state both of home and foreign politics, and the poverty of a large part of the population, were all traced to the absence of a sane and vigorous patriotism. The strengthening of the army and navy, the development of a military spirit among the people, a radical change of direction in the conduct of the nation's foreign policy, and the ending of the present attitude of subservience to all other Powers, great or small, were regarded as the first desiderata of the country. The Turks, too, who since the revolution of 1908 had become particularly truculent toward the Italians, especially in Tripoli, also came in for rough treatment, and various speakers demanded that the Government should secure adequate protection for Italian citizens and trade in the Ottoman Empire, and that a watch should be kept on Tripoli lest others seized it before the moment for Italian occupation arrived. Signor Corradini insisted that there were worse things for a nation than war, and that the occasional necessity for resort to the "dread arbitrament" must be boldly faced by any nation worthy of the name.

The congress proved a success, and the ideas expressed in it which had been "in the air" for some time were accepted by a considerable number of people. The Nationalist Association was founded then and there and soon gathered numerous adherents; a new weekly paper, L'Idea Nazionale, commenced publication on March 1, 1911 (the anniversary of Adowa), and rapidly became an important organ of public opinion, while several dailies and reviews adopted Nationalist principles or viewed them with sympathy. Italian Nationalism has no resemblance to the parties of the same name in France, Ireland, or elsewhere; indeed, it is not really a party at all, for it gathers in Liberals, Conservatives, Radicals, Clericals, Socialists even, provided they accept the patriotic idea and are anxious to see their country raised to a higher place in the congress of nations even at the cost of some sacrifice.

Italy, according to Professor Sighele (Il Nazionalismo ed i Partiti politici p. 80 sq.), must be Imperialist in order to prevent the closing up of all the openings whence the nation receives its oxygen, and to prevent the Adriatic from becoming more and more an Austrian lake, to prevent even the Mediterranean from being closed around us like a camp guarded by hostile sentinels, and to provide a field of activity for our emigrants wherein they will enjoy that protection which they now lack, and which only a bold foreign policy, a thorough preparation for war, and a clear Imperialist attitude on the part of the rulers of the State can give them.

For some time the Government continued to appear impervious to the Nationalist spirit and professed to regard the movement as a schoolboy's game. But it could not long remain indifferent to so wide-spread a feeling. Italy's relations with Turkey were rapidly approaching a crisis. The new Ottoman régime, while it was proving no better than the old in the matter of corruption, inefficiency, and persecution of the subject-races, had one new feature—an outburst of rabid chauvinism and of hatred for all foreigners, but especially for Italians, whom the Young Turks regarded as the weakest of nations. Never had Italian prestige fallen so low in the Levant as at this period, and the Italian Government did nothing to retrieve the situation. In Tripoli, above all, where Italy's reversionary interest had been sanctioned by agreements with England and France, the position of Italian citizens and firms was rendered well-nigh intolerable. Turkish persecution reached such a point that two Italians, the monk, Father Giustino, and the merchant, Gastone Terreni, were assassinated at the instigation and with the complicity of the authorities, without any redress being obtained.

The Nationalists since the beginning of their propaganda had agitated for a firmer attitude toward Turkey, insisting on the opening up of Tripoli to Italian enterprise. Italy was being hemmed in on all sides by France in Algeria and Tunisia, and by England in Egypt; Tripolitaine alone remained as a possible outlet for her eventual expansion. The Turkish Government did nothing for the development of that province, but it was determined that no one else should do anything for it, and thwarted the efforts of every Italian enterprise, the Banco di Roma alone succeeding by ceaseless activity and untiring patience in creating important undertakings in the African vilayet.

Had events pursued their normal course Italy would probably have been content to develop her commercial interests in Tripolitaine to the advantage of its inhabitants as well as of her own, waiting for the time when in due course the country should fall to her share. But the persistent hostility of the Turkish authorities was bringing matters to a head, and while the Italian Government apparently refused to regard the state of affairs as serious, the Nationalists continued to demand the assertion of Italy's interests in Tripoli. The Press gradually adopted their point of view, the Idea Nazionale published Corradini's vivid letters from Tripoli, and even Ministerial organs like the Tribuna of Rome and the Stampa of Turin, following the lead of their correspondents who visited Tripolitaine during the past spring and summer and wrote of its resources and possibilities with enthusiasm, were soon converted. If any nation has a right to colonies it is Italy with her rapidly increasing population, her small territory, and her streams of emigrants. Still the Government, from fear of international complications and of alienating its Socialist supporters, who, of course, opposed all idea of territorial expansion, refused to do anything. Then the Franco-German Morocco bombshell burst, and Agadir made the Italian people realize that the question of Tripoli called for immediate solution. The whole of the rest of Mediterranean Africa was about to be partitioned among the Powers, and Tripoli would certainly not be left untouched if Italy failed to make good her claims; Germany, it is believed, had cast her eyes on it, and already her commercial agents and prospectors were on the spot. The demands for an occupation by Italy were insistent; all classes were calling on the Government to act, and in Genoa there were even angry mutterings of revolt. The nation realized that it was a case of now or never, and every one felt that the folly of Tunis must not be repeated.

At the same time the Turks, convinced that Italy would never fight, continued in their overbearing attitude, and placed increasing obstacles in the way of Italian enterprise in all parts of the Empire while ostentatiously favoring other foreign undertakings. Incidents such as the abduction of an Italian girl and her forcible conversion to Islam and marriage to a Turk, and the attacks on Italian vessels in the Red Sea, added fuel to the flame, and public opinion became more and more excited. The Premier at last saw that the country was practically unanimous on the question of Tripoli, and although personally averse to all adventures in the field of foreign affairs which interfered with his political action at home, he realized that unless he faced the situation boldly his prestige was gone. On the 20th of September the expedition to Tripoli was decided. Hastily and secretly military preparations were made, and the Note concerning the sending of Turkish reinforcements or arms to Tripoli was issued. Then followed the ultimatum, and finally the declaration of war. The Socialist leaders, who saw in this awakening of a national conscience and of a militant Imperialist spirit a serious menace to their own predominance, were in a state of frenzy, and they attempted to organize a general strike as a protest against the Government. But the movement fizzled out miserably, and only an insignificant number of workmen struck.

On the other hand, the declaration of war was greeted by an outburst of popular enthusiasm such as no one believed possible in the Italy of to-day. The departure or passage of the troops on their way to Tripoli gave occasion for scenes of the most intense patriotic excitement, and the sight of some two hundred thousand people in the streets of Rome at one A.M. on October 7th, cheering the march past of the 82d infantry regiment, is one not easily forgotten. The heart of the whole nation was in the enterprise. Even many prominent Socialists, casting the shackles of party fealty to the winds, declared themselves in favor of the Government's African policy and accepted the occupation of Tripoli as a necessity for the country, while the Clericals were even more enthusiastic. But there was hardly a trace of anti-Turkish feeling; it was simply that the people, rejoiced at having awakened from the long nightmare of political apathy and international servility, had thrown off the grinding and degrading yoke of Socialist tyranny, and risen to a dawn of higher ideals of national dignity. Italy had at last asserted herself. The extraordinary efficiency, speed, and secrecy with which the expedition was organized, shipped across the Mediterranean, and landed in Africa, the discipline, moral, and gallantry which both soldiers and sailors displayed, were a revelation to everybody and gave the Italians new confidence in their military forces, and made them feel that they could hold up their heads before all the world unashamed. A new Italy was born—the Italy of the Italian nation. In the words of Mameli's immortal hymn, which has been revived as the war-song of the Nationalists,

   "Fratelli d'Italia, l'Italia s'è desta,
   Dell' elmo di Scipio s'è cinta la testa."

The actual operations of the war were too one-sided to be interesting from the military viewpoint. Turkey had no navy which could compete for a moment with that of Italy. Hence the Turks could dispatch no troops whatever to Tripoli, and its defense devolved solely upon the native Arab inhabitants. These wild tribes were brave and warlike and fanatically Mohammedan in their opposition to the Christian invaders. But they were wholly without training in modern modes of warfare and without modern weapons. Their frenzied rushes and antiquated guns were helpless in the face of quick-firing artillery.

The Italians demonstrated their ability to handle their own forces, to transport troops, land them and provision them with speed and skill. That was about all the struggle established. On October 3d the city of Tripoli, the only important Tripolitan harbor, was bombarded. Two days later the soldiers landed and took possession of it. For a month following, there were minor engagements with the Arabs of the neighborhood, night attacks upon the Italians, rumors that they lost their heads and shot down scores of unarmed and unresisting natives. Then on November 5th Italy proclaimed that she had conquered and annexed Tripoli.

The only remaining difficulty was to get the Turkish Government to give its formal assent to this new regime, which it had been unable to resist. Here, however, the Italians encountered a difficulty. They had promised the rest of Europe that they would not complicate the European Turkish problem by attacking Turkey anywhere except in Africa. In Africa they had now done their worst, and so the Turkish Government, with true Mohammedan serenity, defied them to do more. Turkey absolutely refused to acknowledge the Italian claim to Tripolitan suzerainty. True, she could not fight, but neither would she utter any words of surrender. Let the Italians do what they pleased in Tripoli. Turkey still continued in her addresses to her own people to call herself its lord.

This course satisfied the ignorant Mohammedans of Constantinople, who knew little of what was really happening; and so it enabled the Young Turk party to retain control of the political situation at home. The dissatisfaction of Italy, however, increased, until she withdrew her earlier pledge to Europe and set her navy to the task of seizing one after another the Turkish islands lying in the eastern Mediterranean, After some months of this leisurely appropriation of helpless territories, the Turks yielded the point at issue. In October of 1912 they signed a treaty of peace with Italy granting her entire possession of Tripoli. By this time the Turks had become involved in their far more deadly struggle with the united Balkan States; and the Government was able to offer this new strife to its subjects as its excuse for yielding to the Italians. Turkey, though she still holds a nominal authority over Egypt, ceased to have any real power over any part of Africa. She retained only a European and Asiatic empire.

THE MOVEMENT COMES TO THE FRONT BY ITS TRIUMPH IN CALIFORNIA A.D. 1911

IDA HUSTED HARPER JANE ADDAMS DAVID LLOYD-GEORGE ISRAEL ZANGWILL ELBERT HUBBARD

When future generations look for an exact event to mark the triumphal turning-point in the progress of the woman-suffrage movement, they will probably select the election which took place in the great American State of California in October, 1911. Other States had given women votes before, but they were smaller communities, where the movement could still be regarded as an eccentricity, a mere whimsicality. When, however, California in 1911 granted full suffrage to her women, almost half a million in number, the movement became obviously important. The vote of California might well turn the scale in a Presidential election. Moreover, other States followed California's example. Woman suffrage soon dominated the West, and began its progress eastward. The shrewd Lincoln said that no government could continue to exist half slave and half free; and the axiom is equally true of a divided suffrage. There can be little question that woman suffrage will ultimately be adopted throughout the Eastern States, not because of force, but through the ever-increasing pressure of political expediency.

Hence we give here an account of the progress of the woman-suffrage cause up to the California election as it appeared to the prominent suffragist writer, Ida Husted Harper, and to the honored suffragist leader, Jane Addams. The peculiarities of the movement in England seem to necessitate separate treatment, so we present the view of its antagonists as temperately expressed by Britain's celebrated Minister of the Treasury, David Lloyd-George, and the defense of the "militants" by the noted novelist, Israel Zangwill. Then comes a summary of the entire theme by that widely known "friend of humanity," Elbert Hubbard.

For permission to quote some of these authoritative utterances which had been previously printed, we owe cordial thanks to the publishers or authors. Mrs. Harper's summary appeared originally in the American Review of Reviews, and Miss Addams's comments in The Survey of June, 1912. Both Elbert Hubbard's words and those of Lloyd-George are reprinted from Hearst's Magazine of August, 1912, and August, 1913.

IDA HUSTED HARPER

A few years ago no changes in the governments of the world would have seemed more improbable than a constitution for China, a republic in Portugal, and a House of Lords in Great Britain without the power of veto, and yet all these momentous changes have taken place in less than two years. The underlying cause is unquestionably the strong spirit of unrest among the people of all nations having any degree of civilization, caused by their increasing freedom of speech and press, their larger intercourse through modern methods of travel, and the sending of the youth to be educated in the most progressive countries.

It would be impossible for women not to be affected by this spirit of unrest, especially as they have made greater advance during the last few decades than any other class or body. There is none whose status has been so revolutionized in every respect during the last half-century. As with men everywhere, this discontent has manifested itself in political upheaval, so it is inevitable that it should be expressed by women in a demand for a voice in the government through which laws are made and administered.

In 1888, when Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, the leaders of this movement in the United States, where it began, attempted to cooperate with other countries, they found that in only one—Great Britain—had it taken organized shape. By 1902, however, it was possible to form an International Committee, in Washington, D.C., with representatives from five countries. Two years later, in Berlin, the International Woman Suffrage Alliance was formed with accredited delegates from organizations in nine countries. This Alliance held a congress in Stockholm during the summer of 1911 with delegates from national associations in twenty-four countries where the movement for the enfranchisement of women has taken definite, organized form.

At the November election, 1910, the men of Washington, by a vote of three to one, enfranchised the women of that State. Eleven months later, in October, 1911, a majority of the voters conferred the suffrage on the 400,000 women of California. These two elections doubtless marked the turning-point in this country. In 1890 Wyoming came into the Union with suffrage for women in its constitution after they had been voting in the Territory for twenty-one years. In 1893 the voters of Colorado, by a majority of 6,347, gave full suffrage to women. In 1895 the men of Utah, where as a Territory women had voted seventeen years, by a vote of 28,618 ayes to 2,687 noes, gave them this right in its constitution for Statehood. In 1896 Idaho, by a majority of 5,844, fully enfranchised its women.

It was believed then that woman suffrage would soon be carried in all the Western States, but at this time there began a period of complete domination of politics by the commercial interests of the country, through whose influence the power of the party "machines" became absolute. Temperance, tariff reform, control of monopolies, all moral issues were relegated to the background and woman suffrage went with the rest. To the vast wave of "insurgency" against these conditions is due its victory in Washington and California. As many women are already fully enfranchised in this country as would be made voters by the suffrage bill now under consideration in Great Britain, so that American women taken as a whole can not be put into a secondary position as regards political rights. While women householders in Great Britain and Ireland have the municipal franchise, a much larger number in this country have a partial suffrage—a vote on questions of special taxation, bonds, etc., in Louisiana, Iowa, Montana, Michigan, and in the villages and many third-class cities in New York, and school suffrage in over half of the States.

The situation in Great Britain is now at its most acute stage. There the question never goes to the voters, but is decided by Parliament. Seven times a woman-suffrage bill has passed its second reading in the House of Commons by a large majority, only to be refused a third and final reading by the Premier, who represents the Ministry, technically known as the Government. In 1910 the bill received a majority of 110, larger than was secured even for the budget, the Government's chief measure. In 1911 the majority was 167, and again the last reading was refused. The vote was wholly non-partizan—145 Liberals, 53 Unionists, 31 Nationalists (Irish), 26 Labor members. Ninety town and county councils, including those of Manchester, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Dublin, and those of all the large cities sent petitions to Parliament to grant the final vote. The Lord Mayor of Dublin in his robes of state appeared before the House of Commons with the same plea, but the Liberal Government was unmoved.

In the passing years petitions aggregating over four million signatures have been sent in. Just before the recent election the Conservative National Association presented one signed by 300,000 voters. In their processions and Hyde Park gatherings the women have made the largest political demonstrations in history. There have been more meetings held, more money raised, and more workers enlisted than to obtain suffrage for the men of the entire world.

From the beginning the various associations have asked for the franchise on the same terms as granted to men, not all of whom can vote. For political reasons it seemed impossible to obtain this, and meanwhile the so-called "militant" movement was inaugurated by women outraged at the way the measure had been put aside for nearly forty years. The treatment of these women by the Government forms one of the blackest pages in English history, and the situation finally became so alarming that the Parliament was obliged to take action. A Conciliation Committee was formed of sixty members from all parties, who prepared a bill that would enfranchise only women householders, those who already had possessed the municipal franchise since 1869. This does not mean property-owners, but includes women who may pay rent for only one room. The associations accepted it partly because it recognized the principle that sex should not disqualify, but principally because it was unquestionably all that they could get at present. This is the bill which was denied a third reading for two years on the ground that it was not democratic enough! A careful canvass has shown that in the different parts of the United Kingdom from 80 to 90 per cent, of those whom it would enfranchise are wage- or salary-earning women, and not one Labor member of Parliament voted against it.

Women in England have been eligible for School Boards since 1870; have had the county franchise since 1888; have been eligible for parish and district councils and for various boards and commissions since 1894, and hundreds have served in the above offices. In 1907, as recommended in the address of King Edward, women were made eligible as mayors and county and city councilors, or aldermen. Three or four have been elected mayors, and women are now sitting on the councils of London, Manchester, and other cities. The municipal franchise was conferred on the women of Scotland in 1882, and of Ireland in 1898.

The Irishwomen's Franchise League demands that the proposed Home Rule bill shall give to the women of Ireland the same political rights as it gives to men. This demand is strongly supported by many of the Nationalist members of Parliament and some of the cabinet, and it is not impossible that after all these years of oppression the women of Ireland may be fully enfranchised before those of England, Scotland, and Wales.

In the Isle of Man women property-owners have had the full suffrage since 1881, and women rate- or rent-payers, since 1892.

The Parliament of New Zealand gave school suffrage to women in 1877, municipal in 1886, and Parliamentary in 1893. It was the first country in the world to grant the complete universal franchise to women.

The six States of Australia had municipal suffrage for women from the early days of their self-government. South Australia gave them the right to vote for its State Parliament, or legislature, in 1894, and West Australia took similar action in 1899. The States federated in a Commonwealth in 1902 and almost the first act of its national Parliament was to give the suffrage for its members to all women and make them eligible to membership. New South Wales immediately conferred State suffrage on women, and was soon followed by Tasmania and Queensland. Victoria yielded in 1909. Women of Australia have now exactly the same franchise rights as men.

In all the provinces of Canada for the last twenty years widows and spinsters who are rate-payers or property-owners have had the school or municipal suffrage, in some instances both, and in a few this right is given to married women. There has been some effort to have this extended to State and Federal suffrage, but with little force except in Toronto, where in 1909 a thousand women stormed the House of Parliament, with a petition signed by 100,000 names.

When the South African Union was formed its constitution took away from women tax-payers the fragmentary vote they possessed. Petitions to give them the complete suffrage, signed by 4,000 men and women, were ignored. Franchise Leagues are working in Cape Colony, Natal, and the Transvaal, and their efforts are supported by General Botha, the premier; General Smuts, Minister of the Interior; Mr. Cronwright, husband of Olive Schreiner, and other members of Parliament, but the great preponderance of Boer women over English will prevent this English-controlled body from enfranchising women in the near future.

There are cities in India where women property-owners have a vote in municipal affairs.

The Parliament of Norway in 1901 granted municipal suffrage to all women who in the country districts pay taxes on an income of 300 crowns (about $75), and in the cities on one of 400 crowns; and they were made eligible to serve on councils and grand and petit juries. After strenuous effort on the part of women the Parliament of 1907, by a vote of 96 to 23, conferred the complete franchise on all who possessed the municipal. This included about 300,000 of the half-million women. They were made eligible for Parliament, and at the first election in 1909 one was elected as alternate or deputy, and took her seat with a most enthusiastic welcome from the other members. In 1910, by a vote of 71 to 10, the taxpaying qualification for the municipal vote was removed. In 1911, a bill to abolish it for the full suffrage was carried by a large majority in Parliament, but lacked five votes of the necessary two-thirds. More than twice as many women as voted in 1907 went to the polls in 1910 at the municipal elections. Last year 178 women were elected to city councils, nine to that of Christiania. This year 210 were elected and 379 alternates to fill vacancies that may occur.

Sweden gave municipal suffrage to tax-paying widows and spinsters in 1862. At that time and for many years afterward not one-tenth of the men had a vote. Then came the rise of the Liberal party and the Social Democracy, and by 1909 the new Franchise law had been enacted, which immensely increased the number of men voters, extended the municipal suffrage to wives, greatly reduced the tax qualification, and made women eligible to all offices for which they could vote. At the last election 37 were elected to the councils of 34 towns, 11 in the five largest. The Woman Suffrage Association is said to be the best organized body in the country, its branches extending beyond the arctic circle. It has over 12,000 paid members and has held 1,550 meetings within a year. In 1909 a bill to extend the full suffrage to women passed the Second Chamber of the Parliament unanimously, but was defeated by four to one in the First Chamber, representing the aristocracy. This year the Suffrage Association made a strong campaign for the Liberal and Social Democratic parties, and a large majority of their candidates were elected. The Conservative cabinet was deposed and the King has called for a new election of the First Chamber. As its members are chosen by the Provincial Councils and those of the five largest cities, and women have a vote for these bodies and are members of them, they will greatly reduce the number of Conservative members of the Upper House. On the final passage of a suffrage bill the two chambers must vote jointly and it seems assured of a majority.

Denmark's Parliament in 1908 gave the municipal suffrage to women on the same terms as exercised by men—that is, to all over 25 years of age who pay any taxes. Property owned by husband or wife or in common entitles each to a vote. At the first election 68 per cent. of all the enfranchised women in the country, and 70 per cent. in Copenhagen, voted. Seven were elected to the city council of 42 members and one was afterward appointed to fill a vacancy, and 127 were elected in other places. Women serve on all committees and are chairmen of important ones; two are city treasurers. There are two Suffrage Associations whose combined membership makes the organization of that country in proportion to population the largest of the kind in the world. They have 314 local branches and one of the associations has held 1,100 meetings during the past year. The Lower House of Parliament has passed a bill to give women the complete franchise, which has not been acted on by the Upper House, composed mainly of the aristocracy. The Prime Minister and the Speakers of both houses are outspoken in advocacy of enfranchising women, but political considerations are holding it back. All say, however, that it will come in the near future.

Iceland, a dependency of Denmark, with its own Parliament, gave municipal suffrage in 1882 to all widows and spinsters who were householders or maintained a family, or were self-supporting. In 1902 it made these voters eligible to all municipal offices, and since then a fourth of the council members of Reykjavik, the capital, have been women. In 1909 this franchise was extended to all those who pay taxes. A petition signed by a large majority of all the women in Iceland asked for the complete suffrage, and during the present year the Parliament voted to give this to all women over 25 years old. It must be acted upon by a second Parliament, but its passage is assured, and Icelandic women will vote on the same terms as men in 1913.

First place must be given to the Grand Duchy of Finland, far more advanced than any other part of the empire. In 1905, by permission of the Czar, after a wonderful uprising of the people, they reorganized their Government and combined the four antiquated chambers of their Diet into one body. The next year, on demand of thousands of women, expressed by petitions and public meetings, this new Parliament, almost without a dissenting voice, conferred the full suffrage on all women. Since that time from 16 to 25 have been elected to the different Parliaments by all the political parties.

In Russia women as well as men are struggling for political freedom. In many of the villages wives cast the votes for their husbands when the latter are away; women have some suffrage for the zemstvos, local governing bodies; the Duma has tried to enlarge their franchise rights, but at present these are submerged in the general chaos.

In Poland an active League for Woman's Rights is cooperating with the
Democratic party of men.

A very strong movement for woman suffrage is proceeding against great difficulties in the seventeen provinces of Austria, where almost as many languages are spoken and the bitterest racial feuds exist. Women are not allowed to form political associations or hold public meetings, but 4,000 have paraded the streets of Vienna demanding the suffrage. In Bohemia since 1864 women have had a vote for members of the Diet and are eligible to sit in it. In all the municipalities outside of Prague and Liberic, women taxpayers and those of the learned professions may vote by proxy. Women belong to all the political parties except the Conservative and constitute 40 per cent, of the Agrarian party. They are well organized to secure the full suffrage and are holding hundreds of meetings and distributing thousands of pamphlets. In Bosnia and Herzegovina women property-owners vote by proxy.

In Hungary the National Woman Suffrage Association includes many societies having other aims also, and it has branches in 87 towns and cities, combining all classes of women from the aristocracy to the peasants. Men are in a turmoil there to secure universal suffrage for themselves and women are with them in the thick of the fight.

Bulgaria has a Woman Suffrage Association composed of 37 auxiliaries and it held 456 meetings during the past year.

In Servia women have a fragmentary local vote and are now organizing to claim the parliamentary franchise.

In Germany it was not until 1908 that the law was changed which forbade women to take part in political meetings, and since then the Woman Suffrage Societies, which existed only in the Free Cities, have multiplied rapidly. Most of them are concentrating on the municipal franchise, which those of Prussia claim already belongs to them by an ancient law. In a number of the States women landowners have a proxy vote in communal matters, but have seldom availed themselves of it. In Silesia this year, to the amazement of everybody, 2,000 exercised this privilege. The powerful Social Democratic party stands solidly for enfranchising women.

A few years ago when the Liberal party in Holland was in power it prepared to revise the constitution and make woman suffrage one of its provisions. In 1907 the Conservatives carried the election and blocked all further progress. Two active Suffrage Associations approximate a membership of 8,000, with nearly 200 branches, and are building up public sentiment.

Belgium in 1910 gave women a vote for members of the Board of Trade, an important tribunal, and made them eligible to serve on it. A Woman Suffrage Society is making considerable progress.

Switzerland has had a Woman Suffrage Association only a few years. Geneva and Zurich in 1911 made women eligible to their boards of trade with a vote for its members, and Geneva gave them a vote in all matters connected with the State Church.

Italy has a well-supported movement for woman suffrage, and a discussion in Parliament showed a strong sentiment in favor. Mayor Nathan, of Rome, is an outspoken advocate. In 1910 all women in trade were made voters for boards of trade.

The woman-suffrage movement in France differs from that of most other countries in the number of prominent men in politics connected with it. President Fallieres loses no opportunity to speak in favor and leading members of the ministry and the Parliament approve it. Committees have several times reported a bill, and that of M. Dussaussoy giving all women a vote for Municipal, District, and General Councils was reported with full parliamentary suffrage added. In 1910, 163 members asked to have the bill taken up. Finally it was decided to have a committee investigate the practical working of woman suffrage in the countries where it existed. Its extensive and very favorable report has just been published, and the Woman Suffrage Association states that it expects early action by Parliament. More than one-third of the wage-earners of France are women, and these may vote for tribunes and chambers of commerce and boards of trade. They may be members of the last named and serve as judges.

The constitution of the new Republic of Portugal gave "universal" suffrage, and Dr. Beatrice Angelo applied for registration, which was refused. She carried her case to the courts, her demand was sustained, and she cast her vote. It was too late for other women to register, but an organization of 1,000 women was at once formed to secure definite action of Parliament, with the approval of President Braga and several members of his cabinet.

The Spanish Chamber has proposed to give women heads of families in the villages a vote for mayor and council.

A bill to give suffrage to women was recently introduced in the Parliament of Persia, but was ruled out of order by the president because the Koran says women have no souls.

Siam has lately adopted a constitution which gives women a municipal vote.

The leaders of the revolution in China have promised suffrage for women if it is successful.

Several women voted in place of their husbands at the recent election in Mexico. Belize, the capital of British Honduras, has just given the right to women to vote for town council.

Throughout the entire world is an unmistakable tendency to accord woman a voice in the government, and, strange to say, this is stronger in monarchies than in republics. In Europe the republics of France and Switzerland give almost no suffrage to women. Norway and Finland, where they have the complete franchise; Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, and Great Britain, where they have all but the parliamentary, and that close at hand, are monarchies. New Zealand and Australia, where women are fully enfranchised, are dependencies of a monarchical government.

The comfortable citizen possessing a vote won for him in a previous generation, who is so often profoundly disturbed by the cry of "Votes for Women," seldom connects the present attempt to extend the franchise with those former efforts, as the results of which he himself became a member of the enfranchised class. Still less does the average voter reflect that in order to make self-government a great instrument in the hands of those who crave social justice, it must ever be built up anew in relation to changing experiences, and that unless this readjustment constantly takes place self-government itself is placed in jeopardy.

Yet the adherents of representative government, with its foundations laid in diversified human experiences, must concede that the value of such government bears a definite relation to the area of its base and that the history of its development is merely a record of new human interests which have become the subjects of governmental action, and the incorporation into the government itself of those classes who represented the new interests.

As the governing classes have been increased by the enfranchisement of one body of men after another, the art of government has been enriched in human interests, and at the same time as government has become thus humanized by new interests it has inevitably become further democratized through the accession of new classes. The two propositions are complementary. For centuries the middle classes in every country in Europe struggled to wrest governmental power from the nobles because they insisted that government must consider the problems of a rising commerce; on the other hand, the merchants claimed direct representation because government had already begun to concern itself with commercial affairs. When the working men of the nineteenth century, the Chartists in England and the "men of '48" in Germany vigorously demanded the franchise, national parliaments had already begun to regulate the condition of mines and the labor of little children. The working men insisted that they themselves could best represent their own interests, but at the same time their very entrance into government increased the volume and pressure of those interests.

Much of the new demand for political enfranchisement arises from a desire to remedy the unsatisfactory and degrading social conditions which are responsible for so much wrongdoing and wretchedness. The fate of all the unfortunate, the suffering, the criminal, is daily forced upon public attention in painful and intimate ways. But because of the tendency to nationalize all industrial and commercial questions, to make the state responsible for the care of the helpless, to safeguard by law the food we eat and the liquid we drink, to subordinate the claim of the individual family to the health and well-being of the community, contemporary women who are without the franchise are much more outside the real life of the world than any set of disenfranchised men could possibly have been in all history, unless it were the men slaves of ancient Greece, because never before has so large an area of life found civic expression, never has Hegel's definition of the state been so accurate, that it is the "realization of the moral ideal." Certain it is that the phenomenal entrance of women into governmental responsibility in the dawn of the twentieth century is coincident with the consideration by governmental bodies of the basic human interests with which women have been traditionally concerned. A most advanced German statesman recently declared in the Reichstag that it was a reproach to the Imperial Government itself that out of two million children born annually in Germany, 400,000 died during the first twelve months of their existence. He proceeded to catalog various reforms which might remedy this, such as better housing, the increase of park areas, the erection of municipal hospitals, the provision for an adequate milk supply, and many another, but he did not make the very obvious suggestion that women might be of service in a situation involving the care of children less than a year old.

Nevertheless, in spite of this lack of perception, women all over the world are claiming and receiving a place in representative government because they insist that they will not cease to perform their traditional duties, simply because these duties have been taken over by existing governments.

The contemporaneous "Votes for Women" movement is often amorphous and sporadic, but always spontaneous. It not only appears simultaneously in various countries, but manifests itself in widely separated groups in the same country; in every city it embraces the "smart set" and the hard-driven working women; sometimes it is sectarian and dogmatic, at others philosophic and grandiloquent, but it is always vital and constantly becoming more widespread.

In certain aspects it differs from former efforts to extend the franchise. We recall that the final entrance of the middle class into government was characterized by two dramatic revolutions, one in America and one in France, neither of them without bloodshed, and that although the final efforts of the working men were more peaceful, even in restrained England the Chartists burned hayricks and destroyed town property. This world-wide entrance into government on the part of women is happily a bloodless one. Although some glass has been broken in England it is noteworthy that the movement as a whole has been without even a semblance of violence. The creed of the movement, however, is similar to that promulgated by the doctrinaires of the eighteenth century: that if increasing the size of the governing body automatically increases the variety and significance of government, then only when all the people become the governing class can the collective resources and organizations of the community be consistently utilized for the common weal.

I have long been a convinced advocate of woman suffrage and am now firmer than ever in supporting it. It seems to me a necessary and desirable consequence of the vast extension of the functions of Government which the past century and a half has witnessed. The state, nowadays, enters the homes of the people and insists on having a voice in questions that individual men and women, acting together, taking counsel together, used to settle for themselves in their own way. Education and the training and feeding of children, the housing and sanitation problems, provision against old age and sickness, the prevention of disease—all these are questions that formerly were dealt with, of course, in a very isolated and inadequate way, by cooperation and discussion between the heads of each household. What reason is there why the same cooperation should not continue now that these matters have been raised to the sphere of legislative enactments and official administration?

Laws to-day affect the interests of women just as deeply as they do the interests of men. Some laws—many laws—affect them more gravely and intimately; and I do not believe you can trust the welfare of a class or a sex entirely to another class or sex. It is not that their interests are not identical, but that their point of view is different. Take the housing problem. A working man leaves home in the morning within half an hour after he wakes. He is not there all day. He turns up in the evening and does not always remain there. If the house is a poor, uncomfortable, dismal one, he very often seeks consolation in the glare and warmth of the nearest public-house, but he takes very good care that the wife shall not do as he does. She has got to stay at home all day, however wretched her surroundings. Who can say that her experience, her point of view, is not much better worth consulting than her husband's on the housing problem? Up to the present the only and the whole share of women in the housing question has been suffering. Slums are often the punishment of the man. They are almost always the martyrdom of the woman. Give women the vote, give them an effective part in the framing and administration of the laws which touch not merely their own lives but the lives of their children, and they will soon, I believe, cleanse the land of these foul dens.

All sorts of women's interests were affected by the National Insurance Act, and all sorts of questions sprang up in connection with it on which women alone could speak with real authority. But, being voteless, there was no way in which their views could be authoritatively set forth. Four million women workers and seven million married women have come under the operation of the Act, yet not one of them was given the opportunity of making their opinions known and felt through a representative in the House of Commons. It was the experience of every friendly society official I consulted that had it not been for the women and their splendid self-sacrifice, the subscriptions of the men would have lapsed long ago. Yet these women who had thus kept the societies going were not considered worth consulting as to their status under the Act. The House of Commons itself insisted on there being at least one woman Commissioner. But if a woman is fit to be a Commissioner—a very heavy and difficult position involving enormous responsibilities and demanding great skill and judgment and experience—how can she be said to be unfit to have a vote?

What is the meaning of democracy? It is that the citizens who are expected to obey the law are those who make the law. But that is not true of Great Britain. At least half the adult citizens whose lives are deeply affected by every law that is carried on the statute-books have absolutely no voice in making that law. They have no more influence in the matter than the horses that drag their lords and masters to the polling-booth.

The drunken loafer who has not earned a living for years is consulted by the Constitution on questions like the training and upbringing of children, the national settlement of religion in Wales and elsewhere, and as to the best method of dealing with the licensing problem. But the wife whose industry keeps him and his household from beggary, who pays the rent and taxes which constitute him a voter, who is therefore really responsible for his qualification to vote, is not taken into account in the slightest degree. I came in contact not long ago with a great girls' school in the south of England. It was founded by women, and it is administered by women. It is one of the most marvelous organizations in the whole country, and yet, when we had, in the year 1906, to give a national verdict on the question of education, the man who split the firewood in that school was asked for his opinion about it, while those ladies were deemed to be absolutely unfit to pass any judgment on it at all. That is a preposterous and barbarous anachronism, and so long as it lasts our democracy is one-sided and incomplete. But it will not last long. No franchise bill can ever again be brought forward in this country without raising the whole problem of whether you are going to exclude more than half the citizens of the land. Women have entered pretty nearly every sphere of commerce and industry and professional activity and public employment; and there never was a time when the nation stood more in need of the special experience, instincts, and sympathy of womanhood in the management of its affairs. When women get the vote the horizon of the home will be both brightened and expanded, and their influence on moral and social and educational questions, especially on the temperance question, and possibly on the peace of nations, will be constant and humanizing.

Those are a few of the reasons why I favor woman suffrage. But because I favor it I do not therefore hold myself bound to either speak or vote for any and every suffrage bill that may be introduced into Parliament. I voted against the so-called Conciliation Bill which proposed to give the vote to every woman of property if she chose to take the trouble to get it, and at the same time enfranchise only about one-tenth or one-fifteenth of the working women of the country. That was simply a roundabout way of doubling the plural voters and no democrat could possibly support it, so long as there remained a single alternative. The solution that most appeals to me is the one embodied in the Dickinson Bill, that is to say, a measure conferring the vote on women householders and on the wives of married electors; and I believe that it is in that form that woman suffrage will eventually come in this country. How soon it will come depends very largely on how soon the militants come to their senses.

I say, unhesitatingly, that the main obstacle to women getting the vote is militancy and nothing else. Its practitioners really seem to think that they can terrorize and pinprick Parliament into giving it to them; and until they learn something of the people they are dealing with, their whole agitation, so far as the House of Commons is concerned, is simply and utterly damned. It is perfectly astonishing to recall with what diabolical ingenuity they have contrived to infuriate all their opponents, to alienate all their sympathizers, and to stir up against themselves every prejudice in the average man's breast. A few years ago they found three-fourths of the Liberal M.P.'s on their side. They at once proceeded to cudgel their brains as to how they could possibly drive them into the enemy's camp. They rightly decided that this could not be done more effectually than by insulting and assaulting the Prime Minister, the chief of the Party, and a leader for whom all his colleagues and followers feel an unbounded admiration, regard, and affection. When they had thus successfully estranged the majority of Liberals they began to study the political situation a little more closely. They saw that the Irish Nationalists were very powerful factors in the Ministerial Coalition. The next problem, therefore, was how to destroy the last chance that the Irish Nationalists would support their cause. They achieved this triumphantly first by making trouble in Belfast where the only Nationalist member is or was a strong Suffragist, and secondly by going to Dublin when all Nationalist Ireland had assembled to welcome Mr. Asquith, throwing a hatchet at Mr. Redmond, and trying to burn down a theater. That finished Ireland, but still they were dissatisfied. There was a dangerous movement of sympathy with their agitation in Wales, and they felt that at any cost it had to be checked. They not only checked, but demolished, it with the greatest ease by breaking in upon the proceedings at an Eisteddfod. Now the Eisteddfod is not only the great national festival of Welsh poetry and music and eloquence, it is also an oasis of peace amid the sharp contentions of Welsh life. To bring into it any note of politics or sectarianism or public controversy, even when these things are rousing the most passionate emotions outside, seems to a Welshman like the desecration of an altar. That is just what the militants did, and Welsh interest in their cause fell dead on the spot. But even then they were not happy. They were still encumbered by the good-will of perhaps a hundred Tory M.P.'s. But they proved entirely equal to the task of antagonizing them. They began smashing windows, burning country mansions, firing race-stands, damaging golf-greens, striking as hard as they could at the Tory idol of Property. There is really nothing more left for them to do; they have alienated every friend they ever had; their work is complete beyond their wildest hopes.

Well, one can not dignify such tactics and antics by the title of "political propaganda." The proper name for them is sheer organized lunacy. The militants have erected militancy into a principle. I am beginning to think that a good many of them are more concerned with the success of their method than with the success of their cause. They would rather not have the vote than fail to win it by the particular brand of agitation they have pinned their faith to. They don't really want the vote to be given them; they want to get it and to get it by force; and they are quite unable to see that the more force they use the stronger becomes the resolve both of Parliament and of the country to send them away empty-handed. If they had accepted Mr. Asquith's pledge of two years ago and thanked him for it and helped him redeem it, woman suffrage by now would be an accomplished fact. But they preferred their own ways, and what is the result? The result is that working for their cause in the House of Commons to-day is like swimming not merely against a tide but against a cataract. The real reason why the attempts to carry woman suffrage through the House of Commons during the past two years have failed is not merely the difficulty of trying to combine a non-party measure with the party system; it is, above all, the impossibility of using Parliament to pass a bill that the opinion of the country has been fomented to condemn. The fact that in both the principal parties there is a clean division of opinion on this issue and that no Government, or none that is at present conceivable, can bring forward a measure for the enfranchisement of women as a Government, is a great, but not necessarily an insuperable obstacle. The one barrier, there is no surmounting and no getting round, is the decided and increasing hostility of public sentiment; and for that the militants have only themselves to thank.

Personally I always try to remember, first, that militancy is the work of only a very small fraction of the women who want the vote and ought to have it, and, secondly, that there have been crazy men just as there are crazy women. Militancy has not affected my own individual attitude toward the main question and never will. But I recognize that it has killed the immediate Parliamentary prospects of any and every Suffrage Bill, and that so long as militancy continues the House of Commons will do nothing. Only a new movement altogether can now bring women to the goal of political emancipation; and it will have to be a sane, hard-headed, practical movement, as full of liveliness as you please, but absolutely divorced from stones and bombs and torches. When it arises the friends of the Women's cause will begin to take heart again.

THE AWKWARD AGE OF THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

"And what did she get by it?" said my Uncle Toby. "What does any woman get by it?" said my father. "Martyrdom" replied the young Benedictine.

TRISTRAM SHANDY.

The present situation of woman suffrage in England recalls the old puzzle: What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable body? The irresistible force is the religious passion of myriads of women, the fury of self-sacrifice, the righteous zeal that shrinks not even from crime; the immovable body may be summed up as Mr. Asquith. Almost as gross an incarnation of Tory prejudice as Squire Western, who laid it down that women should come in with the first dish and go out with the first glass, Mr. Asquith is all that stands between the sex and the suffrage.

The answer to the old puzzle, I suppose, would be that though the immovable body does not move, yet the impact of the irresistible force generates heat, which, as we know from Tyndall, is a mode of motion. At any rate, heat is the only mode in which the progress of woman suffrage can be registered to-day. The movement has come to what Mr. Henry James might call "the awkward age": an age which has passed beyond argument without arriving at achievement; an age for which words are too small and blows too big. And because impatience has been the salvation of the movement, and because the suffragette will not believe that the fiery charger which has carried her so far can not really climb the last ridge of the mountain, but must be replaced by a mule—that miserable compromise between a steed and an anti-suffragist—the awkward age is also the dangerous age.

When the Cabinet of Clement's Inn, perceiving that if a woman suffrage Bill did not pass this session, the last chance—under the Parliament Act—was gone for this Parliament, resolved to rouse public opinion by breaking tradesmen's windows, it overlooked that the English are a nation of shopkeepers, and that the public opinion thus roused would be for the first time almost unreservedly on the side of the Government. And when the Cabinet of Downing Street, moved to responsive recklessness, raided the quarters of the Women's Social and Political Union and indicted the leaders for criminal conspiracy, it equally overlooked an essential factor of the situation. The Cabinet of the conspiracy was at least as much a restraint to suffragettes as an incentive. It held in order the more violent members, the souls naturally daring or maddened by forcible feeding. By its imposition of minor forms of lawlessness, it checked the suggestion of major forms. Crime was controlled by a curriculum and temper studied by a time-table. The interruptions at meetings were distributed among the supposed neuropaths like parts at a play, and we to the maenad who missed her cue. With the police, too, the suffragettes lived for the most part on terms of cordial cooperation, each side recognizing that the other must do its duty. When the suffragettes planned a raid upon Downing Street or the House of Commons, they gave notice of time and place, and were provided with a sufficient force of police to prevent it. Were the day inconvenient for the police, owing to the pressure of social engagements, another day was fixed, politics permitting. The entente cordiale extended even in some instances to the jailers and the bench, and, as in those early days of the Quaker persecution of which Milton's friend, Ellwood, has left record, prisoners sometimes left their cells for a night to attend to imperative affairs, or good-naturedly shortened or canceled their sentences at the pressing solicitation of perturbed magistrates. Prison was purified by all these gentle presences, and women criminals profited by the removal of the abuses they challenged. Holloway became a home from home, in which beaming wardresses welcomed old offenders, and to which husbands conducted erring wives in taxicabs, much as Ellwood and his brethren marched of themselves from Newgate to Bridewell, explaining to the astonished citizens of London that their word was their keeper. A suffragette's word stood higher than consols, and the war-game was played cards on table. True, there were brutal interludes when Home Secretaries lost their heads, or hysterical magistrates their sense of justice, or when the chivalrous constabulary of Westminster was replaced by Whitechapel police, dense to the courtesies of the situation; but even these tragedies were transfused by its humors, by the subtle duel of woman's wit and man's lumbering legalism. The hunger-strike itself, with all its grim horrors and heroisms, was like the plot of a Gilbertian opera. It placed the Government on the horns of an Irish bull. Either the law must kill or torture prisoners condemned for mild offenses, or it must permit them to dictate their own terms of durance. The criminal code, whose dignity generations of male rebels could not impair, the whole array of warders, lawyers, judges, juries, and policemen, which all the scorn of a Tolstoy could not shrivel, shrank into a laughing-stock. And the comedy of the situation was complicated and enhanced by the fact that the Home Office, so far from being an Inquisition, was more or less tenanted by sympathizers with Female Suffrage, and that a Home Secretary who secretly admired the quixotry of the hunger-strikers was forced to feed them forcibly. He must either be denounced by the suffragettes as a Torquemada or by the public as an incapable. Bayard himself could not have coped with the position. There was no place like the Home Office, and its administrators, like the Governors of the Gold Coast, had to be relieved at frequent intervals. As for the police, their one aim in life became to avoid arresting suffragettes.

Such was the situation which the Governmental coup transformed to tragedy unrelieved, giving us in the place of ordered lawlessness and responsible leadership a guerrilla warfare against society by irresponsive individuals, more or less unbalanced. That the heroic incendiary Mrs. Leigh, who deserved penal servitude and a statue, had been driven wild by forcible feeding was a fact that had given considerable uneasiness to headquarters, but she had been kept in comparative discipline. Now that discipline has been destroyed, it is possible that other free-lances will catch the contagion of crime; nay, there are signs that the leaders themselves are being infected through the difficulty of disavowing their martyrs. The wisest course for the Government would be to pardon Miss Pankhurst, of Paris, and officially invite her to resume control of her followers before they have quite controlled her.

But even without such a crowning confession of the failure of its coup, the humiliation of the Government has been sufficiently complete. Forced to put Mrs. Pankhurst and the Pethick Lawrences into the luxurious category of political prisoners, next to release them altogether, and finally to liberate their humblest followers, their hunger-strike on behalf of whose equal treatment set a new standard of military chivalry, the Government succeeded only in investing the vanished Christabel with a new glamour. The Women's Social and Political Union has again baffled the Government, and come triumphantly even through the window-breaking episode. For if that episode was followed by the rejection of the second reading of the woman suffrage Bill, second readings, like the oaths of the profane, had come to be absolutely without significance, and the blocking of the Bill beyond this stage has been assured long before by the tactics of Mr. Redmond, whose passion for justice, like Mr. Asquith's passion for popular government, is so curiously monosexual. The only discount from the Union's winnings is that it gave mendacious M.P.'s, anxious to back out of woman suffrage, a soft bed to lie on.

One should perhaps also add to the debit side of the account a considerable loss of popularity on the part of the suffragettes, a loss which would become complete were window-breaking to pass into graver crimes, and which would entirely paralyze the effect of their tactics.

For the tactics of the prison and the hunger-strike depend for their value upon the innocency of the prisoners. Their offense must be merely nominal or technical. The suffragettes had rediscovered the Quaker truth that the spirit is stronger than all the forces of Government, and that things may really come by fasting and prayer. Even the window-breaking, though a perilous approach to the methods of the Pagan male, was only a damage to insensitive material for which the window-breakers were prepared to pay in conscious suffering. But once the injury was done to flesh and blood, the injurer would only be paying tooth for tooth and eye for eye; and all the sympathy would go, not to the assailant, but to the victim. Mrs. Pankhurst says the Government must either give votes to women or "prepare to send large numbers of women to penal servitude." That would be indeed awkward for the Government if penal servitude were easily procurable. Unfortunately, the women must first qualify for it, and their crimes would disembarrass the Government. Mrs. Leigh could have been safely left to starve had her attempted arson of that theater really come off, especially with loss of life. Thus violence may be "militant," but it is not "tactics." And violence against society at large is peculiarly tactless. George Fox would hardly occupy so exalted a niche in history if he had used his hammer to make not shoes but corpses.

The suffragettes who run amuck have, in fact, become the victims of their own vocabulary. Their Union was "militant," but a church militant, not an army militant. The Salvation Army might as well suddenly take to shooting the heathen. It was only by mob misunderstanding that the suffragettes were conceived as viragoes, just as it was only by mob misunderstanding that the members of the Society of Friends were conceived as desperadoes. If it can not be said that their proceedings were as quintessentially peaceful as some of those absolutely mute Quaker meetings which the police of Charles II. humorously enough broke up as "riots," yet they had a thousand propaganda meetings (ignored by the Press) to one militant action (recorded and magnified). Even in battle nothing could be more decorous or constitutional than the overwhelming majority of their "pin-pricks."

I remember a beautiful young lady, faultlessly dressed, who in soft, musical accents interrupted Mr. Birrell at the Mansion House. Stewards hurled themselves at her, policemen hastened from every point of the compass; but unruffled as at the dinner-table, without turning a hair of her exquisite chévelure, she continued gently explaining the wishes of womankind till she disappeared in a whirlwind of hysteric masculinity. But in gradually succumbing to the vulgar misunderstanding, playing up to the caricature, and finally assimilating to the crude and obsolescent methods of men, the suffragettes have been throwing away their own peculiar glory, their characteristic contribution to history and politics. Rosalind in search of a vote has supplied humanity with a new type who snatched from her testifyings a grace beyond the reach of Arden. But Rosalind with a revolver would be merely a reactionary. Hawthorne's Zenobia, who, for all her emancipation, drowned herself in a fit of amorous jealousy, was no greater backslider from the true path of woman's advancement. It is some relief to find that Mrs. Pankhurst's latest program disavows attacks on human life, limiting itself to destruction of property, and that the Pethick Lawrences have grown still saner.

There might, indeed, be—for force is not always brute—some excuse and even admiration for the Terrorist, did the triumph of her cause appear indefinitely remote, were even that triumph to be brought perceptibly nearer by forcibly feeding us with horrors. But the contrary is the case: even the epidemic of crime foreshadowed by Mrs. Pankhurst could not appreciably delay woman suffrage. It is coming as fast as human nature and the nature of the Parliamentary machine will allow. To try to terrorize Mr. Asquith into bringing in a Government measure is to credit him with a wisdom and a nobility almost divine. No man is great enough to put himself in the right by admitting he was wrong. And even if he were great enough to admit it under argument, he would have to be godlike to admit it under menace. Rather than admit it, Mr. Asquith has let himself be driven into a position more ludicrous than perhaps any Prime Minister has occupied. For though he declares woman suffrage to be "a political disaster of the gravest kind," he is ready to push it through if the House of Commons wishes, relying for its rejection upon the House of Lords, which he has denounced and eviscerated. He is even not unwilling it shall pass if only the disaster to the country is maximized by Adult Suffrage. It is not that he loves woman more, but the Tory party less.

All things considered, I am afraid the Suffrage Movement will have to make up its mind to wait for another Parliament. There is more hope for the premature collapse of this Parliament than for its passing of a Suffrage Bill or clause. And at the general election, whenever it comes, Votes for Women will be put on the program of both parties. The Conservatives will offer a mild dose, the Liberals a democratic. Whichever fails at the polls, the principle of woman suffrage will be safe.

This prognostic, it will be seen, involves the removal of the immovable Asquith. But he must either consent to follow a plebiscite of his party or retire, like his doorkeeper, from Downing Street, under the intolerable burden of the suffragette. Much as his party honors and admires him, it can not continue to repudiate the essential principles of Liberalism, nor find refuge in his sophism that Liberalism removes artificial barriers, but can not remove natural barriers. What natural barrier prevents a woman from accepting or rejecting a man who proposes to represent her in Parliament? No; after his historic innings Mr. Asquith will sacrifice himself and retire, covered with laurels and contradictions. Pending which event, the suffragettes, while doing their best to precipitate it through the downfall of the Government, may very reasonably continue their policy of pin-pricks to keep politicians from going to sleep, but serious violence would be worse than a crime; it would be a blunder. No general dares throw away his men when nothing is to be gained, and our analysis shows that the interval between women and the vote can only be shortened by bringing on a general election.

There are, indeed, skeptics who fear that even at the next general election both parties may find a way of circumventing woman suffrage by secretly agreeing to keep it off both programs; but the country itself is too sick of the question to endure this, even if the Women's Liberal Federation and the corresponding Conservative body permitted it. That the parties would go so far as to pair off their women workers against each other is unlikely. At any rate, now, when other forms of agitation are more or less futile, is the moment for these and cognate bodies to take up the running.

But even if these women workers fail in backbone, and allow themselves, as so often before, to be lulled and gulled by their male politicians, there yet remains an ardent body to push forward their cause. Mrs. Humphry Ward and the Anti-Suffragists may be trusted to continue tireless and ever-inventive. Mrs. Ward's League to promote the return of women as town and county councilors is her latest device to prove the unfitness of women for public affairs, and since the Vegetarian League for combating the carnivorous instincts of the tigress by feeding her on blood, there has been no quite so happy adaptation of means to end. If anything could add to the educative efficiency of the new League, it is Mrs. Ward's scrupulousness in limiting it exclusively to Anti-Suffragists.

There was a time in England when all the laws were made and executed by the King.

Later he appointed certain favorites who acted for him, and these were paid honors and emoluments accordingly.

Still later, all soldiers were allowed to express their political preferences. And that is where we got the idea about not allowing folks to vote who could not fight.

It was once the law in England that no Catholic should be allowed to vote.

It was also once the law in England that no Jew could hold real estate, could vote at elections, could hold a public office, or serve on a jury.

Full rights of citizenship were not given to the Jews in Great Britain until the year 1858. Deists, Theists, Quakers, and "Dissenters" were not allowed to testify in courts, and their right to vote was challenged in England up to 1885.

For centuries, Jews occupied the position of minors, mental defectives, or men with criminal records.

Women now in England occupy the same position politically that the Jews did a hundred years ago.

Until very recent times all lawmakers disputed the fact that women have rights. Women have privileges and duties—mostly duties.

All the laws are made by men, and for the most part the rights only of male citizens are considered. If the rights of women or children are taken into consideration, it is only from a secondary point of view, or because the attention of lawmakers is especially called to the natural rights of women, children, and dumb animals.

Provisions, however, have always been made in England as well as all other civilized countries for punishing Catholics, Jews, Quakers, and women.

In old New England there was once a pleasing invention called a "ducking stool," that was for "women only." For the most part, the punishment for these individuals who were not citizens was very much more severe than it was for the people who made and devised the punishment for them.

Women are admitted into the full rights of citizenship in New Zealand and Australia, and in several States in the United States.

There will surely come a time when we will look back and regard the withholding of full political rights from women in the same way that we now look back and regard the disfranchisement of Jews and Catholics.

There is no argument that can possibly be presented against the right of women to express their political preferences which does not in equal degree apply to the right of male citizens to express theirs.

Every possible logical argument has been put forward and answered.

The protest in England by certain women who are working for equal suffrage has taken what is called a militant form.

These women, in many instances, have been guilty of violence.

The particular women who have been foremost in this matter of violence are not criminals in any sense of the word. They are not plotting and planning the overthrow of the government. They are not guilty of treason; and certainly they are not guilty of disorder along any other line than that springing out of their disapproval of the failure of the government to grant the right of political representation to women.

"Taxation without representation" was the shibboleth of the men who founded the government of the United States of America.

This shibboleth, or slogan, came to them from across the sea and was first uttered in England before the days of Magna Charta.

That every adult individual, man or woman, possessed of normal mentality, should be thoroughly interested in the government, and should have the right of expressing his or her political preferences, is beyond dispute, especially under any government that affects to derive its powers from the governed.

The right to govern is conferred by the governed, and this is now admitted even in the so-called monarchies. And the governed are not exclusively males; the governed are men and women, for women are responsible before the law.

So thoroughly are these facts fixed in the minds of a great many men and women everywhere that a few men are possessed by the righteousness of the cause to a degree that they are willing not only to live for it and fight for it, suffer for it, but also to die for it.

Some of these women in London, who have been throwing stones into windows, thus destroying property, have signified as great a willingness to injure themselves as they have to injure the property of their fellow citizens, provided by so doing they can bring to the attention of the men in charge of the government the absolute necessity of recognizing the political rights of women.

If certain people in the past had not been willing to stake their all on individual rights, there would to-day be no liberty for any one.

The saviors of the world are simply those who have been willing to die that humanity might live.

It may be hard for an individual of average purpose to understand or comprehend this mental attitude where the individual is fired with such zeal that he is willing to suffer physical destruction for it.

In England, the test has come to an issue of whether these women, intent on bringing about governmental recognition of the rights of women, should be allowed to die for the cause or not. And from all latest reports, John Bull does seem troubled about it.

ITS CLIMAX IN THE THREAT OF UNIVERSAL WAR OVER MOROCCO A.D. 1911

NORMAN ANGELL

SIR MAX WAECHTER, D.L.

Ever since Germany by the completeness of her military preparation won so decisive a victory over France in 1870, Europe has plunged deeper and deeper into Militarism. That is to say, each European state that could possibly afford it has increased its army and its navy, until to-day their military force is many times more powerful than it was half a century ago. The theory on which this is done is that you can secure peace only by showing you are ready to fight; that if one nation is sure that it can thrash another, it will probably plan an opportunity to do so. Such is the theory; but what is the tragic result? Military expenditures have increased at a stupendous rate and all Europe groans under a burden of almost unendurable taxation. Moreover, the possession of such splendid machinery of warfare is a constant temptation to employ it and so vindicate its staggering expense. This was startlingly shown in the case of the Morocco imbroglio.

During the early part of 1911 the French government made clear its intent to take complete possession of the semi-independent African state of Morocco. On July 1st, Germany sent a warship to the Moroccan port of Agadir, as a sign that she also had interests in the country, which France must not override. Instantly Europe buzzed like an angry bee-hive. England and France had previously made a secret treaty agreeing that France should be allowed to take Morocco in exchange for keeping hands off Egypt, where England was establishing herself. Hence England now felt compelled to uphold her ally. When Germany seemed inclined to bully the Frenchmen, England insisted that she also must be consulted. Germany growled that this was none of England's business. Everybody began getting out their guns and parading their armies. Germany sought the support of Austria and Italy, her partners in the "Triple Alliance." France and England emphasized the fact that Russia stood with them in an antagonistic "Triple Entente." On November 4th, France and Germany came to a peaceful agreement, France taking Morocco and "compensating" Germany by yielding to her some territory in Eastern Equatorial Africa.

Thus the whole excitement passed off in rumblings; there was no war. But it was revealed a few months later that the nations had really approached to the very brink of a Titanic struggle, which would have desolated the whole of Europe.

And here is the peculiar tragedy of Militarism. The mere threat of that great "Unfought War" cost Europe billions of dollars. Moreover, as a result of Germany's discontent at what she rather regarded as her defeat in this Morocco affair, she in 1913 enormously increased her army and more than doubled her already heavy military tax upon her people. Then France and Russia felt compelled to meet Germany's move by increasing their armies also, extending, as she had done, the time of compulsory military service inflicted upon their poorer classes.

Norman Angell, an English writer, has recently stirred all thinking people by a remarkable book of protest against Militarism. He here discusses the Moroccan imbroglio under the title of "the Mirage of the Map." Sir Max Waechter is an authority of international repute upon the same subject.

The Press of Europe and America is very busy discussing the lessons of the diplomatic conflict which has just ended. And the outstanding impression which one gets from most of these essays in high politics—whether French, Italian, or British—is that we have been and are witnessing part of a great world movement, the setting in motion of Titanic forces "deep-set in primordial needs and impulses."

For months those in the secrets of the Chancelleries have spoken with bated breath—as though in the presence of some vision of Armageddon. On the strength of this mere talk of war by the three nations, vast commercial interests have been embarrassed, fortunes have been lost and won on the Bourses, banks have suspended payment, some thousands have been ruined; while the fact that the fourth and fifth nations have actually gone to war has raised all sorts of further possibilities of conflict, not alone in Europe, but in Asia, with remoter danger of religious fanaticism and all its sequelae. International bitterness and suspicion in general have been intensified, and the one certain result of the whole thing is that immense burdens will be added in the shape of further taxation for armaments to the already heavy ones carried by the five or six nations concerned. For two or three hundred millions of people in Europe life, which with all the problems of high prices, labor wars, unsolved social difficulties, is none too easy as it is, will be made harder still.

The needs, therefore, that can have provoked a conflict of these dimensions must be "primordial" indeed. In fact, one authority assures us that what we have seen going on is "the struggle for life among men"—that struggle which has its parallel in the whole of sentient existence.

Well, I put it to you, as a matter worth just a moment or two of consideration, that this conflict is about nothing of the sort; that it is about a perfectly futile matter, one which the immense majority of the German, English, French, Italian, and Turkish people could afford to treat with the completest indifference. For, to the vast majority of these 250,000,000 people, more or less, it does not matter two straws whether Morocco or some vague, African swamp near the Equator is administered by German, French, Italian, or Turkish officials, so long as it is well administered. Or rather one should go further: if French, German, or Italian colonization of the past is any guide, the nation which wins in the conquest for territory of this sort has added a wealth-draining incubus.

This, of course, is preposterous; I am losing sight of the need for making provision for the future expansion of the race, of each party desiring to "find its place in the sun"; and heaven knows what.

Well, let us for a moment get away from phrases and examine a few facts usually ignored because they happen to be beneath our nose.

France has got a new empire, we are told; she has won a great victory; she is growing and expanding and is richer by something which her rivals are the poorer for not having.

Let us assume that she makes the same success of Morocco that she has made of her other possessions, of, say, Tunis, which represents one of the most successful of those operations of colonial expansion which have marked her history during the last forty years. What has been the precise effect on French prosperity?

In thirty years, at a cost of many million sterling (it is part of successful colonial administration in France never to let it be known what the colonies really cost) France has founded in Tunis a colony, in which to-day there are, excluding soldiers and officials, about 25,000 genuine French colonists: just the number by which the French population in France—the real France—is diminishing every six months! And the value of Tunis as a market does not even amount to the sum which France spends directly on its occupation and administration, to say nothing of the indirect extension of military burden which its conquest involves; and, of course, the market which it represents would still exist in some form, though England—or even Germany—administered the country.

In other words, France loses twice every year in her home population two colonies equivalent to Tunis—if we measure colonies in terms of communities made up of the race which has sprung from the mother country. And yet, if once in a generation her rulers and diplomats can point to 25,000 Frenchmen living artificially and exotically under conditions which must in the long run be inimical to their race, it is pointed to as "expansion" and as evidence that France is maintaining her position as a Great Power. A few years, as history goes, unless there is some complete change of tendencies which at present seem as strong as ever, the French race as we now know it will have ceased to exist, swamped without the firing, may be, of a single shot, by the Germans, Belgians, English, Italians, and Jews. There are to-day in France more Germans than there are Frenchmen in all the colonies that France has acquired in the last half-century, and German trade with France outweighs enormously the trade of France with all French colonies. France is to-day a better colony for the Germans than they could make of any exotic colony which France owns.

"They tell me," said a French Deputy recently (in a not quite original mot), "that the Germans are at Agadir. I know they are in the Champs-Elysées." Which, of course, is in reality a much more serious matter.

And those Frenchmen who regret this disappearance of their race, and declare that the energy and blood and money which is now poured out so lavishly in Africa and in Asia ought to be diverted to its arrest, to the colonization and development of France by better social, industrial, commercial, and political organization, to the resisting of the exploitation of the mother country by inflowing masses of foreigners, are declared to be bad patriots, dead to the sentiment of the flag, dead to the call of the bugle, are silenced in fact by a fustian as senseless and mischievous as that which in some marvelous way the politician, hypnotized by the old formulae, has managed to make pass as "patriotism" in most countries.

The French, like their neighbors, are not interested in the Germans of the Champs-Elysées, but only in the Germans at Agadir: and it is for these latter that the diplomats fight, and the war budgets swell.

And from that silent and pacific expansion, which means so much both negatively and positively, attention is diverted to the banging of the war drum, and the dancing of the patriotic dervishes.

And on the other side we are to assume that Germany has during the period of France's expansion—since the war—not expanded at all. That she has been throttled and cramped—that she has not had her place in the sun: and that is why she must fight for it and endanger the security of her neighbors.

Well, I put it to you again that all this in reality is false: that Germany has not been cramped or throttled; that, on the contrary, as we recognize when we get away from the mirage of the map, her expansion has been the wonder of the world. She has added 20,000,000 to her population—one-half the present population of France—during a period in which the French population has actually diminished. Of all the nations in Europe, she has cut the biggest swath in the development of world trade, industry, and influence. Despite the fact that she has not "expanded" in the sense of mere political dominion, a proportion of her population, equivalent to the white population of the whole colonial British Empire, make their living, or the best part of it, from the development and exploitation of territory outside her borders. These facts are not new, they have been made the text of thousands of political sermons preached in England itself during the last few years; but one side of their significance seems to have been missed.

We get, then, this: On the one side a nation extending enormously its political dominion and yet diminishing in national force, if by national force we mean the growth of a sturdy, enterprising, vigorous people. (I am not denying that France is both wealthy and comfortable, to a greater degree it may be than her rival; but she has not her colonies to thank for it—quite the contrary.) On the other side, we get immense expansion expressed in terms of those things—a growing and vigorous population and the possibility of feeding them—and yet the political dominion, speaking practically, has hardly been extended at all.

Such a condition of things, if the common jargon of high politics means anything, is preposterous. It takes nearly all meaning out of most that we hear about "primordial needs," and the rest of it.

As a matter of fact, we touch here one of the vital confusions, which is at the bottom of most of the present political trouble between nations, and shows the power of the old ideas, and the old phraseology.

In the days of the sailing ship and the lumbering wagon dragging slowly over all but impassable roads, for one country to derive any considerable profit from another, it had, practically, to administer it politically. But the compound steam engine, the railway, the telegraph, have profoundly modified the elements of the whole problem. In the modern world political dominion is playing a more and more effaced role as a factor in commerce; the non-political factors have in practise made it all but inoperative. It is the case with every modern nation actually that the outside territories which it exploits most successfully are precisely those of which it does not "own" a foot. Even with the most characteristically colonial of all—Great Britain—the greater part of her overseas trade is done with countries which she makes no attempt to "own," control, coerce, or dominate—and incidentally she has ceased to do any of these things with her colonies.

Millions of Germans in Prussia and Westphalia derive profit or make their living out of countries to which their political dominion in no way extends. The modern German exploits South America by remaining at home. Where, forsaking this principle, he attempts to work through political power, he approaches futility. German colonies are colonies "pour rire." The Government has to bribe Germans to go to them; her trade with them is microscopic; and if the twenty millions who have been added to Germany's population since the war had had to depend on their country's political conquest they would have had to starve. What feeds them are countries which Germany has never "owned" and never hopes to "own"; Brazil, Argentina, the United States, India, Australia, Canada, Russia, France, and England. (Germany, which never spent a mark on its political conquest, to-day draws more tribute from South America than does Spain, which has poured out mountains of treasure and oceans of blood in its conquest.) These are Germany's real colonies. Yet the immense interests which they represent, of really primordial concern to Germany, without which so many of her people would be actually without food, are for the diplomats and the soldiers quite secondary ones; the immense trade which they represent owes nothing to the diplomat, to Agadir incidents, to Dreadnoughts; it is the unaided work of the merchant and the manufacturer. All this diplomatic and military conflict and rivalry, this waste of wealth, the unspeakable foulness which Tripoli is revealing, are reserved for things which both sides to the quarrel could sacrifice, not merely without loss, but with profit. And Italy, whose statesmen have been faithful to all the old "axioms" (Heaven save the mark!) will discover it rapidly enough. Even her defenders are ceasing now to urge that she can possibly derive any real benefit from this colossal ineptitude.

Italy struck at Turkey for "honor," for prestige—for the purpose of impressing Europe. And one may hope that Europe (after reading the reports of Reuter, The Times, the Daily Mirror, and the New York World as to the methods which Italy is using in vindicating her "honor") is duly impressed, and that Italian patriots are satisfied with these new glories added to Italian history. It is all they will get.

Or rather, will they get much more: for Italy, as unhappily for the balance of Europe, the substance will be represented by the increase of very definite every-day difficulties—the high cost of living, the uncertainty of employment, the very deep problems of poverty, education, government, well-being. These remain—worsened. And this—not the spectacular clash of arms, or even the less spectacular killing of unarmed Arab men, women, and children—constitute the real "struggle for life among men." But the dilettanti of "high politics" are not interested. For those who still take their language and habits of thought from the days of the sailing-ship, still talk of "possessing" territory, still assume that tribute in some form is possible, still imply that the limits of commercial and industrial activity are dependent upon the limits of political dominion, the struggle is represented by this futile physical collision of groups, which, however victory may go, leaves the real solution further off than ever.

We know what preceded this war: if Europe had any moral conscience left, it would have been shocked as it was never shocked before. Turkey said: "We will submit Italy's grievance to any tribunal that Europe cares to name, and abide by the result." Italy said: "We don't intend to have the case judged, but to take Tripoli. Hand it over—in twenty-four hours." The Turkish Government said: "At least make it possible for us to face our own people. Call it a Protectorate; give us the shadow of sovereignty. Otherwise it is not robbery—to which we should submit—but gratuitous degradation; we should abdicate before the eyes of our own people. We will do anything you like." "In that case," said Italy, "we will rob; and we will go to war."

It was not merely robbery that the Italian Government intended, but they meant from the first that it should be war—to "dish the Socialists," to play some sordid intrigue of internal politics.

The ultimatum was launched from the center of Christendom—the city
which lodges the titular head of the Universal Church—to teach to the
Mohammedan world what may be expected from a modern Christian
Government with its back to eighteen centuries of Christian teaching.

We, Christendom, spend scores of millions—hundreds of millions, it may be—in the propagation of the Christian faith: numberless men and women gave their lives for it, our fathers spent two centuries in unavailing warfare for the capture of some of its symbols. Presumably, therefore, we attach some value to its principles, deeming them of some worth in the defense of human society.

Or do we believe nothing of the sort? Is our real opinion that these things at bottom don't matter—or matter so little that for the sake of robbing the squalid belongings of a few Arab tribes, or playing some mean game of party politics, they can be set aside in a whoop of "patriotism"?

Our press waxes indignant in this particular case, and that is the end of it. But we do not see that we are to blame, that it is all the outcome of a conception of politics which we are forever ready to do our part to defend, to do daily our part to uphold.

And those of us who try in our feeble way to protest against this conception of politics and patriotism, where everything stands on its head; where the large is made to appear the great, and the great is made to appear the small, are derided as sentimentalists, Utopians. As though anything could be more sentimental, more divorced from the sense of reality, than the principles which lead us to a condition of things like these; as though anything could be more wildly, burlesquely Utopian than the idea that efforts of the kind that the Italian people are now making, the energy they are now spending, could ever achieve anything of worth.

Is it not time that the man in the street, verily, I believe, less deluded by diplomatic jargon than his betters, less the slave of an obsolete phraseology, insisted that the experts in the high places acquired some sense of the reality of things, of proportion, some sense of figures, a little knowledge of industrial history, of the real processes of human cooperation?

At present Europe is quite indifferent to Italy's behavior. The Chancelleries, which will go to enormous trouble and take enormous risks and concoct alliances and counter-alliances when there is territory to be seized, remain cold when crimes of this sort are committed. And they remain cold because they believe that Turkey alone is concerned. They do not see that Italy has attacked not Turkey, but Europe; that we, more than Turkey, will pay the broken pots.

And there is a further reason: We still believe in these piracies; we believe they pay and that we may get our turn at some "swag" to-morrow. France is envied for her possession of Morocco; Germany for her increased authority over some pestilential African swamps. But when we realize that in these international burglaries there is no "swag," that the whole thing is an illusion, that there are huge costs but no reward, we shall be on the road to a better tradition, which, while it may not give us international policing, may do better still—render the policing unnecessary. For when we have realized that the game is not worth the candle, when no one desires to commit aggression, the competition in armaments will have become a bad nightmare of the past.

It is generally admitted that the present condition of Europe is highly unsatisfactory. To any close observer it must be evident that Europe, as a whole, is gradually losing its position in the world. Other nations which are rapidly coming to the front will, in course of time, displace the European, unless the latter can pull themselves together and abandon the vicious system which now handicaps them In the economic rivalry of nations.

The cause of this comparative decline is, in my opinion, to be found in the fact that all the European countries are arming against one another, either for defense, or for aggression, for the attack is frequently the best form of defense. The motive for these excessive armaments can clearly be found in the jealousy and mistrust existing among the nations of Europe. Europe is spending on armaments something like four hundred million pounds sterling per year, and there is a tendency to increase this tremendous expenditure. In order to bring the magnitude of this sacrifice more vividly before the reader, let us assume that a European war is not likely to occur more frequently than about every thirty years. We then find that the incredible sum of twelve thousand million pounds sterling has been spent in peace in preparation for this war, a sum which greatly exceeds the total of all the European state debts. Such stupendous sums can not be raised without imposing crushing taxation, and without neglecting the other duties of the state, such as education, scientific research, and social reform.

One serious economic result of this heavy taxation is that European industry is placed at a considerable disadvantage in competing with that of other nations, notably the United States of America. The late Mr. Atkinson, an American authority, declared that, compared with the United States, we were handicapped to the extent of five per cent, in our production. Since then the figures have changed considerably in favor of America. I recently had an opportunity of discussing this point with a great German authority on political economy, and he fixed the advantage in favor of the United States at nearly ten per cent, as regards the cost of production.

But this is not all. The European countries withdraw permanently four millions of men, at their best age, from productive work, thus causing a terrible loss and waste. Besides, enterprise in Europe is crippled by fear of war. It may break out at any time, possibly at a few hours' notice. The present system of Europe must inevitably lead, sooner or later, to a European war—a catastrophe which nobody can contemplate without horror, considering the perfected means of destruction. Such a war would leave the vanquished utterly crushed, and the victor in such a state of exhaustion that any foreign Power could easily impose her will upon him.

The situation is certainly most alarming, and ought to receive the fullest attention. What, then, can be done to save Europe from these impending dangers? The large number of "Peace Societies" which have been established in different countries have done excellent spade work. Their main object has been to insure that disputes among nations should be referred to arbitration, with a view to making more difficult their resorting to arms. The great success of these societies demonstrates plainly that there is a strong tendency among the peoples in favor of peace. But no attempt has been made to reorganize the whole of Europe on a sound basis.

The Emperor of Russia has made a most praiseworthy effort to bring about a different state of affairs, by originating and establishing The Hague Conference, with a view to securing by this means the peace of the world. This conference has done excellent service, and is likely to be of increasing usefulness to mankind in the future; but the second meeting of the conference has amply proved that it can not succeed in its main object, which is the peace of the world. If the idea of bringing the whole world into unison can ever be realized, it is only by stages, of which the union of Europe would be the first.

Let us look at the position. Germany has been for centuries the battle-field of other states, and has narrowly escaped national annihilation. She has now at length succeeded in consolidating her strength so far as to be able to withstand attack from any probable combination of two of her powerful neighbors. Can Germany now be approached with a request to reduce her armaments, unless she is given the most solid guaranty against attack? It would be almost an insult to the German intelligence to make such a proposal without an adequate guaranty.

With France the case is similar. The third Republic has been eminently peaceful, and Frenchmen have devoted their energies and brilliant qualities principally to science, the fine arts, and social development. Who would dare to ask them to cut down their armaments in the present state of Europe, which makes it compulsory for every country to arm to the fullest extent? All the other states are in a similar position. They need not be discussed individually.

The only hope to be found is in such a coalition of the Powers as will make these excessive armaments unnecessary. If this can be effected, the reduction of armaments will take place naturally, and without any external pressure. But then the question arises, how can the permanency of such a coalition be guaranteed? The vital requisite to give stability to any international coalition is community of interests. Such a community of interests exists already, in a larger or smaller degree, among many states, though it is unknown to most people. Besides, it is not strong enough to prevent war in times of excitement.

In many countries definite war parties exist, and most extraordinary opinions can be gathered from their representatives. I was assured by some military leaders, and even by a diplomat in a responsible position, that war is a blessing! In disproof of this theory it may be desirable to state some plain facts. Mankind lives and exists on this earth solely and entirely by the exploitation of our planet, and the general average status of the peoples can be improved and raised to a higher level only by a more complete exploitation of the forces of nature. This process requires, in the present state of civilization, capital, intelligence, and manual labor—the handmaid of intelligence. War is bound to destroy an enormous amount of capital, and a great number of the ablest workers. It is evident, therefore, that every war must reduce the general well-being of the peoples who inhabit this planet. Besides, there is the misery inflicted upon millions of people, principally belonging to the poorer classes, who have always to bear the brunt of a war, whether it be started by the personal ambition of one man or by the misguided ambitions of a nation.

Some people argue that, from the days of Alexander the Great to those of Napoleon, combinations of states have always been brought about by armed force, and they believe this to be a natural law. I do not admit that the case of Napoleon is a proper illustration of such a law. On the contrary, his career seems to demonstrate clearly that the world is too far advanced to be driven into combination by force. And as to Alexander the Great, has the world really made no progress since his time? Force or war is a relic of a savage age, and will be relegated to the background with the advance of civilization.

W. MORGAN SHUSTER[1]

[Footnote 1: Reprinted in condensed form from the original narrative in Hearst's Magazine, by permission.]

As told in the preceding volume, Persia in the year 1905 began a struggle for freedom from autocratic rule. This she finally achieved in decisive fashion and set up a parliamentary government. Her career of liberty seemed fairly assured. She had against her, however, an irresistible force. England and Russia had long been encroaching upon Persian territory. Russia, in especial, had snatched away province after province in the north. Of course Persia's revival would mean that these territorial seizures would be stopped. Hence Russia almost openly opposed each step in Persia's progress. In 1907, Russia and England entered into an agreement by which each, without consulting Persia, recognized that the other held some sort of rights over a part of Persian territory: a "sphere of Russian influence" was thus established in the north, and of British in the southeast.

The climax to this antagonism against Persia came in 1911. The desperate Persians appealed to the United States Government to send them an honest administrator to guide them, and President Taft recommended Mr. Shuster for the task. The work of Mr. Shuster soon won him the enthusiastic confidence and devotion of the Persians themselves. But in proportion as his reforms seemed more and more to strengthen the parliamentary government and bring hope to Persia, he found himself more and more opposed by the Russian officials. Finally Russia made his mere presence in the land an excuse for sending her armies to assault the Persians. Seldom has the murderous attack of a strong country upon a weak one been so open, brazen, and void of all moral justification. Thousands of Persians were slain by the Russian troops, and many more have since been executed for "rebellion" against the Russian authorities. The parliamentary government of Persia was completely destroyed; it finally disappeared in tumult and dismay on December 24, 1911.

The country was reduced to helpless submission to the Russian armies.
Mr. Shuster's own account of the tragedy follows. He called it "The
Strangling of Persia."

Of the many changing scenes during the eight months of my recent experiences in Persia, two pictures stand out in such sharp contrast as to deserve special mention.

The first is a small party of Americans, of which the writer was one, seated with their families in ancient post-chaises rumbling along the tiresome road from Enzeli, the Persian port on the Caspian Sea, toward Teheran. It was in the early days of May, 1911, and from these medieval vehicles, drawn by four ratlike ponies, in heat and dust, we gained our first physical impressions of the land where we had come to live for some years—to mend the broken finances of the descendants of Cyrus and Darius. We were fired with the ambition to succeed in our work, and, viewed through such eyes, the physical discomforts became unimportant. Hope sang loud in our hearts as the carriages crawled on through two hundred and twenty miles of alternate mountain and desert scenery.

The second picture is eight months later, almost to the day. On January 11, 1912, I stood in a circle of gloomy American and Persian friends in front of the Atabak palace where we had been living, about to step into the automobile that was to bear us back over the same road to Enzeli. The mountains behind Teheran were white with snow, the sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky, there was life-tonic in the air, but none in our hearts, for our work in Persia, hardly begun, had come to a sudden end.

Between the two dates some things had happened—things that may be written down, but will probably never be undone—and the hopes of a patient, long-exploited people of reclaiming their position in the world had been stamped out ruthlessly and unjustly by the armies of a so-called Christian and civilized nation.

Prior to 1906, the masses of the Persians had suffered in comparative silence from the ever-growing tyranny and betrayal of successive despots, the last of whom, Muhammad Ali Shah, a vice-sodden monster of the most perverted type, openly avowed himself the tool of Russia. The people, finally stung to a blind desperation and exhorted by their priests, rose in the summer of 1906, and by purely passive measures—such as taking sanctuary, or bast, in large numbers in sacred places and in the grounds of the British Legation at Teheran—succeeded in obtaining from Muzaffarn'd Din Shah, the father of Muhammad Ali, a constitution which he granted some six months before his death.

The pledge given in this document his son and successor swore to fulfil and then violated a dozen or more times, until the long-suffering constitutionalists, who called themselves "nationalists," finally compelled him, despite the intrigues and armed resistance of Russian agents and officers, to abdicate in favor of his young son, Sultan Ahmad Shah, the present constitutional monarch. This was in July, 1909.

It was this constitutional government, recognized as sovereign by the Powers, that had determined to set its house in order, and in practise to replace absolute monarchy with something approaching democracy. Whence the Persians, a strictly Oriental people, had derived their strange confidence in the potency of a democratic form of government to mitigate or cure their ills, no one can say. We might ask the Hindus of India, or the "Young Turks," or to-day the "Young Chinese" the same question. The fact is that the past ten years have witnessed a truly marvelous transformation in the ideas of Oriental peoples, and the East, in its capacity to assimilate Western theories of government, and in its willingness to fight for them against everything that tradition makes sacred, has of late years shown a phase heretofore almost unknown.

Persia has given a most perfect example of this struggle toward democracy, and, considering the odds against the nationalist element, the results accomplished have been little short of amazing.

Filled with the desire to perform its task, the Medjlis, or national parliament, had voted in the latter part of 1910 to obtain the services of five American experts to undertake the work of reorganizing Persia's finances. They applied to the American Government, and through the good offices of our State Department, their legation at Washington was placed in communication with men who were considered suitable for the task. The intervention of the State Department went no further than this, and the Persian Government, like the men finally selected, was told that the nomination by the American Government of suitable financial administrators indicated a mere friendly desire to aid and was of no political significance whatsoever.

The Persians had already tried Belgian and French functionaries and had seen them rapidly become mere Russian political agents or, at best, seen them lapse into a state of dolce far niente. Poor Persia had been sold out so many times in the framing of tariffs and tax laws, in loan transactions and concessions of various kinds that the nationalist government had grown desperate and certainly most distrustful of all foreigners coming from nations within the sphere of European diplomacy. What they sought was a practical administration of their finances in the interest of the Persian people and nation.

In this way the writer found himself in Teheran on the 12th of May last year, having agreed to serve as Treasurer-General of the Persian Empire, and to reorganize and conduct its finances.

It is difficult to describe the Persian political situation existing at that time without going too deeply into history. It is true that in a moment of temporary weakness after her defeat by Japan, Russia had signed a solemn convention with England whereby she engaged herself, as did England, to respect the independence and integrity of Persia. Later, by the stipulations of 1909, these two Powers solemnly agreed to prevent the ex-Shah, Muhammad Ali, from any political agitation against the constitutional government. But, as the world and Persia have seen, a trifle like a treaty or a convention never balks Russia when she has taken the pulse of her possible adversaries and found it weak. What is more painful to Anglo-Saxons is that the British Government has been no better nor more scrupulous of its pledges.

During the first half of July, we began to learn where some of the money was supposed to come from, and we were just beginning to control the government expenditures after a fashion when, on July 18th, late at night, the telegraph brought the news that Muhammad Ali, the ex-Shah, had landed with a small force at Gumesh-Teppeh, a small port on the Caspian, very near the Russian frontier. It was the proverbial bolt from the blue, for while rumors of such a possibility had been rife, most persons believed that Russia would not dare to violate so openly her solemn stipulation signed less than two years before.

The Persian cabinet at Teheran was panic-stricken, and for ten days there ensued a period of confusion and terror that beggars description. There was no Persian army except on paper. The gendarmerie and police of the city did not number more than eighteen hundred men inadequately armed. The Russian Turcomans on the northeast frontier were reported to be flocking to the ex-Shah's standard, and it was commonly believed that he would be at the gates of Teheran in a few weeks. This belief was strengthened by the fact that his brother, Prince Salaru'd-Dawla, had entered Persia from the direction of Bagdad and was known to have a large gathering of Kurdish tribesmen ready to march toward Teheran.

After a time, however, reason prevailed and steps were taken to create an army to defend the constitutional government against the invaders. At this time, one of the old chiefs of the Bakhtiyari tribesmen, the Samsamu's-Saltana, was the prime minister holding the portfolio of war, and he called to arms several thousands of his fighting men, who promptly started for the capital. Ephraim Khan, at that time chief of police of Teheran, was another defender of the constitution who raised a volunteer force, and twice, acting with the Bakhtiyari forces, he signally defeated the troops of the ex-Shah. By September 5th, Muhammad Ali himself was in full flight through northeastern Persia toward the friendly Russian frontier. Whatever chances he may have formerly had were admitted to be gone.

The hound that Russia had unleashed, with his hordes of Turcoman brigands, upon the constitutional government of Persia had been whipped back into his kennel. No one was more surprised than Russia, unless indeed it was the Persians themselves. Russian officials everywhere in Persia had openly predicted an easy victory for Muhammad Ali. They had aided him in a hundred different ways, morally, financially, and by actual armed force.

They still hoped, however, that the forces of Prince Salaru'd-Dawla, which were marching from Hamadan toward Teheran, would take the capital. But on September 28th, the news came that Ephraim Khan, and the Bakhtiyaris had routed the Prince and his army, and the last hope from this source was gone.

In the mean time, another encounter with Russia had occurred. There was at Teheran an officer of the British-Indian army, Major Stokes, who for four years had been military attache to the British Legation. He knew Persia well; read, wrote, and spoke fluently the language and thoroughly understood the habits, customs, and viewpoint of the Persian people. He was the ideal man to assist in the formation of a tax-collecting force under the Treasury, without which there was no hope of collecting the internal taxes throughout the empire. Not only was Major Stokes the ideal man for this work, but he was the only man possessing the necessary qualifications.

I accordingly tendered Major Stokes the post of chief of the future Treasury gendarmerie, his services as military attache having come to an end. After some correspondence with the British Legation, I was informed late in July that the British Foreign Office held that he must resign his commission in the British-Indian army before accepting the post. This Major Stokes did, by cable, on July 31st, and the matter was regarded as settled.

What was my surprise, therefore, to learn, on the evening of August 8th, that the British Minister, following instructions from his Government, had that day presented a note to the Persian Foreign Office, warning the Persian Government that any attempt to employ Major Stokes in the "northern sphere" of Persia (which included Teheran, the capital) would probably be followed by retaliatory action (sic) by Russia which England would not be in a position to deprecate. Between individuals, such action would clearly be considered bad faith. Sir Edward Grey, British Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, shortly thereafter explained that the appointment of Major Stokes would be a violation of what he termed the "spirit" of the Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907. Yet just two weeks before, when he consented to Stokes resigning to accept the post, he had never dreamed of such a thing.

The truth is that the semiofficial St. Petersburg press, like the Novoe Vremya, had begun to bluster about the affair, egged on by the Russian Foreign Office, and Sir Edward Grey was compelled to invent some pretext for his manifest dread of displeasing Britain's "good friend Russia" about anything. Hence the birth of that wondrous and fearsome child, that rubber child which could be stretched to cover any and all things, the "spirit of the convention." It was a wonderful discovery for the gentlemen of the so-called "forward party" of the Russian Government, since they now beheld not only a new means of evading the plain letter of their agreement, but gleefully found a woful lack of spirit in their partner to the convention, Great Britain.

The British Foreign Office pretended to believe that they had checked Russia's march to the Gulf; they knew better then, and they know still better now. There is but one thing on earth that will check that march, and that thing England is apparently not in a geographical or a policial position to furnish in sufficient numbers. The British public now know this, and unfortunately the "forward party" in Russia knows it, and that is why bearded faces at St. Petersburg crack open and emit rumbles of genuine merriment every time Sir Edward Grey stands up in the House of Commons and explains to his countrymen that he has most ample and categorical assurances from Russia that her sole purpose in sending two or three armies into Persia is to show her displeasure with an American finance official.

For that same reason, doubtless, she has recently massacred some hundreds of Persians in Tabriz, Enzeli, and Resht, and has hanged numbers of Islamic priests, provincial officials, and constitutionalists whom she classifies as the "dregs of revolution." That is why the Russian flag was hoisted over the government buildings at Tabriz, the capital of the richest province of the empire, while a Russian military governor dispensed justice at the bayonet-point and with the noose.

But to get back to events. After the crushing defeats of the ex-Shah's two forces and his flight, Russia was still faced by a constitutional regime in Persia—and by a somewhat solidified and more confident government and people at that.

Tools and puppets having dismally failed, enter the real thing. Russia now proceeded to intervene directly and to break up the constitutional government in Persia without risk of failure or hindrance. She did not even intend to await a pretext—she manufactured such things as she went along.

The first instance is the Shu'a'us-Saltana affair. On October 9th, some twelve days after the last defeat inflicted on the ex-Shah's forces, I was ordered by the cabinet to seize and confiscate the properties of Prince Shu'a'us-Saltana, another brother of the ex-Shah, who had returned to Persia with him and was actively commanding some of his troops. The same order was given as to the estates of Prince Salaru'd-Dawla, the other brother in rebellion.

Pursuant to this entirely proper and legal order, the purport of which had been communicated by the Persian Foreign Office to the Russian and British ministers several days previously, no objection having been even hinted, I sent out six small parties, each consisting of a civilian Treasury official and five Treasury gendarmes, to seize the different properties in and about Teheran. As a matter of courtesy, the British and Russian legations had been informed that all rights of foreigners in these properties would be fully safeguarded and respected.

The principal property was the Park of Shu'a'us-Saltana, a magnificent place in Teheran, with a palace filled with valuable furniture. When the Treasury officials and five gendarmes arrived there, they found on guard a number of Persian Cossacks of the Cossack Brigade. On seeing the order of confiscation, these men retired. My men then took possession and began making an official inventory. An hour later, two Russian vice-consuls, in full uniform, arrived with twelve Russian Cossacks from the Russian Consulate guard, and with imprecations, abuse, and threats to kill, drove off my men at the point of their rifles. Later in the day, these same vice-consuls actually arrested other small parties of Treasury gendarmes, took them on mules through the streets of Teheran to the Russian Consulate-General, and after insulting and threatening them with death if they ever returned to the confiscated property, allowed them to go.

On hearing this, I wrote and telegraphed to my friend, M. Poklewski-Koziell, the Russian minister, calling his attention to the outrageous actions of his Consul-General, M. Pokhitanow, and asking the minister to give orders to prevent any further unpleasantness on the following day, when I would again execute the government's order. The next day I sent a force of one hundred gendarmes in charge of two American Treasury officials, and the order was executed.

Two hours after we were in peaceable possession of the property, the same two Russian vice-consuls drove up to the gate and began insulting and abusing the Persian Treasury guards, endeavoring, of course, to provoke the gendarmes into some act against them. In other words, finding that they had lost in the matter of retaining possession of the property, these Russian officials deliberately sought to provoke my gendarmes into something that they could construe as an affront to Russian consular authority. The men, however, had received such strict and repeated instructions that they refused even to answer. They paid no attention to the taunts and abuse of these two dignified Russian officials, who thereupon drove off and perjured themselves to the effect that they had been affronted—in other words, that the incident which they had gone there to provoke actually had occurred. These false statements were reported to St. Petersburg by M. Pokhitanow independently of his minister, who, I have the strongest reason to believe, entirely disavowed the Consul-General's actions. The Russian government thereupon publicly discredited its minister and demanded from the Persian government an immediate apology for something that had never occurred. The apology, after some hesitation, was made on the advice of the British government. It was hoped that this evident self-abasement by Persia would appease even the Russian bureaucracy.

But it now seems that a compliance with Russia's demand was exactly what was not desired by her, since it removed all possible pretext for taking more drastic steps against Persia's national existence. Hence, at the very moment when the Persian Foreign Minister, in full uniform, was at the Russian legation complying with this first ultimatum, based, as it was, on absolutely false reports, the St. Petersburg cabinet was formulating new and even more unjust and absurd demands, which, as some of the public know, have resulted in the expulsion of the fifteen American finance officials and in the destruction of the last vestiges of constitutional government in the empire of Cyrus and Darius.

Russia called for my immediate dismissal from the post of Treasurer-General; she required that my fourteen American assistants already in Persia should be subject to the approval of the British and Russian legations at Teheran; that all other foreign officials in future employed by Persia be subjected to the approval of those two legations; that a large indemnity should be paid to Russia for the expense of moving her troops into Persia to hasten the acceptance of these two ultimatums; and that all other questions between Russia and Persia should be settled to the satisfaction of the former.

The acceptance by Persia of these demands meant, of course, a virtual cession of her sovereignty to Russia and Great Britain. It should be noted, also, that in this Russian ultimatum the name of the British government was freely used, although the British minister took no part in the presentation of the same. Sir Edward Grey was subsequently asked in the British Parliament as to this point, and explained, in effect, that he agreed with the Russian demands, with the possible exception of the indemnity.

The Russian minister informed the Persian Government that this ultimatum was based on the following two grounds: First, that I had appointed a certain Mr. Lecoffre, a British subject, to be a tax collector in the Russian sphere of influence; and, second, that I had caused to be printed and circulated in Persia a translation into Persian of my letter to the London Times of October 21, 1911, thereby greatly injuring Russian influence in northern Persia. These grounds might be classified as "unimportant, if true." The truth is, however, that they are both well known to have been utterly unfounded in fact. I did not appoint Mr. Lecoffre, a British subject, to a financial post in northern Persia. I found him in the Finance Department at Teheran (the capital, which is in the so-called Russian sphere) when I arrived there last May, and he had been occupying an important position there for nearly two years, without the slightest objection ever having been raised by the Russian Government. I proposed to transfer him to a somewhat less important position, but one in which I thought he could be of greater service.

As to the second ground or pretext, in effect, that I had caused to be printed and circulated a Persian translation of my letter to the Times, it was simply false. It was well known to be false—so well known, in fact, that a newspaper in Teheran, the Tamadun (Civilization) which did print it and circulate it, publicly admitted the fact the minute they heard that I was charged by Russia with having done so. So these two at best rather puerile pretexts upon which to base an ultimatum from a powerful nation to a weaker one lacked even the merit of truth.

This second ultimatum, despite all hypocritical attempts made to justify it, fairly stunned the Persian people. Accustomed as they had become in recent years to the high-handed and cynical actions of the St. Petersburg cabinet, they had not looked for such a foul blow as this. They had been realizing dimly that the peace of Europe was being threatened by the open hostility of Germany and England over the Moroccan incident, and that British foreign policy was apparently leaving Russia absolutely free to work her will in Asia, so long, at least, as Russia pretended to acknowledge the. Anglo-Russian entente of 1907; but the Persian people had too much, far too much, confidence in the sacredness of treaty stipulations and the solemnly pledged words of the great Christian nations of the world to imagine that their own whole national existence and liberty could be jeopardized overnight, and on a pretext so shallow and farcical as to excite world-wide ridicule. Their disillusionment came too late. The trap had been unwittingly set by hands that made unexpected moves on the European chessboard, and the Bear's paw had this time been skilful enough to spring it at the proper moment.

The Persian statesmen and chieftains who formed the cabinet at this time, whether because they perceived the gleaming, naked steel behind Russia's threats more clearly than their legislative compatriots of the Parliament or Medjlis, or whether they suffered from that abandon and tired feeling which comes from playing an unequal and always losing game, quickly decided that they would accept this second ultimatum with all its future oppression and cruelty for their people.

On December 1st, therefore, shortly before the time limit of forty-eight hours fixed by Russia for the acceptance of the terms had expired, the cabinet filed into the chamber of deputies to secure legislative approval of their intended course.

It was an hour before noon, and the Parliament grounds and buildings were filled with eager, excited throngs, while the galleries of the Medjlis chamber were packed with Persian notables of all ranks and with the representatives of many of the foreign legations. At noon the fate of Persia as a nation was to be known.

The cabinet, having made up its mind to yield, overlooked no point that would increase their chances of securing the approval of the Medjlis. Believing, evidently, that the ridiculously short time to elapse before the stroke of noon announced the expiration of the forty-eight-hour period would effectually prevent any mature consideration or discussion of their proposals, the premier, Samsamu's-Saltana, caused to be presented to the deputies a resolution authorizing the cabinet to accept Russia's demands.

The proposal was read amid a deep silence. At its conclusion, a hush fell upon the gathering. Seventy-six deputies, old men and young, priests, lawyers, doctors, merchants, and princes, sat tense in their seats.

A venerable priest of Islam arose. Time was slipping away and at noon the question would be beyond their vote to decide. This servant of God spoke briefly and to the point: "It may be the will of Allah that our liberty and our sovereignty shall be taken from us by force, but let us not sign them away with our own hands!" One gesture of appeal with his trembling hands, and he resumed his seat.

Simple words, these, yet winged ones. Easy to utter in academic discussions; hard, bitterly hard, to say under the eye of a cruel and overpowering tyrant whose emissaries watched the speaker from the galleries and mentally marked him down for future imprisonment, torture, exile, or worse.

Other deputies followed. In dignified appeals, brief because the time was short, they upheld their country's honor and proclaimed their hard-earned right to live and govern themselves.

A few minutes before noon the public vote was taken; one or two faint-hearted members sought a craven's refuge and slunk quietly from the chamber. As each name was called, the deputy rose in his place and gave his vote, there was no secret ballot here.

And when the roll-call was ended, every man, priest or layman, youth or octogenarian, had cast his own die of fate, had staked the safety of himself and family, and hurled back into the teeth of the great Bear from the north the unanimous answer of a desperate and downtrodden people who preferred a future of unknown terror to the voluntary sacrifice of their national dignity and of their recently earned right to work out their own salvation.

Amid tears and applause from the spectators, the crestfallen and frightened cabinet withdrew, while the deputies dispersed to ponder on the course which lay darkly before their people.

By this vote, the cabinet, according to the Persian constitution, ceased to exist as a legal entity.

Great crowds of people thronged the "Lalezar," one of the principal streets of Teheran, shouting death to the traitors and calling Allah to witness that they would give up their lives for their country.

A few days later, in a secret conference between the deputies of the Medjlis and the members of the deposed cabinet, a similar vote was given to reject the Russian demands. Meanwhile, thousands of Russian troops, with cossacks and artillery, were pouring into northern Persia, from Tiflis and Julfa by land and from Baku across the Caspian, to the Persian port of Enzeli, whence they took up their 220-mile march over the Elburz mountains toward Kasvin and Teheran.

In the government at Teheran, conference followed conference. Intrigues against the deputies gave way to threats. Through it all, with the increasing certainty of personal injury, the members of the Medjlis stood firmly by their vote.

It is impossible to describe within the limits of this article the days and nights of doubt, suspense, and anxiety that followed one another in the capital during this dark month of December. There was a lurking dread in the very air, and the snow-covered mountains themselves seemed afflicted with the mournful scenes through which the country was passing.

A boycott was proclaimed by the priests against Russian and English goods. In a day, the old-fashioned tramway of the city was deserted on the mere suspicion that it was owned in Russia, while an excited Belgian Minister rained protests and petitions on the Persian Foreign Office in an endeavor to show that the tramway was owned by his countrymen. Crowds of youths, students, and women filled the street, dragging absent-minded passengers from the cars, smashing the windows of shops that still displayed Russian goods, seeing that no one drank tea because it came from Russia, although produced in India, and going in processions before the gates of the foreign legations to demand justice of the representatives of the world powers for a people in the extremity of despair.

One day, the rumor would come that the chief "mullahs" or priests at Nadjef had proclaimed the "holy war" (jihad) against the Russians; on another, that the Russian troops had commenced to shoot up Kasvin on their march to Teheran.

At one time, when rumors were thick that the Medjlis would give in under the threats and attempted bribery which well-known Russian proteges were employing on many of its members, three hundred veiled and black-gowned Persian women, a large proportion with pistols concealed under their skirts or in the folds of their sleeves, marched suddenly to the Parliament grounds and demanded admission to the Chamber. The president of the Medjlis consented to receive a deputation from them. Once admitted into his presence, these honor-loving Persian mothers, wives, and daughters exhibited their weapons, and to show the grim seriousness of their words, they tore aside their veils, and threatened that they would kill their own husbands and sons, and end their own lives, if the deputies failed in their duty to uphold the dignity and the sovereignty of their beloved country.

When neither threats nor bribes availed against the Medjlis, Russia decreed its destruction by force.

In the early afternoon of December 24th, the deposed cabinet, having been themselves duly persuaded to take the step, executed a coup d'état against the Medjlis, and by a demonstration of gendarmes and Bakhtiyari tribesmen, succeeded in expelling all the deputies and employees who were within the Parliament grounds; after which the gates were locked and barred, and a strong detachment of the so-called Royal Regiment left in charge. The deputies were threatened with death if they attempted to return there or to meet in any other spot, and the city of Teheran immediately passed under military control. The self-constituted directoire of seven who accomplished this dubious feat first ascertained that the considerable force of Bakhtiyari tribesmen, some 2,000, who had remained in the capital after the defeat of the ex-Shah's forces in September last, had been duly "fixed" by the same Russian agencies who had so early succeeded in persuading the members of the ex-cabinet that their true interests lay in siding with Russia. It is impossible to say just what proportions of fear and cupidity decided the members of the deposed cabinet to take the aliens' side against their country, but both emotions undoubtedly played a part. The premier was one of the leading chiefs or "khans" of the Bakhtiyaris, and another chief was the self-styled Minister of War. These chieftains have always been a strange and changing mixture of mountain patriot and city intriguer—of loyal soldier and mercenary looter. The mercenary instincts, possibly aided by a sense of their own comparative helplessness against Russian Cossacks and artillery, led them to accept the stranger's gold and fair promises, and they ended their checkered but theretofore relatively honorable careers by selling their country for a small pile of cash and the more alluring promise that the "grand viziership" (i.e., post of Minister of Finance) should be perpetual in their family or clan.

That same afternoon a large number of the "abolished" deputies came to my office. They were men whom I had grown to know well, men of European education, in whose courage, integrity, and patriotism I had the fullest confidence. To them, the unlawful action of their own countrymen was more than a political catastrophe; it was a sacrilege, a profanation, a heinous crime. They came in tears, with broken voices, with murder in their hearts, torn by the doubt as to whether they should kill the members of the directoire and drive out the traitorous tribesmen who had made possible the destruction of the government, or adopt the truly Oriental idea of killing themselves. They asked my advice, and, hesitating somewhat as to whether I should interfere to save the lives of notorious betrayers of their country, I finally persuaded them to do neither the one nor the other. There seemed to be no particular good in assassinating even their treacherous countrymen, as it would only have given color to the pretensions of Russia and England that the Persians were not capable of maintaining order.

When the last representative element of the constitutional government, for which so many thousands had fought, suffered, and died, was wiped out in an hour without a drop of blood being shed, the Persian people gave to the world an exhibition of temperance, of moderation, of stern self-restraint, the like of which no other civilized country could show under similar trying circumstances.

The acceptance of Russia's terms by the Cabinet removed the last pretext for keeping in Northern Persia the 15,000 troops which by that time Russia had assembled there,—at Kasvin, Resht, Enzeli, Tabriz, Khoy, and other points in the so-called Russian sphere. Mons. Poklewski-Koziell, the Russian Minister, had in fact given an equivocal sort of a promise to the effect that "if no fresh incidents arose," the Russian troops would be withdrawn when Persia accepted the conditions of the ultimatum.

With this in mind, it is interesting to note the truly thorough precautions which were taken by Russia to prevent any such unfortunate necessity as the withdrawal of her troops from coming to pass.

December 24th, late in the evening, a message was received from the Persian Acting Governor at Tabriz in which he declared that the Russian troops, which had been stationed in that city since their entry during the siege in 1909, had suddenly started to massacre the inhabitants. Shortly after this the Indo-European telegraph lines stopped working, and all news from Tabriz ceased. It was subsequently stated that the wires had been cut by bullets. Additional Russian troops were immediately started for Tabriz from Julfa, which is some eight miles to the north of the Russian frontier.

The exact way in which the fighting began is not yet clear. The Persian government reports show that a number of Russian soldiers, claiming to be stringing a telephone wire, climbed upon the roof of the Persian police headquarters about ten o'clock at night on December 20th. When challenged by native guards, they replied with shots. Reenforcements were called up by both sides, and serious street fighting broke out early the following morning and continued for several days. The Acting Governor stated in his official reports that the Russian troops indulged in their usual atrocities, killing women and children and hundreds of other noncombatants on the streets and in their homes. There were at the time about 4,000 Russian soldiers, with two batteries of artillery, in and around the city. Nearly I,000 of the fidais ("self-devoted") of Tabriz took refuge in an old citadel of stone and mud, called the "Ark." They were without artillery or adequate provisions, and were poorly armed, but it was certain death for one of them to be seen on the streets.

The Russians bombarded the "Ark" for a day or more, killing a large proportion of its defenders. The superior numbers and the artillery of the Russians finally conquered, and there followed a reign of terror during which no Persian's life or honor was safe. At one time during this period the Russian Minister at Teheran, at the request of the members of the Persian cabinet, who were horror-stricken and in fear of their lives for having made terms with such a barbaric nation, telegraphed to the Russian general in command of the troops at Tabriz, telling him to cease fighting, and that the fidais would receive orders to do likewise, as matters were being arranged at the capital. The gallant general replied that he took his orders from the Viceroy of the Caucasus at Tiflis, and not from any one at Teheran. The massacre went on.

On New Year's day, which was the 10th of Muharram, a day of great mourning which is held sacred in the Persian religious calendar, the Russian military governor, who had hoisted Russian flags over the government buildings at Tabriz, hung the Sikutu'l-Islam, who was the chief priest of Tabriz, two other priests, and five others, among them several high officials of the Provincial Government. As one British journalist put it, the effect of this outrage on the Persians was that which would be produced on the English people by the hanging of the Archbishop of Canterbury on Good Friday. From this time on, the Russians at Tabriz continued to hang or shoot any Persian whom they chose to consider guilty of the crime of being a "Constitutionalist." When the fighting there was first reported, a high official of the Foreign Office at St. Petersburg, in an interview to the press, made the statement that Russia would take vengeance into her own hands until the "revolutionary dregs" had been exterminated.

One more significant fact: At the same time that the fighting broke out at Tabriz, the Russian troops at Resht and Enzeli, hundreds of miles away, shot down the Persian police and many inhabitants without warning or provocation of any kind. And the date also happened to be just after the Persian cabinet had definitely informed the Russian Legation that all the demands of Russia's ultimatum were accepted—a condition which the British Government had publicly assured the Persians would be followed by the withdrawal of the Russian invading forces, and which the Russian Government had officially confirmed, "unless fresh incidents should arise in the mean time to make the retention of the troops advisable."

I would suggest that the Powers—England and Russia—may think that they thus escape all responsibility for what goes on in Persia, but the world has long since grown familiar with such methods. Mere cant, however seriously put forth in official statements, no longer blinds educated public opinion as to the facts in these acts of international brigandage. The truth is that England and Russia are still playing a hand in the game of medieval diplomacy.

The puerility of talking of Persia having affronted Russian consular officers or of Persia's Treasurer-General having appointed a British subject to be a tax collector at Tabriz, as the reasons for Russia's aggressive and brutal policy in Persia, is only too apparent. Volumes would not contain the bare record of the acts of aggression, deceit, and cruelty which Russian agents have committed against Persian sovereignty and the constitutional government since the deposition of Muhammad Ali in 1909.

ROALD AMUNDSEN

On December 16, 1911, a Norwegian exploring party headed by Captain Roald Amundsen reached the South Pole. The discovery thus followed with surprising closeness after Peary's triumph in reaching the North Pole in 1909.

Antarctic exploration had never attracted so much attention as that of the far north; partly because an almost impossible ice barrier a hundred feet high was known to extend across the southern ocean at about the parallel of the Antarctic Circle. In 1908, however, an English expedition under Lieutenant Shackleton managed to penetrate beyond this barrier in the region south of New Zealand and reached to within less than two hundred miles of the pole. They established the fact that in contrast to the deep waters which flow above the northern Pole, the southern Pole is raised upon an Antarctic mountain continent many thousand feet in height. Shackleton's success led to several other expeditions, and in 1910 three separate parties made almost simultaneous efforts to reach the Pole, one from Japan and one from England, as well as the Norwegian one.

We give here Captain Amundsen's own account of his expedition as first explained by him before the Berlin Geographical Society and published by the New York Geographical Society in their bulletin.

The glowing success of Amundsen's expedition throws into sharpest relief the tragedy of the parallel English expedition. Captain Scott, the leader of this party, also reached the Pole after a far more desperate struggle. But he reached it on January 18, 1912, only to find that his Norwegian rival had preceded him, and he and his entire party died of starvation and exhaustion on their return journey toward their camp.

The first aim of my expedition was the attainment of the South Pole. I have the honor to report the accomplishment of the plan.

I can only mention briefly here the expeditions which have worked in the region which we had selected for our starting-point. As we wished to reach the South Pole our first problem was to go south as far as possible with our ship and there establish our station. Even so, the sled journeys would be long enough. I knew that the English expedition would again choose their old winter quarters in McMurdo Sound, South Victoria Land, as their starting-point. From newspaper report it was known that the Japanese had selected King Edward VII. Land. In order to avoid these two expeditions we had to establish our station on the Great Ice Barrier as far as possible from the starting-points of the two other expeditions.

The Great Ice Barrier, also called the Ross Barrier, lies between South Victoria Land and King Edward VII. Land and has an extent of about 515 miles. The first to reach this mighty ice formation was Sir James Clark Ross in 1841. He did not dare approach the great ice wall, 100 feet high, with his two sailing ships, the Erebus and the Terror, whose progress southward was impeded by this mighty obstacle. He examined the ice wall from a distance, however, as far as possible. His observations showed that the Barrier is not a continuous, abrupt ice wall, but is interrupted by bays and small channels. On Ross's map a bay of considerable magnitude may be seen.

The next expedition was that of the Southern Cross in 1900. It is interesting to note that this party found the bay mentioned above at the same place where Ross had seen it in 1841, nearly sixty years before; that this expedition also was able to land a few miles to the east of the large bay in a small bay, named Balloon Bight, and from there to ascend the Ice Barrier, which heretofore had been considered an insurmountable obstacle to further advance toward the south.

In 1901 the Discovery steamed along the Barrier and confirmed in every respect what the Southern Cross had observed. Land was also discovered in the direction indicated by Ross, namely, King Edward VII. Land. Scott, too, landed in Balloon Bight, and, like his predecessors, saw the large bay to the west.

In 1908 Shackleton arrived there on the Nimrod. He, too, followed along the edge of the Ice Barrier. He came to the conclusion that disturbances had taken place in the Ice Barrier. The shore line of Balloon Bight, he thought, had changed and merged with the large bay to the west. This large bay, which he thought to be of recent origin, he named Bay of Whales. He gave up his original plan of landing there, as the Ice Barrier appeared to him too dangerous for the establishment of winter quarters.

It was not difficult to determine that the bay shown on Ross's map and the so-called Bay of Whales are identical; it was only necessary to compare the two maps. Except for a few pieces that had broken off from the Barrier, the bay had remained the same for the last seventy years. It was therefore possible to assume that the bay did not owe its origin to chance and that it must be underlaid by land, either in the form of sand banks or otherwise.

This bay we decided upon as our base of operations. It lies 400 miles from the English station in McMurdo Sound and 115 miles from King Edward VII. Land. We could therefore assume that we should be far enough from the English sphere of interest and need not fear crossing the route of the English expedition. The reports concerning the Japanese station on King Edward VII. Land were indefinite: we took it for granted, however, that a distance of 115 miles would suffice.

On August 9, 1910, we left Norway on the Fram, the ship that had originally been built for Nansen. We had ninety-seven superb Eskimo dogs and provisions for two years. The first harbor we reached was Madeira. There the last preparations were made for our voyage on the Ross Barrier—truly not an insignificant distance which we had to cover, namely, 16,000 nautical miles from Norway to the Bay of Whales. We had estimated that this trip would require five months. The Fram, which has justly been called the stanchest polar ship in the world, on this voyage across practically all of the oceans, proved herself to be extremely seaworthy. Thus we traversed without a single mishap the regions of the northeast and of the southeast trades, the stormy seas of the "roaring forties," the fogs of the fifties, the ice-filled sixties, and reached our field of work at the Ice Barrier on January 14, 1911. Everything had gone splendidly.

The ice in the Bay of Whales had just broken up, and we were able to advance considerably farther south than any of our predecessors had done. We found a quiet little nook behind a projecting ice cape; from here we could transfer our equipment to the Barrier with comparative safety. Another great advantage was that the Barrier at this place descended very gradually to the sea ice, so that we had the best possible surface for our sleds. Our first undertaking was to ascend the Barrier in order to get a general survey and to determine a suitable place for the erection of the house which we had brought with us. The supposition that this part of the Barrier rests on land seemed to be confirmed immediately by our surroundings. Instead of the smooth, flat surface which the outer wall of the Barrier presents, we here found the surface to be very uneven. We everywhere saw sharp hills, and points between which there were pressure-cracks and depressions filled with large masses of drift. These features were not of recent date. On the contrary, it was easy to see that they were very old and that they must have had their origin at a time which long preceded the period of Ross's visit.

Originally we had planned to establish our station several miles from the edge of the Barrier, in order not to subject ourselves to the danger of an unwelcome and involuntary sea trip, which might have occurred had the part of the Barrier on which we erected our house broken off. This precaution, however, was not necessary, as the features which we observed on our first examination of the area offered a sufficient guaranty for the stability of the Barrier at this point.

In a small valley, hardly two and a half miles from the ship's anchorage, we therefore selected a place for our winter quarters. It was protected from the wind on all sides. On the next day we began unloading the ship. We had brought with us material for house-building as well as equipment and provisions for nine men for several years. We divided into two groups, the ship's group and the land group. The first was composed of the commander of the ship, Captain Nilsen, and the nine men who were to stay on board to take the Fram out of the ice and to Buenos Aires. The other group consisted of the men who were to occupy the winter quarters and march on to the south. The ship's group had to unload everything from the ship upon the ice. There the land group took charge of the cargo and brought it to the building site. At first we were rather unaccustomed to work, as we had had little exercise on the long sea voyage. But before long we were all "broken in," and then the transfer to the site of our home "Framheim" went on rapidly; the house grew daily.

When all the material had been landed our skilled carpenters, Olav Bjaaland and Jorgen Stubberud, began building the house. It was a ready-made house, which we had brought with us; nothing had to be done but to put together the various numbered parts. In order that the house might brave all storms, its bottom rested in an excavation four feet beneath the surface. On January 28th, fourteen days after our arrival, the house was completed, and all provisions had been landed. A gigantic task had been performed; everything seemed to point toward a propitious future. But no time was to be lost; we had to make use of every minute.

The land group had in the mean time been divided into two parties, one of which saw to it that the provisions and equipment still lacking were taken out of the ship. The other party was to prepare for an excursion toward the south which had in view the exploration of the immediate environs and the establishment of a depot.

On February 10th the latter group marched south. There were four of us with eighteen dogs and three sleds packed with provisions. That morning of our start is still vividly in my memory. The weather was calm, the sky hardly overcast. Before us lay the large, unlimited snow plain, behind us the Bay of Whales with its projecting ice capes and at its entrance our dear ship, the Fram. On board the flag was hoisted; it was the last greeting from our comrades of the ship. No one knew whether and when we should see each other again. In all probability our comrades would no longer be there when we returned; a year would probably elapse before we could meet again. One more glance backward, one more parting greeting and then—forward.

Our first advance on the Barrier was full of excitement and suspense. So many questions presented themselves: What will be the nature of the region we have to cross? How will the sleds behave? Will our equipment meet the requirements of the situation? Have we the proper hauling power? If we were to accomplish our object, everything had to be of the best. Our equipment was substantially different from that of our English competitors. We placed our whole trust on Eskimo dogs and skis, while the English, as a result of their own experience, had abandoned dogs as well as skis, but, on the other hand, were well equipped with motor-sleds and ponies.

We advanced rapidly on the smooth, white snow plain. On February 14th we reached 80° S. We had thus covered ninety-nine miles. We established a depot here mainly of 1,300 pounds of provisions which we intended to use on our main advance to the south in the spring. The return journey occupied two days; on the first we covered forty miles and on the second fifty-seven miles. When we reached our station the Fram had already left. The bay was lonely and deserted; only seals and penguins were in possession of the place.

The first excursion to the south, although brief, was of great importance to us. We now knew definitely that our equipment and our pulling power were eminently suited to the demands upon them. In their selection no mistake had been made. It was now for us to make use of everything to the best advantage.

Our sojourn at the station was only a short one. On February 22d we were ready again to carry supplies to a more southern depot. We intended to push this depot as far south as possible. On this occasion our expedition consisted of eight men, seven sleds, and forty-two dogs. Only the cook remained at "Framheim."

On February 27th, we passed the depot which we had established at 80° S.; we found everything in the best of order. On March 4th we reached the eighty-first parallel and deposited there 1,150 pounds of provisions. Three men returned from here to the station while the five others continued toward the south and reached the eighty-second parallel on March 8th, depositing there 1,375 pounds of provisions. We then returned, and on March 22d were again at home. Before the winter began we made another excursion to the depot in 80° S., and added to our supplies there 2,400 pounds of fresh salt meat and 440 pounds of other provisions. On April 11th we returned from this excursion; this ended all of our work connected with the establishment of depots. Up to that date we had carried out 6,700 pounds of provisions and had distributed these in three repositories.

The part of the Barrier over which we had gone heretofore has an average height of 165 feet and looked like a flat plain which continued with slight undulations without any marked features that could have served for orientation. It has heretofore been the opinion that on such an endless plain no provisions can be cached without risking their loss. If we were, however, to have the slightest chance of reaching our goal we had to establish depots, and that to as great an extent as possible. This question was discussed among us, and we decided to establish signs across our route, and not along it, as has been generally done heretofore. We therefore set up a row of signs at right angles to our route, that is, in an east-west direction from our depots. Two of these signs were placed on opposite sides of each of the three depots, at a distance of 5.6 miles (9 kilometers) from them; and between the signs and the depot two flags were erected for every kilometer. In addition, all flags were marked so that we might know the direction and distance of the depot to which it referred. This provision proved entirely trustworthy; we were able to find our depots even in dense fog. Our compasses and pedometers were tested at the station; we knew that we could rely upon them.

By our excursions to the depots we had gained a great deal. We had not only carried a large amount of provisions toward the south, but we had also gained valuable experience. That was worth more and was to be of value to us on our final advance to the Pole.

The lowest temperature we had observed on these depot excursions was -50° Centigrade. The fact that it was still summer when we recorded this temperature warned us to see that our equipment was in good condition. We also realized that our heavy sleds were too unwieldy and that they could easily be made much lighter. This criticism was equally applicable to the greater part of our equipment.

Several days before the disappearance of the sun were devoted to hunting seal. The total weight of the seals killed amounted to 132,000 pounds. We therefore had ample provisions for ourselves as well as for our 115 dogs.

Our next problem was to supply a protective roof for our dogs. We had brought with us ten large tents in which sixteen men could easily find room. They were set up on the Ice Barrier; the snow was then dug out to a depth of six and a half feet inside the tents, so that each dog hut was nearly twenty feet high. The diameter of a dog hut on the ground was sixteen feet. We made these huts spacious so that they might be as airy as possible, and thus avert the frost which is so injurious to dogs. Our purpose was entirely attained, for even in the severest weather no dogs were frozen. The tents were always warm and comfortable. Twelve dogs were housed in each, and every man had to take care of his own pack.

After we had seen to the wants of the dogs we could then think of ourselves. As early as April the house was entirely covered by snow. In this newly drifted snow, passageways were dug connecting directly with the dog huts. Ample room was thus at our disposal without the need on our part of furnishing building material. We had workshops, a blacksmith shop, a room for sewing, one for packing, a storage room for coal, wood, and oil, a room for regular baths and one for steam baths. The winter might be as cold and stormy as it would; it could do us no harm.

On April 21st the sun disappeared and the longest night began which had ever been experienced by man in the Antarctic. We did not need to fear the long night, for we were well equipped with provisions for years and had a comfortable, well-ventilated, well-situated and protected house. In addition we had our splendid bathroom where we could take a bath every week. It really was a veritable sanatorium.

After these arrangements had been completed we began preparations for the main advance in the following spring. We had to improve our equipment and make it lighter. We discarded all our sleds, for they were too heavy and unwieldy for the smooth surface of the Ice Barrier. Our sleds weighed 165 pounds each. Bjaaland, our ski and sledmaker, took the sleds in hand, and when spring arrived he had entirely made over our sledge equipment. These sleds weighed only one-third as much as the old ones. In the same way it was possible to reduce the weight of all other items of our equipment. Packing the provisions for the sledge journey was of the greatest importance. Captain Johansen attended to this work during the winter. Each of the 42,000 loaves of hard bread had to be handled separately before it could be assigned to its proper place. In this way the winter passed quickly and agreeably. All of us were occupied all the time. Our house was warm, dry, light and airy, and we all enjoyed the best of health. We had no physician and needed none.

Meteorological observations were taken continuously. The results were surprising. We had thought that we should have disagreeable, stormy weather, but this was not the case. During the whole year of our sojourn at the station we experienced only two moderate storms. The rest of the time light breezes prevailed, mainly from an easterly direction. Atmospheric pressure was as a rule very low, but remained constant. The temperature sank considerably, and I deem it probable that the mean annual temperature which we recorded, -26° Centigrade, is the lowest mean temperature which has ever been observed. During five months of the year we recorded temperatures below -50° Centigrade. On August 23d the lowest temperature was recorded, -59°. The aurora australis, corresponding to the northern lights of the Arctic, was observed frequently and in all directions and forms. This phenomenon changed very rapidly, but, except in certain cases, was not very intensive.

On August 24th the sun reappeared. The winter had ended. Several days earlier we had put everything in the best of order, and when the sun rose over the Barrier we were ready to start. The dogs were in fine condition.

From now on we observed the temperature daily with great interest, for as long as the mercury remained below -50° a start was not to be thought of. In the first days of September all signs indicated that the mercury would rise. We therefore resolved to start as soon as possible. On September 8th the temperature was -30°. We started immediately, but this march was to be short. On the next day the temperature began to sink rapidly, and several days later the thermometer registered -55° Centigrade. We human beings could probably have kept on the march for some time under such a temperature, for we were protected against the cold by our clothing; but the dogs could not have long withstood this degree of cold. We were therefore glad when we reached the eightieth parallel. We deposited there our provisions and equipment in the depot which we had previously erected and returned to "Framheim."

The weather now became very changeable for a time—the transitional period from winter to summer; we never knew what weather the next day would bring. Frostbites from our last march forced us to wait until we definitely knew that spring had really come. On September 24th we saw at last positive evidence that spring had arrived: the seals began to clamber up on the ice. This sign was hailed with rejoicing—not a whit less the seal meat which Bjaaland brought on the same day. The dogs, too, enjoyed the arrival of spring. They were ravenous for fresh seal meat. On September 29th another unrefutable sign of spring appeared in the arrival of a flock of Antarctic petrels. They flew around our house inquisitively to the joy of all, not only of ourselves, but also of the dogs. The latter were wild with joy and excitement, and ran after the birds in hopes of getting a delicate morsel. Foolish dogs! Their chase ended with a wild fight among themselves.

On October 20th the weather had at last become so stable that we could start. We had, meanwhile, changed our original plan, which was that we should all advance southward together. We realized that we could travel with perfect safety in two groups, and thus accomplish much more. We arranged that three men should go to the east to explore King Edward VII. Land; the remaining five men were to carry out the main plan, the advance on the South Pole.

October 20th was a beautiful day. Clear, mild weather prevailed. The temperature was 1° Centigrade above zero. Our sleds were light, and we could advance rapidly. We did not need to hurry our dogs, for they were eager enough themselves. We numbered five men and fifty-two dogs with four sleds. Together with the provisions which we had left in the three depots at the eightieth, the eighty-first, and the eighty-second parallels we had sufficient sustenance for 120 days.

Two days after our departure we nearly met with a serious accident. Bjaaland's sled fell into one of the numerous crevasses. At the critical moment we were fortunately able to come to Bjaaland's aid; had we been a moment later the sled with its thirteen dogs would have disappeared in the seemingly bottomless pit.

On the fourth day we reached our depot at 80° S. We remained there two days and gave our dogs as much seal meat as they would eat.

Between the eightieth and the eighty-first parallel the Barrier ice along our route was even, with the exception of a few low undulations; dangerous hidden places were not to be found. The region between the eighty-first and the eighty-second parallel was of a totally different character. During the first nineteen miles we were in a veritable labyrinth of crevasses, very dangerous to cross. At many places yawning abysses were visible because large pieces of the surface had broken off; the surface, therefore, presented a very unsafe appearance. We crossed this region four times in all. On the first three times such a dense fog prevailed that we could only recognize objects a few feet away. Only on the fourth occasion did we have clear weather. Then we were able to see the great difficulties to which we had been exposed.

On November 5th we reached the depot at the eighty-second parallel and found everything in order. For the last time our dogs were able to have a good rest and eat their fill; and they did so thoroughly during their two days' rest.

Beginning at the eightieth parallel we constructed snow cairns which should serve as sign-posts on our return. In all we erected 150 such sign-posts, each of which required sixty snow blocks. About 9,000 snow blocks had therefore to be cut out for this purpose. These cairns did not disappoint us, for they enabled us to return by exactly the same route we had previously followed.

South of the eighty-second parallel the Barrier was, if possible, still more even than farther north; we therefore advanced quite rapidly. At every unit parallel which we crossed on our advance toward the south we established a depot. We thereby doubtlessly exposed ourselves to a certain risk, for there was no time to set up sign-posts around the depots. We therefore had to rely on snow cairns. On the other hand, our sleds became lighter, so that it was never hard for the dogs to pull them.

When we reached the eighty-third parallel we saw land in a southwesterly direction. This could only be South Victoria Land, probably a continuation of the mountain range which runs in a southeasterly direction and which is shown on Shackleton's map. From now on the landscape changed more and more from day to day: one mountain after another loomed up, one always higher than the other. Their average elevation was 10,000 to 16,000 feet. Their crest-line was always sharp; the peaks were like needles. I have never seen a more beautiful, wild, and imposing landscape. Here a peak would appear with somber and cold outlines, its head buried in the clouds; there one could see snow fields and glaciers thrown together in hopeless confusion. On November 11th we saw land to the south and could soon determine that a mountain range, whose position is about 86° S. and 163° W., crosses South Victoria Land in an easterly and northeasterly direction. This mountain range is materially lower than the mighty mountains of the rest of South Victoria Land. Peaks of an elevation of 1,800 to 4,000 feet were the highest. We could see this mountain chain as far as the eighty-fourth parallel, where it disappeared below the horizon.

On November 17th we reached the place where the Ice Barrier ends and the land begins. We had proceeded directly south from our winter quarters to this point. We were now in 85° 7' S. and 165° W. The place where we left the Barrier for the land offered no special difficulties. A few extended undulating reaches of ice had to be crossed which were interrupted by crevasses here and there. Nothing could impede our advance. It was our plan to go due south from "Framheim" and not to deviate from this direction unless we should be forced to by obstacles which nature might place in our path. If our plan succeeded it would be our privilege to explore completely unknown regions and thereby to accomplish valuable geographic work.

The immediate ascent due south into the mountainous region led us between the high peaks of South Victoria Land. To all intents and purposes no great difficulties awaited us here. To be sure, we should probably have found a less steep ascent if we had gone over to the newly discovered mountain range just mentioned. But as we maintained the principle that direct advance due south was the shortest way to our goal, we had to bear the consequences.

At this place we established our principal depot and left provisions for thirty days. On our four sleds we took provisions with us for sixty days. And now we began the ascent to the plateau. The first part of the way led us over snow-covered mountain slopes, which at times were quite steep, but not so much so as to prevent any of us from hauling up his own sled. Farther up, we found several glaciers which were not very broad but were very steep. Indeed, they were so steep that we had to harness twenty dogs in front of each sled. Later the glaciers became more frequent, and they lay on slopes so steep that it was very hard to ascend them on our skis. On the first night we camped at a spot which lay 2,100 feet above sea level. On the second day we continued to climb up the mountains, mainly over several small glaciers. Our next camp for the night was at an altitude of 4,100 feet above the sea.

On the third day we made the disagreeable discovery that we should have to descend 2,100 feet, as between us and the higher mountains to the south lay a great glacier which crossed our path from east to west. This could not be helped. The expedition therefore descended with the greatest possible speed and in an incredibly short time we were down on the glacier, which was named Axel Heiberg Glacier. Our camp of this night lay at about 3,100 feet above sea level. On the following day the longest ascent began; we were forced to follow Axel Heiberg Glacier. At several places ice blocks were heaped up so that its surface was hummocky and cleft by crevasses. We had therefore to make detours to avoid the wide crevasses which, below, expanded into large basins. These latter, to be sure, were filled with snow; the glacier had evidently long ago ceased to move. The greatest care was necessary in our advance, for we had no inkling as to how thick or how thin the cover of snow might be. Our camp for this night was pitched in an extremely picturesque situation at an elevation of about 5,250 feet above sea level. The glacier was here hemmed in by two mountains which were named "Fridtjof Nansen" and "Don Pedro Christophersen," both 16,000 feet high.

Farther down toward the west at the end of the glacier "Ole Engelstad Mountain" rises to an elevation of about 13,000 feet. At this relatively narrow place the glacier was very hummocky and rent by many deep crevasses, so that we often feared that we could not advance farther. On the following day we reached a slightly inclined plateau which we assumed to be the same which Shackleton describes. Our dogs accomplished a feat on this day which is so remarkable that it should be mentioned here. After having already done heavy work on the preceding days, they covered nineteen miles on this day and overcame a difference in altitude of 5,700 feet. On the following night we camped at a place which lay 10,800 feet above sea level. The time had now come when we were forced to kill some of our dogs. Twenty-four of our faithful comrades had to die. The place where this happened was named the "Slaughter House." On account of bad weather we had to stay here for four days. During this stay both we and the dogs had nothing except dog meat to eat. When we could at last start again on November 26th, the meat of ten dogs only remained. This we deposited at our camp; fresh meat would furnish a welcome change on our return. During the following days we had stormy weather and thick snow flurries, so that we could see nothing of the surrounding country. We observed, however, that we were descending rapidly. For a moment, when the weather improved for a short time, we saw high mountains directly to the east. During the heavy snow squall on November 28th we passed two peculiarly shaped mountains lying in a north-south direction; they were the only ones that we could see on our right hand. These "Helland-Hansen Mountains" were entirely covered by snow and had an altitude of 9,200 feet. Later they served as an excellent landmark for us.

On the next day the clouds parted and the sun burst forth. It seemed to us as if we had been transferred to a totally new country. In the direction of our advance rose a large glacier, and to the east of it lay a mountain range running from southeast to northwest. Toward the west, impenetrable fog lay over the glacier and obscured even our immediate surroundings. A measurement by hypsometer gave 8,200 feet for the point lying at the foot of this, the "Devil's Glacier." We had therefore descended 2,600 feet since leaving the "Slaughter House." This was not an agreeable discovery, as we, no doubt, would have to ascend as much again, if not more. We left provisions here for six days and continued our march.

From the camp of that night we had a superb view of the eastern mountain range. Belonging to it we saw a mountain of more wonderful form than I have ever seen before. The altitude of the mountain was 12,300 feet; its peaks roundabout were covered by a glacier. It looked as if Nature, in a fit of anger, had dropped sharp cornered ice blocks on the mountain. This mountain was christened "Helmer-Hansen Mountain," and became our best point of reference. There we saw also the "Oscar Wisting Mountains," the "Olav Bjaaland Mountains," the "Sverre Hassel Mountains," which, dark and red, glittered in the rays of the midnight sun and reflected a white and blue light. In the distance the mountains seen before loomed up romantically; they looked very high when one saw them through the thick clouds and masses of fog which passed over them from time to time and occasionally allowed us to catch glimpses of their mighty peaks and their broken glaciers. For the first time we saw the "Thorvald Nilsen Mountain," which has a height of 16,400 feet.

It took us three days to climb the "Devil's Glacier." On the first of December we had left behind us this glacier with its crevasses and bottomless pits and were now at an elevation of 9,350 feet above sea level. In front of us lay an inclined block-covered ice plateau which, in the fog and snow, had the appearance of a frozen lake. Traveling over this "Devil's Ball Room," as we called the plateau, was not particularly pleasant. Southeasterly storms and snow flurries occurred daily, during which we could see absolutely nothing. The floor on which we were walking was hollow beneath us; it sounded as if we were going over empty barrels. We crossed this disagreeable and uncanny region as quickly as was compatible with the great care we had to exercise, for during the whole time we were thinking of the unwelcome possibility of sinking through.

On December 6th we reached our highest point—according to hypsometric measurement 11,024 feet above sea level. From there on the interior plateau remained entirely level and of the same elevation. In 88° 23' S. we had reached the place which corresponded to Shackleton's southernmost advance. We camped in 88° 25' S. and established there our last—the tenth—depot, in which we left 220 pounds of provisions. Our way now gradually led downward. The surface was in excellent condition, entirely level, without a single hill or undulation or other obstacle. Our sleds forged ahead to perfection; the weather was beautiful; we daily covered seventeen miles. Nothing prevented us from increasing our daily distance. But we had time enough and ample provisions; we thought it wiser, also, to spare our dogs and not to work them harder than necessary. Without a mishap we reached the eighty-ninth parallel on December 11th. It seemed as if we had come into a region where good weather constantly prevails. The surest sign of continued calm weather was the absolutely level surface. We could push a tent-pole seven feet deep into the snow without meeting with any resistance. This proved clearly enough that the snow had fallen in equable weather; calm must have prevailed or a slight breeze may have blown at the most. Had the weather been variable—calms alternating with storms—snow strata of different density would have formed, a condition which we would immediately have noticed when driving in our tent-poles.

Our dead reckoning had heretofore always given the same results as our astronomical observations. During the last eight days of our march we had continuous sunshine. Every day we stopped at noon in order to measure the meridian altitude and every evening we made an observation for azimuth. On December 13th the meridian altitude gave 89° 37', dead reckoning, 89° 38'. In latitude 88° 25' we had been able to make our last good observation of azimuth. Subsequently this method of observation became valueless. As these last observations gave practically the same result and the difference was almost a constant one, we used the observation made in 88° 25' as a basis. We calculated that we should reach our goal on December 14th.

December 14th dawned. It seemed to me as if we slept a shorter time, as if we ate breakfast in greater haste, and as if we started earlier on this morning than on the preceding days. As heretofore, we had clear weather, beautiful sunshine, and only a very light breeze. We advanced well. Not much was said. I think that each one of us was occupied with his own thoughts. Probably only one thought dominated us all, a thought which caused us to look eagerly toward the south and to scan the horizon of this unlimited plateau. Were we the first, or——?

The distance calculated was covered. Our goal had been reached. Quietly, in absolute silence, the mighty plateau lay stretched out before us. No man had ever yet seen it, no man had ever yet stood on it. In no direction was a sign to be seen. It was indeed a solemn moment when, each of us grasping the flagpole with one hand, we all hoisted the flag of our country on the geographical South Pole, on "King Haakon VII Plateau."

During the night, as our watches showed it to be, three of our men went around the camp in a circle 10 geographical miles (11.6 statute miles) in diameter and erected cairns, while the other two men remained in the tent and made hourly astronomical observations of the sun. These gave 89° 55' S. We might well have been satisfied with this result, but we had time to spare and the weather was fine. Why should we not try to make our observations at the Pole itself? On December 16th, therefore, we transported our tent the remaining 5-3/4 miles to the south and camped there. We arranged everything as comfortably as possible in order to make a round of observations during the twenty-four hours. The altitude was measured every hour by four men with the sextant and artificial horizon. These observations will be worked out at the University of Christiania. This tent camp served as the center of a circle which we drew with a radius of 5-1/6 miles [on the circumference of which] cairns were erected. A small tent, which we had brought with us in order to designate the South Pole, was put up here and the Norwegian flag with the pennant of the Fram was hoisted above it. This Norwegian home received the name of "Polheim." According to the observed weather conditions, this tent may remain there for a long time. In it we left a letter addressed to His Majesty, King Haakon VII, in which we reported what we had done. The next person to come there will take the letter with him and see to its delivery. In addition, we left there several pieces of clothing, a sextant, an artificial horizon, and a hypsometer.

On December 17th we were ready to return. On our journey to the Pole we had covered 863 miles, according to the measurements of the odometer; our mean daily marches were therefore 15 miles. When we left the Pole we had three sleds and seventeen dogs. We now experienced the great satisfaction of being able to increase our daily rations, a measure which previous expeditions had not been able to carry out, as they were all forced to reduce their rations, and that at an early date. For the dogs, too, the rations were increased, and from time to time they received one of their comrades as additional food. The fresh meat revived the dogs and undoubtedly contributed to the good results of the expedition.

One last glance, one last adieu, we sent back to "Polheim." Then we resumed our journey. We still see the flag; it still waves to us. Gradually it diminishes in size and finally entirely disappears from our sight. A last greeting to the Little Norway lying at the South Pole!

We left King Haakon VII Plateau, which lay there bathed in sunshine, as we had found it on our outward journey. The mean temperature during our sojourn there was—13° Centigrade. It seemed, however, as though the weather was much milder.

I shall not tire you by a detailed description of our return, but shall limit myself to some of the interesting episodes.

The splendid weather with which we were favored on our return displayed to us the panorama of the mighty mountain range which is the continuation of the two ranges which unite in 86° S. The newly discovered range runs in a southeasterly direction and culminates in domes of an elevation of 10,000 to over 16,000 feet. In 88° S. this range disappears in the distance below the horizon. The whole complex of newly discovered mountain ranges, which may extend a distance of over 500 miles, has been named the Queen Maud Ranges.

We found all of our ten provision depots again. The provisions, of which we finally had a superabundance, were taken with us to the eightieth parallel and cached there. From the eighty-sixth parallel on we did not need to apportion our rations; every one could eat as much as he desired.

After an absence of ninety-nine days we reached our winter quarters, "Framheim," on January 25th. We had, therefore, covered the journey of 864 miles in thirty-nine days, during which we did not allow ourselves any days of rest. Our mean daily march, therefore, amounted to 22.1 miles. At the end of our journey two of our sleds were in good condition and eleven dogs healthy and happy. Not once had we needed to help our dogs and to push the sleds ourselves.

Our provisions consisted of pemmican, biscuits, desiccated milk, and chocolate. We therefore did not have very much variety, but it was healthful and robust nourishment which built up the body, and it was, of course, just this that we needed. The best proof of this was that we felt well during the whole time and never had reason to complain of our food, a condition which has occurred so often on long sledge journeys and must be considered a sure indication of improper nourishment.

Simultaneously with our work on land, scientific observations were made on board the Fram by Captain Nilsen and his companions which probably stamp this expedition as the most valuable of all. The Fram made a voyage from Buenos Aires to the coast of Africa and back, covering a distance of 8,000 nautical miles, during which a series of oceanographical observations was made at no less than sixty stations. The total length of the Fram's journey equaled twice the circumnavigation of the globe. The Fram has successfully braved dangerous voyages which made high demands upon her crew. The trip out of the ice region in the fall of 1911 was of an especially serious character. Her whole complement then comprised only ten men. Through night and fog, through storm and hurricane, through pack ice and between icebergs the Fram had to find her way. One may well say that this was an achievement that can be realized only by experienced and courageous sailors, a deed that honors the whole nation.

In conclusion, you will allow me to say that it was these same ten men, who on February 15, 1911, hoisted the flag of their country, the Norwegian flag, on a more southerly point of the earth than the crew of any other ship whose keel ever cleft the waves. This is a worthy record in our record century. Farthest north, farthest south did our dear old Fram penetrate.

ROBERT MACHRAY R.F. JOHNSTON TAI-CHI QUO

The story of "China's Awakening" in 1905 was told in our preceding volume. Most startling and most important of the results of this arousing was the sudden successful revolution by which China became a republic. This Chinese Revolution burst into sudden blaze in October, 1911, and reached a triumphant close on February 12, 1912, when the Royal Edict, given in the following article, was proclaimed at Peking. In this remarkable edict the ancient sovereigns of China deliberately abdicated, and declared the Chinese Republic established.

We give here the account of the revolution itself and of its causes, by the well-known English writer on Eastern affairs, Robert Machray. Then comes a discussion of the doubtful wisdom of the movement by a European official who has long dwelt in China, Mr. R.F. Johnston, District Officer of Wei-hai-wei. Then a patriotic Chinaman, educated in one of the colleges of America, gives the enthusiastic view of the revolutionists themselves, their opinion of their victories, and their high hopes for the future.

ROBERT MACHRAY

With Yuan Shih-kai acknowledged as President by both the north and the south, by Peking and Nanking alike, "The Great Republic of China," as it is called by those who have been mainly instrumental in bringing it into being, appears to have established itself, or at least it enters upon the first definite stage of its existence. Thus opens a fresh volume, of extraordinary interest as of incalculable importance, in the history of the Far East.

Even in the days of the great and autocratic Dowager Empress, Tzu Hsi, who had no love for "reform," but knew how to accept and adapt herself to the situation, it was evident that a change, deeply influencing the political life and destinies of China, was in process of development. After her death, in 1908, the force and sweep of this momentous movement were still more apparent—it took on the character of something irresistible and inevitable; the only question was whether the change would be accomplished by way of evolution—gradual, orderly, and conservative—or by revolution, or a series of revolutions, probably violent and sanguinary, and perhaps disastrous to the dynasty and the country. The events of the last few months have supplied the answer—at any rate, to a certain extent. A successful revolution has taken place, in which, it is true, many thousands have been killed, but which on the whole has not been attended by the slaughter and carnage that might have been anticipated considering the vastness of the country and the enormous interests involved. Actual warfare gave way to negotiations conducted in a spirit of moderation and of give-and-take on the part of all concerned. The Manchu dynasty has collapsed, though the "Emperor" still remains as a quasi-sacred, priestly personage, and the princes have been pensioned off. The Great Republic of China has come into being, albeit it is in large measure inchoate and, as it were, on trial. China has long been the land of rebellions and risings, and it is hardly to be expected that the novel republican form of government, however well constructed, intentioned, or conducted, will escape altogether from internal attacks. And nearly everything has yet to be done in organization.

General surprise has been expressed at the comparative ease and speed with which the revolutionary movement has attained success in driving the Manchus from power and in founding a republican régime. The factor which chiefly contributed to this success was undoubtedly the weakness of the Manchu dynasty and of the Imperial Clan, who, hated by the Chinese and without sufficient resources of their own, were utterly unable to offer any real resistance to the rebellious provinces of the south, the loyalty of their troops being uncertain, and any spirit or gift of leadership among themselves having disappeared with the passing of the great Tzu Hsi in 1908. But it is a mistake to imagine that the idea of a republican form of government in place of the centuries-old, autocratic, semi-divine monarchy, was something that had never been mooted before and was entirely unknown to the Chinese. To the great majority, no doubt, it was, if known at all, something strange and hardly intelligible, as it still is. But in the south, especially on and near the coast, it has been familiar for some time; among the possibilities of the future it was not unknown even to the "Throne." Fourteen years ago, after the coup d'état by which Tzu Hsi smashed the reform movement that had been patronized by the Emperor Kuang Hsu, the then Viceroy of Canton stated in a memorial to her that among some treasonable papers found at the birthplace of Kang Yu-wei, the leading reformer of the time, a document had been discovered which not only spoke of substituting a republic for the monarchy, but actually named as its first president one of the reformers she had caused to be executed. It must be admitted, on the other hand, that the idea has been imported into China comparatively recently; the Chinese language contains no word for republic, but one has been coined by putting together the words for self and government; it must be many years before the masses of the Chinese—the "rubbish people," as Lo Feng-lu, a former minister to England, used to call them—have any genuine understanding of what a republic means.

The Manchus were in power for nearly two hundred and seventy years, and during that period there were various risings, some of a formidable character, against them and in favor of descendants of the native Ming dynasty which they had displaced; powerful secret organizations, such as the famous "Triad Society," plotted and conspired to put a Ming prince on the throne; but all was vain. It had come to be generally believed that the race of the Mings had died out, but a recent dispatch from China speaks of there still being a representative in existence, who possibly might give serious trouble to the new republic. In any case, for a long time past the Mings had ceased to give the Manchus any concern; the pressure upon the latter came from outside the empire, but that in its turn reacted profoundly on the internal situation. The wars with France and England had but a slight effect on China; though the foreign devils beat it in war it yet despised them. The effect of the war with Japan, in 1894, was something quite different, beginning the real awakening of China and imparting life and vigor to the new reform movement which had its origin in Canton, the great city of the south, whose highly intelligent people have most quickly felt and most readily and strongly responded to outside influences. Regarded by the Chinese as at least partially civilized, the Japanese were placed in a higher category than the Western barbarians, but as their triumph over China was attributed to their adoption of Western military methods and equipment, the more enlightened Chinese came to the conclusion that, however contemptible the men of the Western world were, the main secret of their success, as of that of Japan, was open enough. They decided that Western learning and modes of government and organization must be studied and copied, as Japan had studied and copied them, if the Celestial Empire was to endure. It was a case on the largest scale of self-preservation, and some part, at least, of the truth was glimpsed by the Throne itself.

Something, but not much, was heard of a republic while Tzu Hsi lived; before her death the principle of a constitution, with a national parliament and provincial assemblies, had been accepted by the Throne—with reservations limiting the spheres of these representative bodies, retaining the supreme power in the Throne, and in the case of the national parliament delaying its coming into existence for a term of years.

By Tzu Hsi's commands, the Throne passed at her death into the hands of a sort of commission; a child of two years of age, a nephew of Kuang Hsu, called Pu Yi, became Emperor under the dynastic name of Hsuan Tung; his father, Prince Chun, was nominated Regent, but was ordered to consult the new Dowager Empress, Lung Yu, the widow of Kuang Hsu, and to be governed by her decisions in all important matters of State. Prince Chun, amiable in disposition but weak and vacillating in character, and not always on the best of terms with Lung Yu, began well; one of his first acts was to assure President Taft, who had written entreating him to expedite reforms as making for the true interests of China, that he was determined to pursue that policy. Among those who had suggested reforms to Tzu Hsi, often going far beyond her wishes or plans, but who steadily supported her in all she did in that direction, the leading man was Yuan Shih-kai; with the possible exception of Chang Chih-tung, the Viceroy of Hunan and Hupeh, mentioned above, Yuan Shih-kai had become the greatest man in China, and even as he had advised and supported Tzu Hsi, so he advised and supported Prince Chun at the commencement of the Regency. But the prince had received an unfortunate legacy from his brother, the Emperor Kuang Hsu, who, believing that Yuan Shih-kai had betrayed him to Tzu Hsi at the time of the coup d'état, had given instructions to Prince Chun that if he came into power he was to punish Yuan for his treachery. At the beginning of 1909 the Regent dismissed Yuan on an apparently trivial pretext, but every one in China knew the real reason for his fall, and not a few wondered that his life had been spared. It is idle to surmise what might have happened if his services had been retained by the Throne all the time, but who could have imagined that so swift and almost incredible an instance of time's revenges was in store—that within barely three years Yuan Shih-kai would be the acknowledged head of the State, and Prince Chun and all the Manchus in the dust?

Representative government of a kind started in 1909 with the establishment of provincial assemblies; elections were held, and assemblies met in most of the provinces. In the following year a senate or imperial assembly was decreed by an imperial edict; its first session was held in Peking in October of that year, and was opened by the Regent; one of the first things the assembly did was to memorialize the Throne for the rapid hastening on of reforms, and in response an edict was issued announcing the formation of a national parliament, consisting of an Upper and a Lower House, within three years. Under further pressure the Throne in May of 1911 abolished the Grand Council and the Grand Secretariat, and created a Cabinet of Ministers, after the Western model. But the agitation continued and went on growing in intensity; still it sought nothing apparently but a development of the constitution, and at least on the surface was neither anti-dynastic nor republican.

An anti-dynastic outburst at Changsha, Hunan, in 1910, was easily suppressed, and certainly gave no indication of what was so soon to take place. So late as September of 1911 a rising on a considerable scale in the province of Szechuan was not antidynastic, but was declared by the rebels themselves to be directed against the railway policy of the Government. The best hope for China lies in a wide building of railways; the Chinese do not object to them, but, on the contrary, make use of them to the fullest extent where they are in existence; they do not wish, however, the lines to be constructed with foreign money, holding that such investments of capital from without might be regarded as setting up liens on their lands in favor of outside Powers—how far they can do without outside capital is another matter. Then the whole question of railway-building involved the old quarrel between the provinces and the central government—which is another way of saying that the provinces did not see why all the spoils should go to Peking.

A month after the rebellion in Szechuan had broken out, the great revolution began, and met with the most astonishing success from the very outset. Within a few weeks practically the whole of southern China was in the hands of the revolutionaries, and the Throne in hot panic summoned Yuan Shih-kai from his retirement to its assistance; after some hesitation and delay he came—but too late to save the dynasty and the Manchus, though there is no shadow of doubt that he did his best and tried his utmost to save them. With Wuchang, Hankau, and Hanyang—the three form the metropolis, as it may be termed, of mid-China—in the possession of the revolutionaries, and other great centers overtly disaffected or disloyal, the Regent opened the session of the national assembly, and it forthwith proceeded to assert itself and make imperious demands with which the Throne was compelled to comply—this was within a fortnight after the attack on Wuchang that had begun the revolution. On November 1st the Throne appointed Yuan Shih-kai Prime Minister, and a week later the national assembly confirmed him in the office; he arrived in Peking on the thirteenth of the month, was received in semi-regal state, and immediately instituted such measures as were possible for the security of the dynasty and the pacification of the country. But ten days before he reached Peking the Throne had been forced to issue an edict assenting to the principles which the national assembly had set forth in nineteen articles as forming the basis of the Constitution; these articles, while preserving the dynasty and keeping sacrosanct the person of the Emperor, made the monarchy subject to the Constitution and the Government to Parliament, with a responsible Cabinet presided over by a Prime Minister, and gave Parliament full control of the budget.

Here, then, was the triumph of the constitutional cause, and Yuan Shih-kai and most of the moderate progressive Chinese would have been well satisfied with it if it had contented the revolutionaries of the south. But from the beginning the southerners had made it plain that they were determined to bring about the abdication of the dynasty, the complete overthrow of the Manchus, and the establishment of a republican form of government, nor would they lay down their arms on any other terms. In a short time Yuan Shih-kai saw that the revolutionaries were powerful enough to compel consideration and at least partial acquiescence in their demands. It can not be thought surprising that the proposed elimination of the hated Manchus from the Government was popular, yet it must seem remarkable that the revolutionary movement was so definitely republican in its aims, and as such achieved so much success. There had been little open agitation in favor of a republic, but the ground had been prepared for it to a certain extent by a secret propaganda. The foreign-drilled troops of the army were disaffected in many cases and were approached with some result; the eager spirits of the party in the south, where practically the whole strength of the movement lay, formed an alliance with certain of the officers of these troops. No sooner was the revolution begun than a military leader appeared in the person of Li Yuan-hung, a brigadier-general, who had commanded a considerable body of these foreign-drilled soldiers, and was supported by large numbers of such men in the fighting in and around Wuchang-Hankau. That the revolutionaries, who were chiefly of the student class, and not of the "solid" people of the country, were able to enlist the active cooperation of these officers and their troops accounts for the quick and astonishing success of the movement. And at the outset, whatever is the case now, many of the solid people—magistrates, gentry, and substantial merchants—also indorsed it.

Toward the end of November the revolutionaries captured Nanking, a decisive blow to the imperialists, and this former capital of China became the headquarters of a Provisional Republican Government. Soon afterward, through the good offices of Great Britain, a truce was arranged between the north and the south. Yuan Shih-kai was striving with all his might to retain the dynasty as a limited monarchy, but "coming events cast their shadows before" in the resignation of the Regent early in December. Negotiations went on between Yuan, who was represented at a conference held in Shanghai by Tang Shao-yi, an able and patriotic man and a protégé of his own, and the revolutionaries, but the leaders of the latter made it clear that there could be no peaceful solution of the situation short of the abdication of the dynasty and the institution of some form of republic. At the end of December Dr. Sun Yat-sen, whose striking and romantic story is well known, was appointed Provisional President by Nanking; in January he published a manifesto to the people of China, bitterly attacking the dynasty, promising that the republic would recognize treaty obligations, the foreign loans and concessions, and declaring that it aimed at the general improvement of the country, the remodeling of the laws, and the cultivation of better relations with the Powers.

Meanwhile, the Dowager Empress and the Manchu princes had discussed the position of affairs with Yuan Shih-kai, and the question of the abdication of the dynasty was under consideration, but though the situation was desperate there were some counsels of resistance. What finally made opposition impossible was the presentation to the Throne in the last days of January of a memorial, signed by the generals of the northern army, requesting it to abandon any idea of maintaining itself by force. This settled the matter. No other course being practicable, terms were agreed to between Peking and Nanking, and on February 12th imperial edicts, commencing for the last time with the customary formula, were issued from the capital giving Yuan Shih-kai plenary powers to establish a Provisional Republican Government, and to confer with the Provisional Republican Government at Nanking, approving of the arrangements which had been made for the Emperor and the imperial family, and exhorting the people to remain tranquil under the new régime. These edicts will remain among the most remarkable things in history, and it can not be said that the passing of the Manchus was attended by any want of that ceremonious calmness and dignity for which China is famed. Two or three days later Sun Yat-sen in a disinterested spirit resigned, and Yuan Shih-kai was unanimously elected President by the Nanking Assembly; Yuan accepted the office, and thus north and south were united in "The Great Republic of China." At the end of March progress in the settlement of affairs was seen in the formation of a Coalition Cabinet, comprising Ministers of both the Peking and the Nanking Governments, those selected being men with a considerable knowledge of Western life and thought, as, for instance, Lu Cheng-hsiang, the Foreign Minister, who has lived many years in Europe and speaks French as well as English. A further advance took place on April 2d, when the Nanking Assembly agreed by a large majority to transfer the Provisional Government to Peking, which thus resumed its position as the capital of the country and the center of its Administration.

Among the causes which contributed to the success of the revolution were the inability of the north to obtain loans from outside, and the pressure, both direct and indirect, exerted upon both parties by foreign Powers. Both of these causes were important, the latter especially so. The action of Russia with respect to Mongolia, and of Japan with regard to Manchuria, alarmed patriotic Chinese, led them to fear that foreign interference might not be confined to these territories, and to dread that the result would be the disintegration of the country. Under the Manchus they had seen the loss of Korea, the Liaotung, Formosa, and, in a sense, of Manchuria itself; they were apprehensive of German designs in Shantung, of Japanese in Fuhkien. The feeling that the country was in danger helped both sides to be of one mind. But the pressure from the outside was not all of this sinister sort; friendly representations from the genuinely well-disposed Powers did a good deal to bring the combatants to a mutual understanding. But throughout the revolution, as in the final result, the great outstanding, commanding figure was Yuan Shih-kai himself. Evidently a man of great gifts, he knew how and when to yield and how and when to be firm; the compromise which solved the situation—at all events, for the time—was mostly his work; statesman and patriot, he saved his country. And it will always redound to his credit that he can not be charged with faithlessness to the Manchus, for he did all that was possible for them, standing by them to the last. By retaining the "Emperor" as the priestly head of the nation, pater patriae, according to Chinese ideas, he has left something to the Manchus and at the same time contrived that the republican form of government shall bring as slight a shock to "immemorial China" as can be imagined.

What does this "immemorial China"—meaning thereby the great bulk of the Chinese, the un-Westernized Chinese—think of the republic? In other words, is the republic likely to last? What sort of republic will it probably be, viewing the situation as it stands? At one of the early stages of the revolution Yuan Shih-kai stated that only three-tenths of his countrymen were in favor of a republic—in itself, however, a considerable proportion of the population; now that the republic is in existence, will it be accepted tranquilly by the rest? The majority of these people are the inoffensive and industrious peasants of the interior, who have long been accustomed to bad government; as they will scarcely find their lot harder now, they will probably quietly accept the new order, unless some radical change is made affecting their habits of life, which is unlikely. Some of the old conservative gentry are opposed to the republic; but, now the Manchu dynasty is gone, whom or what can they suggest in its place that would be received favorably by the country? The descendant of the Mings? Or the descendant of Confucius?

Neither seems a likely candidate in present circumstances. For it may very well be the case that as the revolution has been so largely military, and parts of the army need careful handling, as the recent riots in Peking showed, the Republican Government will assume something of a distinctively military character, and Yuan Shih-kai, as its head, be in a position not very different from that of a military dictator—as Diaz was in Mexico. The republic will, of course, have its troubles, and serious ones enough, to face, but the balance of probabilities certainly suggests its lasting awhile.

Like political upheavals in other ages and other lands, the Chinese revolution has been the outcome of the hopes and dreams of impetuous and indomitable youth. Herein lies one of its main sources of strength, but herein also lies a very grave danger. Young China to-day looks to Europe and to America for sympathy. Let her have it in full measure. Only let us remind her that the work she has so boldly, and perhaps light-heartedly, undertaken is not only the affair of China, not only the affair of Asia, but that the whole world stands to gain or lose according as the Chinese people prove themselves worthy or unworthy to carry out the stupendous task to which they have set their hands.

The grave peril lies, of course, in the tendency of the Chinese "Progressives"—as of all hot-headed reformers, whether in China or in England—to break with the traditions of past ages, and to despise what is old, not because it is bad, but because it is out of harmony with the latest political shibboleth. Those of us who believe in the fundamental soundness of the character of the Chinese people, and are aware of the high dignity and value of a large part of their inherited civilization and culture, are awaiting with deep anxiety an answer to this question: Is the New China about to cast herself adrift from the Old?

But surely, many a Western observer may exclaim, the matter is settled already! Surely the abolition of the monarchy is in itself a proof that the Chinese have definitely broken with tradition! Was not the Emperor a sacred being who represented an unbroken political continuity of thousands of years, and who ruled by divine right? Was not loyalty to the sovereign part of the Chinese religion?

These questions can not be answered with a simple yes or no. Reverence for tradition has always been a prominent Chinese characteristic in respect of both ethics and politics. We must beware of assuming too hastily that the exhortations of a few frock-coated revolutionaries have been sufficient to expel this reverence for tradition from Chinese hearts and minds; yet we are obliged to admit that the national aspirations are being directed toward a new set of ideals which in some respects are scarcely consistent with the ideals aimed at (if rarely attained) in the past.

The Chinese doctrine of loyalty can not be properly understood until we have formed a clear conception of the traditional Chinese theory concerning the nature of Political Sovereignty. The political edifice, no less than the social, is built on the Confucian and pre-Confucian foundation of filial piety. The Emperor is father of his people; the whole population of the empire forms one vast family, of which the Emperor is the head. As a son owes obedience and reverence to his parent, so does the subject owe reverence and obedience to his sovereign.

In the four thousand years and more that have elapsed since the days of Yü, over a score of dynasties have in their turn reigned over China. The Shu Ching—the Chinese historical classic—gives us full accounts of the events which led to the fall of the successive dynasties of Hsia (1766 B.C.) and Shang (1122 B.C.). In both cases we find that the leader of the successful rebellion lays stress on the fact that the T'ien-ming (Divine right) has been forfeited by the dynasty of the defeated Emperor, and that he, the successful rebel, has been but an instrument in the hands of God. Thus the rebel becomes Emperor by right of the Divine Decree, and it remains with his descendants until by their misdeeds they provoke heaven into bestowing it upon another house.

The teachings of the sages of China are in full accordance with the view that the sovereign must rule well or not at all. Confucius (551-479 B.C.) spent the greater part of his life in trying to instruct negligent princes in the art of government, and we know from a well-known anecdote that he regarded a bad government as "worse than a tiger." We are told that when one of his disciples asked Confucius for a definition of good statecraft, he replied that a wise ruler is one who provides his subjects with the means of subsistence, protects the state against its enemies, and strives to deserve the confidence of all his people. And the most important of these three aims, said Confucius, is the last: for without the confidence of the people no government can be maintained. If the prince's commands are just and good, let the people obey them, said Confucius, in reply to a question put by a reigning duke; but if subjects render slavish obedience to the unjust commands of a bad ruler, it is not the ruler only, but his sycophantic subjects themselves, who will be answerable for the consequent ruin of the state. So far from counseling perpetual docility on the part of the governed, Confucius clearly indicates that circumstances may arise which make opposition justifiable. The minister, he says, should not fawn upon the ruler of whose actions he disapproves: let him show his disapproval openly.

Mencius, the "Second Sage" of China (372-289 B.C.), is far more outspoken than Confucius in his denunciation of bad rulers. There was no sycophancy in the words which he uttered during an interview with King Hsuan of the State of Ch'i. "When the prince treats his ministers with respect, as though they were his own hands and feet, they in their turn look up to him as the source from which they derive nourishment; when he treats them like his dogs and horses, they regard him as no more worthy of reverence than one of their fellow subjects; when he treats them as though they were dirt to be trodden on, they retaliate by regarding him as a robber and a foe." It is interesting to learn that this passage in Mencius so irritated the first sovereign of the Ming dynasty (1368-1398 A.D.) that he caused the "spirit-tablet" of the sage to be removed from the Confucian Temple, to which it had been elevated about three centuries earlier; but the remonstrances of the scholars of the empire soon compelled the Emperor to revoke his decree, and the tablet of Mencius was restored to its place of honor, from which it was never subsequently degraded. It is no matter for surprize that the people have reverenced the "Second Sage," for he it was who has come nearest in China to the enunciation of the somewhat doubtful principle, Vox populi vox Dei.

It was unmistakably the view of Mencius that a bad ruler may be put to death by the subjects whom he has misgoverned. King Hsuan was once discussing with him the successful rebellions against the last sovereigns of the Hsia and Shang dynasties, and, with reference to the slaying of the infamous King Chou (1122 B.C.), asked whether it was allowable for a minister to put his sovereign to death. Mencius, in his reply, observed that the man who outrages every principle of virtue and good conduct is rightly treated as a mere robber and villain. "I have heard of the killing of a robber and a villain named Chou; I have not heard about the killing of a king." That is to say, Chou by his rascality had already forfeited all the rights and privileges of kingship before he was actually put to death.

On another occasion Mencius was questioned about the duties of ministers and royal relatives. "If the sovereign rules badly," he said, "they should reprove him; if he persists again and again in disregarding their advice, they should dethrone him." The prince for whose edification the philosopher uttered these daring sentiments looked grave. "I pray your Majesty not to take offense," said Mencius. "You asked me for my candid opinion, and I have told you what it is."

Several other passages of similar purport might be cited from Mencius, but two more will suffice. "Let us suppose," said the sage, "that a man who is about to proceed on a long journey entrusts the care of his wife and family to a friend. On his return he finds that the faithless friend has allowed his wife and children to suffer from cold and hunger. What should he do with such a friend?" "He should treat him thenceforth as a stranger," replied King Hsuan. "And suppose," continued Mencius, "that your Majesty had a minister who was utterly unable to control his subordinates: how would you deal with such a one?" "I should dismiss him from my service," said the King. "And if throughout all your realm there is no good government, what is to be done then?" The embarrassed King, we are told, "looked this way and that, and changed the subject."

The last of Mencius's teachings on kingship to which we shall refer is perhaps the most remarkable of all. "The most important element in a State," he says emphatically, "is the people; next come the altars of the national gods; least in importance is the king."

These citations from the revered classics should be sufficient to prove that the people of China are not necessarily cutting themselves adrift from the traditions of ages and the teachings of their philosophers when they rise in their might to overthrow an incompetent dynasty. For it can not be denied that China has known little prosperity under the later rulers of the Manchu line, and when the revolutionary leaders declared that the reigning house had forfeited the T'ien-ming we must admit that they had ample justification for their belief that such was the case. But many Western friends of China, while fully recognizing the right of the people to remove the Manchus, entertain very grave doubts as to the wisdom of abolishing the monarchy altogether and the establishment of a republican government in its stead. The T'ien-ming has always passed from dynasty to dynasty, never from dynasty to people. From the remotest days of which we have record, the Chinese system of government has been monarchic. If the revolutionaries can break tradition to the extent of abolishing the imperial dignity, what guaranty have we that they will not break with tradition in every other respect as well, and so destroy the foundations on which the whole edifice of China's social, political, and religious life has rested through all the centuries of her known history?

Whether the Chinese people—as distinct from a few foreign-educated reformers—do, as a matter of fact, honestly believe that a republican government is adapted to the needs of the country, is a very different question. It certainly has not been proved that "the whole nation is now inclined toward a republic"—in spite of the admission to that effect contained in the imperial Edict of abdication. Perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say that the overwhelming majority of the people of China have not the slightest idea what a republic means, and how their lives and fortunes will be affected by its establishment, and therefore hold no strong opinions concerning the advantages or disadvantages of republican government.

It can not be denied, however, that the social system under which the Chinese people have lived for untold ages has in some ways made them more fit for self-government than any other people in the world. It would be well if Europeans—and especially Englishmen—would try to rid themselves of the obsolete notion that every Oriental race, as such, is only fit for a despotic form of government. Perhaps only those who have lived in the interior of China and know something of the organization of family and village, township and clan, are able to realize to how great an extent the Chinese have already learned the arts of self-government. It was not without reason that a Western authority (writing before the outbreak of the revolution) described China as "the greatest republic the world has ever seen."

The momentous Edict in which the Manchu house signed away its imperial heritage was issued on the twelfth day of February, 1912. It contains many noteworthy features, but the words which are of special interest from the constitutional point of view I translate as follows: "The whole nation is now inclined toward a republican form of government. The southern and central provinces first gave clear evidence of this inclination, and the military leaders of the northern provinces have since promised their support in the same cause. By observing the nature of the people's aspirations we learn the Will of Heaven (T'ien-ming). It is not fitting that We should withstand the desires of the nation merely for the sake of the glorification of Our own House. We recognize the signs of the age, and We have tested the trend of popular opinion; and We now, with the Emperor at Our side, invest the Nation with the Sovereign Power and decree the establishment of a constitutional government on a republican basis. In coming to this decision, We are actuated not only by a hope to bring solace to Our subjects, who long for the cessation of political tumult, but also by a desire to follow the precepts of the Sages of old who taught that political sovereignty rests ultimately with the people."

Such was the dignified and yet pathetic swan-song of the dying Manchu dynasty. Whatever our political sympathies may be, we are not obliged to withhold our tribute of compassion for the sudden and startling collapse of a dynasty that has ruled China—not always inefficiently—for the last two hundred and sixty-seven years.

The Abdication Edict can not fail to be of interest to students of the science of politics. The Throne itself is converted into a bridge to facilitate the transition from the monarchical to the republican form of government. The Emperor remains absolute to the last, and the very Republican Constitution, which involves his own disappearance from political existence, is created by the fiat of the Emperor in his last official utterance. Theoretically, the Republic is established not by a people in arms acting in opposition to the imperial will, but by the Emperor acting with august benevolence for his people's good. The cynic may smile at the transparency of the attempt to represent the abdication as entirely voluntary, but in this procedure we find something more than a mere "face-saving" device intended for the purpose of effecting a dignified retreat in the hour of disaster.

Perhaps the greatest interest of the decree centers in its appeal to the wisdom of the national sages, and its acceptance of their theory as to the ultimate seat of political sovereignty. The heart of the drafter may have quailed when he wrote the words that signified the surrender of the imperial power, but the spirit of Mencius guided his hand. It now remains for us to hope that the teachings of the wise men of old, which have been obeyed to such momentous issues by the last of the Emperors, will not be treated with contempt by his Republican successors.

The entire civilized world, as well as China, is to be heartily congratulated upon the glorious revolution which has been sweeping over that vast ancient empire, and which is now practically assured of success. "Just as conflagrations light up the whole city," says Victor Hugo, "revolutions light up the whole human race." Of no revolution recorded in the world's history can this be said with a greater degree of truth than of the present revolution in China. It spells the overthrow of monarchy, which has existed there for over forty centuries, and the downfall of a dynasty which has been the enemy of human progress for the last two hundred and seventy years. It effects the recognition and establishment of personal liberty, the sovereignty of man over himself, for four hundred and thirty-two million souls, one-third of the world's total population.

The Chinese revolution marks, in short, a great, decisive step in the onward march of human progress. It benefits not only China, but the whole world, for just as a given society should measure its prosperity not by the welfare of a group of individuals, but by the welfare of the entire community, so must humanity estimate its progress according to the well-being of the whole human race. Society can not be considered to be in a far advanced stage of civilization if one-third of the globe's inhabitants are suffering under the oppression and tyranny of a one-man rule. Democracy can not be said to exist if a great portion of the people on the earth have not even political freedom. Real democracy exists only when all men are free and equal. Hence, any movement which brings about the recognition and establishment of personal liberty for one-third of the members of the human family, as the Chinese revolution is doing, may well be pronounced to be beneficial to mankind.

But is it really true and credible that conservative, slumbering, and "mysterious" China is actually having a revolution, that beautiful and terrible thing, that angel in the garb of a monster? If it is, what is the cause of the revolution? What will be its ultimate outcome? What will follow its success? Will a republic be established and will it work successfully? These and many other questions pertaining to the Chinese situation have been asked, not only by skeptics, but also by persons interested in China and human progress.

There can be no doubt that China is in earnest about what she is doing. Even the skeptics who called the revolution a "mob movement," or another "Boxer uprising," at its early stage must now admit the truth of the matter. The admirable order and discipline which have characterized its proceedings conclusively prove that the revolution is a well-organized movement, directed by men of ability, intelligence, and humanitarian principles. Sacredness of life and its rights, for which they are fighting, have generally guided the conduct of the rebels. The mob element has been conspicuous by its absence from their ranks. It is very doubtful whether a revolution involving such an immense territory and so many millions of people as are involved in this one could be effected with less bloodshed than has thus far marked the Chinese revolution. If some allowance be made for exaggeration in the newspaper reports of the loss of lives and of the disorders that have occurred during the struggle, allowance which is always permissible and even wise for one to make, there has been very little unnecessary bloodshed committed by the revolutionists.

Although anti-Manchu spirit was a prominent factor in bringing about the uprising, it has been subordinated by the larger idea of humanity. With the exception of a few instances of unnecessary destruction of Manchu lives at the beginning of the outbreak, members of that tribe have been shown great clemency. The rebel leaders have impressed upon the minds of their followers that their first duty is to respect life and property, and have summarily punished those having any inclination to loot or kill. Despite the numerous outrages and acts of brutality by the Manchus and imperial troops, the revolutionaries have been moderate, lenient, and humane in their treatment of their prisoners and enemies. Unnecessary bloodshed has been avoided by them as much as possible. As Dr. Wu Ting-fang has said: "The most glorious page of China's history is being written with a bloodless pen." Regarding the cause of the revolution, it must be noted that the revolt was not a sudden, sporadic movement, nor the result of any single event. It is the outcome of a long series of events, the culmination of the friction and contact with the Western world in the last half-century, especially the last thirty years, and of the importation of Western ideas and methods into China by her foreign-educated students and other agents.

During the last decade, especially the last five years, there has been a most wonderful awakening among the people in the empire. One could almost see the growth of national consciousness, so rapidly has it developed. When the people fully realized their shortcomings and their country's deplorable weakness as it has been constantly brought out in her dealings with foreign Powers, they fell into a state of dissatisfaction and profound unrest. Filled with the shame of national disgrace and imbued with democratic ideas, they have been crying for a strong and liberal government, but their pleas and protests have been in most cases ignored and in a few cases responded to with half-hearted superficial reforms which are far from satisfactory to the progressives. The Manchu government has followed its traditional laissez faire policy in the face of foreign aggressions and threatening dangers of the empire's partition, with no thought of the morrow. Until now it has been completely blind to the force of the popular will and has deemed it not worth while to bother with the common people.

Long ago patriotic Chinese gave up hope in the Manchu government and realized that China's salvation lay in the taking over of the management of affairs into their own hands. For over a decade Dr. Sun Yat-sen and other Chinese of courage and ability, mostly those with a Western education, have been busily engaged in secretly preaching revolutionary doctrines among their fellow countrymen and preparing for a general outbreak. They collected numerous followers and a large sum of money. The revolutionary propaganda was being spread country-wide, among the gentry and soldiers, and even among enlightened government officials, in spite of governmental persecution and strict vigilance. Revolutionary literature was being widely circulated, notwithstanding the rigid official censorship.

Added to all this are the ever important economic causes. Famines and floods in recent years have greatly intensified the already strong feeling of discontent and unrest, and served to pile up more fuel for the general conflagration.

In short, the whole nation was like a forest of dry leaves which needed but a single fire spark to make it blaze. Hence, when the revolution broke out on the memorable 10th of October, 1911, at Wu-Chang, it spread like a forest fire. Within the short period of two weeks fourteen of the eighteen provinces of China proper joined in the movement one after another with amazing rapidity. Everywhere people welcomed the advent of the revolutionary army as the drought-stricken would rejoice at the coming rain, or the hungry at the sight of food. The great wave of democratic sentiment which had swept over Europe, America, and the islands of Japan at last reached the Chinese shore, and is now rolling along resistlessly over the immense empire toward its final goal—a world-wide democracy.

THE UNITED STATES ARBITRATION TREATIES A.D. 1912

HON. WILLIAM H. TAFT

Later generations will doubtless note, as one of the main manifestations of our present age, its progress in international arbitration, in the substitution of justice for force as the means of deciding disputes between nations. On March 7, 1912, the United States Senate, after months of argument, finally agreed to ratify two arbitration treaties which President Taft had arranged with England and France. True, the Senate, before thus establishing the treaties, struck out their most far-reaching article, an agreement that every disagreement whatsoever should be referred to a Joint High Commission. Without this clause the treaties still leave a bare possibility of warfare over questions of "national honor" or "national policy"; but practically they put an end to war forever as between the United States and its two great historic rivals.

These two treaties were the last and most important of 154 such arbitration treaties arranged since the recent inauguration of the great World Peace movement. They are here described by President Taft himself in an article reprinted with his approval from the Woman's Home Companion. His work as a leader in the cause of peace is likely to be remembered as the most important of his administration. In 1913 his purpose was carried forward by William J. Bryan as the United States Secretary of State. Mr. Bryan evolved a general "Plan of Arbitration," which during the first year of its suggestion was adopted by thirty-one of the smaller nations to govern their dealings with the United States. Thus the strong promises international justice to the weak.

The development of the doctrine of international arbitration, considered from the standpoint of its ultimate benefits to the human race, is the most vital movement of modern times. In its relation to the well-being of the men and women of this and ensuing generations, it exceeds in importance the proper solution of various economic problems which are constant themes of legislative discussion or enactment. It is engaging the attention of many of the most enlightened minds of the civilized world. It derives impetus from the influence of churches, regardless of denominational differences. Societies of noble-minded women, organizations of worthy men, are giving their moral and material support to governmental agencies in their effort to eliminate, as causes of war, disputes which frequently have led to armed conflicts between nations.

The progress already made is a distinct step in the direction of a higher civilization. It gives hope in the distant future of the end of militarism, with its stupendous, crushing burdens upon the working population of the leading countries of the Old World, and foreshadows a decisive check to the tendency toward tremendous expenditures for military purposes in the western hemisphere. It presages at least partial disarmament by governments that have been, and still are, piling up enormous debts for posterity to liquidate, and insures to multitudes of men now involuntarily doing service in armies and navies employment in peaceful, productive pursuits.

Perhaps some wars have contributed to the uplift of organized society; more often the benefits were utterly eclipsed by the ruthless waste and slaughter and suffering that followed. The principle of justice to the weak as well as to the strong is prevailing to an extent heretofore unknown to history. Rules of conduct which govern men in their relations to one another are being applied in an ever-increasing degree to nations. The battle-field as a place of settlement of disputes is gradually yielding to arbitral courts of justice. The interests of the great masses are not being sacrificed, as in former times, to the selfishness, ambitions, and aggrandizement of sovereigns, or to the intrigues of statesmen unwilling to surrender their scepter of power. Religious wars happily are specters of a medieval or ancient past, and the Christian Church is laboring valiantly to fulfil its destiny of "Peace on earth."

If the United States has a mission, besides developing the principles of the brotherhood of man into a living, palpable force, it seems to me that it is to blaze the way to universal arbitration among the nations, and bring them into more complete amity than ever before existed. It is known to the world that we do not covet the territory of our neighbors, or seek the acquisition of lands on other continents. We are free of such foreign entanglements as frequently conduce to embarrassing complications, and the efforts we make in behalf of international peace can not be regarded with a suspicion of ulterior motives. The spirit of justice governs our relations with other countries, and therefore we are specially qualified to set a pace for the rest of the world.

The principle and scope of international arbitration, as exemplified in the treaties recently negotiated by the United States with Great Britain and France, should commend itself to the American people. These treaties go a step beyond any similar instruments which have received the sanction of the United States, or the two foreign Powers specified. They enlarge the field of arbitrable subjects embraced in the treaties ratified by the three governments in 1908. They lift into the realm of discussion and hearing, before some kind of a tribunal, many of the causes of war which have made history such a sickening chronicle of ravage and cruelty, bloodshed and desolation.

After years of patient endeavor by men of various nations, and despite many obstacles and discouragements, there has been established at The Hague a Permanent Court of Arbitration, to which contending governments may submit certain classes of controversies for adjudication. This court has already justified its creation and existence by the settlement of contentions which in other days led to disastrous wars, and even in this enlightened age might have precipitated serious ruptures. The United States Government, as represented by the National Administration, is ready to utilize this method of settling international disputes to a greater extent than ever before. That is, we are willing to refer to this tribunal, or a similar one, questions which heretofore have been left entirely to diplomatic negotiation.

The treaties go further by providing for the creation of a Joint High Commission, to which shall be referred, for impartial and conscientious investigation, any controversy between this Government, on one hand, and Great Britain or France, on the other hand, before such a controversy has been submitted to an arbitral body from which there is no appeal.

And, assuming that governments, like individuals, do not always display, while a dispute is in progress, that calmness of judgment and equipoise which are so consistent with righteous deportment, provision is made for the passion to subside and the blood to cool, by deferring the reference of such controversy to the Joint High Commission for one year. This affords an opportunity for diplomatic adjustment without an appeal to the commission.

The plan of submission to a joint high commission, composed of three citizens or subjects of one party and the same number of another, is a concession to the fear of being too tightly bound to an adverse decision made manifest in the objections of the Senate committee, because it may well be supposed that two out of three citizens or subjects of one party would not decide that an issue was arbitrable under the treaty against the contention of their own country unless it were reasonably clear that the issue was justiciable under the first clause of the treaty.

Ultimately, I hope, we shall come to submit our quarrels to an international arbitral court that will have power finally to decide upon the limits of its own jurisdiction, and in which the form of procedure by the complaining country shall be fixed, and the obligations of the country complained of, to answer in a form prescribed, shall be recognized and definite, and the judgment shall be either acquiesced in, or enforced. These treaties are a substantial step, but a step only, in that direction, and the feature of the binding character of the decision of the Joint High Commission as to the arbitral character of the question is the most distinctive advance in the right direction. Do not let us give up this feature without using every legitimate effort to retain it.

An understanding of the term justiciable may be essential to a full comprehension of the significance and scope of these treaties. Questions involving boundary lines, the rights of fishermen in waters bordering upon countries with contiguous territory, the use of water-power, the erection of structures on frontiers, outrages upon aliens, are examples of justiciable subjects, and these are made susceptible of adjudication and decision under these treaties. It is now proposed to establish a permanent method of disposing of such questions without preliminary quarrels and menaces whose result may never be foreseen.

Certain questions of governmental or traditional policy are by their very nature excluded from the consideration of the Joint High Commission, or even the Permanent Court of Arbitration at The Hague. Such specific exemptions it is not necessary to set forth in the treaties. Objection has been made that under the first section of the pending pacts it might be claimed that we would be called upon to submit to arbitration of the Monroe Doctrine, or our right to exclude foreign peoples from our shores, or the question of the validity of southern bonds issued in reconstruction days.

The Monroe Doctrine is not a justiciable question, but one of purely governmental policy which we have followed for nearly a century, and in which the countries of Europe have generally acquiesced. With respect to the exclusion of immigrants, it is a principle of international law that every country may admit only those whom it chooses. This is a subject of domestic policy in which no foreign country can interfere unless it is covered by a treaty, and then it may become properly a matter of treaty construction.

With reference to the right to involve the United States in a controversy over the obligation of certain Southern States to pay bonds issued during reconstruction, which have been repudiated, it is sufficient to say that the pending treaties affect only cases hereafter arising, and the cases of the Southern bonds all arose years ago.

After a time, if our treaties stand the test of experience and prove useful, it is probable that all the greatest Powers on earth will come under obligation to arbitrate their differences with other nations. Naturally, the smaller nations will do likewise, and then universal arbitration will be more of an actuality than an altruistic dream.

The evil of war, and what follows in its train, I need not dwell upon. We could not have a higher object than the adoption of any proper and honorable means which would lessen the chance of armed conflicts. Men endure great physical hardships in camp and on the battle-field. In our Civil War the death-roll in the Union Army alone reached the appalling aggregate of 359,000. But the suffering and perils of the men in the field, distressing as they are to contemplate, are slight in comparison with the woes and anguish of the women who are left behind. The hope that husband, brother, father, son may be spared the tragic end which all soldiers risk, when they respond to their country's call, buoys them up in their privations and heart-breaking loneliness. But theirs is the deepest pain, for the most poignant suffering is mental rather than physical. No pension compensates for the loss of husband, son, or father. The glory of death in battle does not feed the orphaned children, nor does the pomp and circumstance of war clothe them. The voice of the women of America should speak for peace.

THE SPEED CRAZE AND ITS OUTCOME A.D. 1912

WILLIAM INGLIS

No other disaster at sea has ever resulted in such loss of human life as did the sinking of the Titanic on the night of April 15, 1912. Moreover, no other disaster has ever included among its victims so many people of high position and repute and real value to the world. The Titanic was on her first voyage, and this voyage had served to draw together many notables. She was advertised as the largest steamer in the world and as the safest; she was called "unsinkable." The ocean thus struck its blow at no mean victim, but at the ship supposedly the queen of all ships.

Through the might of the great tragedy, man was taught two lessons. One was against boastfulness. He has not yet conquered nature; his "unsinkable" masterpiece was torn apart like cardboard and plunged to the bottom. The other and more solemn teaching was against the speed mania, which seems more and more to have possessed mankind. His autos, his railroads, even his fragile flying-machines, have been keyed up for record speed. The Titanic was racing for a record when she perished.

Her loss has created almost a revolution in ocean traffic. "Let us go more slowly!" was the cry. Safety became the chief advertisement of the big ship lines; and speed, Speed the adored, shriveled into the dishonored god of a moment's madness.

The wreck of the steamship Titanic, of the White Star Line, the newest and biggest and presumably the safest ship in the world, is the greatest marine disaster known in the history of ocean traffic. She ran into an iceberg off the Banks of Newfoundland at 11.40 Sunday night, April 14th, and at twenty minutes past two sank in two miles of ocean depth. More than fifteen hundred lives were lost and a few more than seven hundred saved.

The Titanic was a marvel of size and luxury. Her length was 882-1/2 feet—far exceeding the height of the tallest buildings in the world—her breadth of beam was 92 feet, and her depth from topmost deck to keel was 94 feet. She was of 45,000 tons register and 66,000 tons displacement. Her structure was the last word in size, speed, and luxury at sea. Her interior was like that of some huge hotel, with wide stairways and heavy balustrades, with elevators running up and down the height of nine decks out of her twelve; with swimming-pools, Turkish baths, saloons, and music-rooms, and a little golf-course on the highest deck. Her master was Capt. E. J. Smith, a veteran of more than thirty years' able and faithful service in the company's ships, whose only mishap had occurred when the giant Olympic, under his command, collided with the British cruiser Hawke in the Solent last September. He was exonerated because the great suction exerted by the Olympic in a narrow channel inevitably drew the two vessels together.

There were over 2,200 people aboard the Titanic when she left Southampton on Wednesday for her maiden voyage—325 first-cabin passengers, 285 second-cabin, 710 steerage, and a crew of 899. Among that ship's company were many men and women of prominence in the arts, the professions, and in business. Colonel John Jacob Astor and his bride, who was Miss Madeleine Force, were among them; also Major Archibald Butt, military aide to President Taft; Charles M. Hays, president of the Grand Trunk Pacific Railroad, with his family; William T. Stead, of the London Review of Reviews; Benjamin Guggenheim, of the celebrated mining family; G. D. Widener, of Philadelphia; F. D. Millet, the noted artist; Mr. and Mrs. Isidor Straus; J. Thayer, vice-president of the Pennsylvania Railroad; J. Bruce Ismay, chairman of the White Star Line's board of directors; Henry B. Harris, theatrical manager; Colonel Washington Roebling, the engineer; Jacques Futrelle, the novelist; and Henry Sleeper Harper, a grandson of Joseph Wesley Harper, one of the founders of the house of Harper & Brothers.

As the Titanic was leaving her pier at Southampton there came a sound like the booming of artillery. The passengers thronging to the rail saw the steamship New York slowly drawing near. The movement of the Titanic's gigantic body had sucked the water away from the quay so violently that the seven stout hawsers mooring the New York to her pier snapped like rotten twine, and she bore down on the giant ship stern first and helpless. The Titanic reversed her engines, and tugs plucked the New York away barely in time to avoid a bad smash. If any old sailors regarded this accident as an evil omen, there is little reason to think the thing affected the spirits of the passengers on the great floating hotel. As the ship passed the time of day by wireless with her distant neighbors out of sight beyond the horizon of the ocean lanes, she reported good weather, machinery working smoothly, all going well.

For some reason the great fleet of icebergs which drifts south of Cape Race every summer moved down unusually early this year. The Carmania, three days in advance of the Titanic, ran into the ice-field on Thursday. The ship at reduced speed dodged about, avoiding enormous bergs along her course, while far away on every hand glinted the shining high white sides of many more of the menacing ice mountains. Passengers photographed the brilliant monsters. The steamship Niagara, many leagues astern, reported a slight collision, with no great harm done. That was enough. Captain Dow retraced his course to the northeast and, after an hour's steaming, laid a new course for Fire Island buoy. The presence of the great bergs and accompanying masses of field-ice so very early in the season was most unusual.

Into this desolate waste of sea came the Titanic on Sunday evening. She encountered fog, for the region is almost continuously swathed in the mists raised by the contact of the Arctic current with the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. Scattered far and wide in every direction were many icebergs, shrouded in gray, invisible to the eyes of the sharpest lookouts, lying in wait for their prey.

Not only were the bergs invisible to the keenest eyes, but the sudden drop in the temperature of the ocean which ordinarily is the warning of the nearness of a berg was now of no avail; for there were so many of the bergs and so widely scattered that the temperature of the sea was uniformly cold. Moreover, the submarine bell, which gives warning to navigators of the neighborhood of shoal water, does not signify the approach of icebergs. The newest ocean giant was in deadly peril, though probably few of her passengers guessed it, so reassuring are the huge bulk, the skilful construction, the watertight compartments, the able captain and crew, to the mind of the landsman. Dinner was long past, and many of the passengers doubtless turned to thoughts of supper after hours of talk or music or cards; for there were not many promenading the cold, foggy decks of the onrushing steamship.

The Titanic was about eight hundred miles to the southeastward of Halifax, three hundred and fifty miles southeast of treacherous Cape Race, when her great body dashed, glancing, against an enormous berg. The discipline and good order for which British captains and British sailors have long been noted prevailed in this crisis; for it is proven by the fact that the rescued were nearly all women and children.

From that rich, rushing, gay, floating world, with its saloons and baths and music-rooms and elevators, now suddenly shattered into darkness, only one utterance came. Phillips, the wireless operator, seized his key and telegraphed in every direction the call "S O S!" Gossiping among telegraphers hundreds of miles apart, messages of business import, all the scores of things that fill the ocean air with tremulous whisperings of etheric waves, began to give over their chattering. Again and again Phillips repeated the letters which spell disaster until the air for a thousand miles around was electrically silent. Then he sent his message:

"Have struck an iceberg; badly damaged; rush aid; steamship Titanic; 41.46 N., 50.14 W."

There was no other ship in sight. Far as the eye could reach no spot of light broke the gray darkness; yet other ships could hear and read the cry for help, and, wheeling in their courses, they drove full speed ahead for the wreck. The Baltic, two hundred miles to the eastward, bound for Europe, turned back to the rescue; the Olympic, still farther away, hastened to the aid of her sister ship; the Cincinnati, Prince Adelbert, Amerika, the Prinz Friederich Wilhelm, and many others, abandoned all else to fly to help those in danger. Nearest of all was the Carpathia, bound from New York for Mediterranean ports, only sixty miles away. And as they all, with forced draft and every possible device for adding to speed, dashed through the misty night on their errand of mercy, Phillips, of the Titanic, kept wafting from his key the story of disaster. The thing he repeated oftenest was: "Badly damaged. Rush aid." Now and then he gave the ship's position in latitude and longitude as nearly as it could be estimated by her officers as she was carried southward by the current that runs swiftly in this northern sea, so that the rescuers could keep their prows accurately pointed toward the wreck. Soon he began to announce, "We are down by the head and sinking rapidly." About one o'clock in the morning the last words from Phillips rippled through the heavy air, "We are almost gone."

The crew were summoned to their stations; the lifeboats and liferafts were swiftly provisioned and furnished with water as well as could be done. Yet this provision could hardly have been very extensive, since it has long been an accepted axiom of the sea that the modern giant ships are indestructible, or at least unsinkable.

"Women and children first," the order long enforced among all decent men who use the sea, was the word passed from man to man as the boats were filled, the boatfalls rattled, and the frail little cockleshells were lowered into the calm sea. What farewells there were on those dark and reeking decks between husbands and wives and all other men and women of the same family one can hardly dare think about. Steadily the work of filling the boats and lowering away went on until the last frail craft had been dropped upon the ocean from the sides of the liner and the whole little fleet rose and fell on the sea beside the great black hulk. And when the last crowded boat had come down and there was no possibility of removing one more human being from the wreck, there were still more than fifteen hundred men on her decks. So far had belief in the invulnerability of the modern ship curtailed sane and proper provision for taking care of her people in time of calamity.

One can imagine with what frantic but impotent hope, as the sinking decks and menacing plash of waters within told of the imminent last plunge, those thousands of eyes strained at the misty wall of grayish black that enclosed them on every hand. Not one gleam of light in any quarter. The last horrible gurglings within the waterlogged shell of steel that a little while before had been the proudest ship of all the seas told unmistakably that the end was at hand. Down by the head went the giant Titanic at twenty minutes past two o'clock on Monday morning, April 15th. And she took fifteen hundred people with her.

Four hours passed before the shivering people in the small boats heard the siren whistle that announced the approach of a steamship from the south. There was a heavy fog and they could not see one hundred fathoms off over the clashing and grinding ice that floated in fields on every side. Soon after seven o'clock in the morning the ship came in sight and presently hove to among the fleet of boats and liferafts—the steamship Carpathia, out of New York on April 11th for Mediterranean ports. She began at once to take aboard the survivors, and in a few hours had every boat hoisted aboard. The Olympic and Baltic, learning by wireless that the rescues had all been effected, proceeded on their way.

The Virginian and the Parisian, which arrived at the scene of the disaster a few hours later, could find no sign of any living person afloat, though they cruised for a long time among the wreckage before standing away on their courses. The Carpathia at first was headed for Halifax, but upon learning by wireless that that harbor was ice-bound, Mr. J. Bruce Ismay, chairman of the Board of Directors of the White Star Line, suggested that the ship head for New York. This was done. The Carpathia, with nine hundred passengers of her own and the seven hundred survivors, reached New York in safety.

The sad international tragedy of the sinking of the Titanic touched men's souls more deeply than any other disaster in many years. To English-speaking races in particular the horror of the occasion pressed close home; for here was the best of British ships bearing many of the most prominent of America's people. To these seasoned voyagers, crossing the Atlantic had become a mere pleasant trifle, seeming no more dangerous than an afternoon's shopping in town. Then suddenly there was thrust upon all of them that ancient, awful knowledge that "in the midst of life we are in death."

Both American passengers and English crew lived up to the best traditions of their race. There was no panic, no fighting for places in the boats on the doomed ship. On the contrary, people refused to believe in the imminence of danger. The idea that the ship was unsinkable had been so borne in on them that even when summoned upon deck and ordered to put on life-belts, many of them refused. In the first boats gotten away from the ship, there were not many people. Some refused to climb down through the deep blackness into the tiny craft. They thought the tumult all an empty scare that would soon pass.

When the steady, ominous settling of the huge ship's bulk broke through this shallow confidence, there was a solemn change. Grand and tender scenes there were on those sinking decks; of husbands and wives parting with the utterance of a hope, turned suddenly to terror, that they would soon meet again; of other wives who refused to leave their husbands and deliberately stayed to share their fate. Few of the more noted passengers were among those saved. Bruce Ismay, director of the steamship line, was one. The captain went down with his ship, as did most of his officers, though some of the latter saved themselves by clinging to the wreckage which rose after the vessel's plunge. While she was sinking her band still played "Nearer, my God, to thee," and other earnest hymns. Death did not find the old Saxon stock cringing from him with hysteria and frenzy. Sudden as was his coming, wholly unexpected as was his hideous visage, he was met with the calm courage which is the best tradition of the race.

And what have been the consequences of this overwhelming tragedy? An investigation was immediately begun in America by the United States Government. Another, slower, dignified and ponderous, was afterward undertaken by the British Government. Both of them in the end attributed the disaster to practically the same cause, the speed mania which has overtaken the nations, the heedlessness of man's over-confidence which takes risks so many times successfully that it grows to forget that risks exist.

The Titanic's captain wanted to make a record on her maiden voyage. His directors wanted him to make a record. That would mean increased advertisement and increased traffic for their line. So in the face of danger, knowing there were icebergs all around him, the captain rushed his ship blindly ahead. The chance of his actually hitting an iceberg was scarce one in a hundred. So he took the chance. The probability that if he did strike an iceberg it could do irreparable damage to his stout ship, was scarce one in a hundred. So he took that chance also. He gambled with Death, as a thousand speed-driven captains had gambled before. This time it was Death's turn to win.

A gamble even more reprehensible was that of the steamship companies, who had grown so sure their ships would not sink that they no longer provided sufficient means of escape from them. Why load a vessel down with useless life-boats, which only hung the year in and year out, blocking up space? Every foot of that space was valuable. It might make room for an extra passenger, or provide an extra amusement to draw traffic. What voyager ever counted life-boats, or worked out the awful calculation, so obvious now, that there was only rescue space provided for one-third of the number of souls aboard? Was not the ship "unsinkable" after all?

The Titanic is gone. Our sorrow for her is becoming but a memory. Our ships carry lifeboats sufficient now; they are compelled to by law. And our sea captains run on safer lines; that, too, the law has made compulsory. But it will be long before man's overweening self-confidence rises from the shock which has been given to his belief in his mechanical ability. Nature is not conquered yet. Ocean has still a strength beyond ours. Ships are not unsinkable; and Death will still take his toll of bold men's lives in the future as he has done in the past. We know that cowardice costs more than courage, but it is not so tragically costly as blind foolhardiness.

A.D. 1912

GENEVIEVE GRANDCOURT Prof. R. LEGENDRE

Several years ago a wealthy Swedish manufacturer of dynamite left, by his will, a fund for the providing of a large prize to be conferred each year upon the person who has accomplished most for the peaceful progress of mankind. This annual sum of forty thousand dollars, which is called from its donor the "Nobel prize," was, in October, 1912, conferred upon a surgeon, Dr. Alexis Carrel, for his remarkable work in the study of the life of the tissues and organs which exist in the human body.

Even before this public recognition of his work, Dr. Carrel had in the summer of 1912 created a furor among the savants of Paris by the announcement of what he had accomplished. Carrel, though a native-born Frenchman, is an American by education and citizenship, and the French were at first inclined to challenge the value of his work. We therefore present here a "popular" scientific account of what he had achieved, reprinted by permission from the Scientific American. Then comes the grudging approval of Professor Legendre, the noted "Preparator of Zoology," head of that section in the National Museum of Paris.

Briefly stated, the impressive step which science has here taken, is the preservation of life in the heart and other organs so that these may be taken out of the body and yet kept alive for months. With smaller animals Carrel has even accomplished the actual transferrence of organs from one individual to another. As for the simpler bodily tissues, it now seems possible to preserve these indefinitely outside the body, not only alive but in excellent health and ready to reassume their functions in another body.

A very evident disadvantage under which medical science has labored has been the impossibility of watching the chemical process set in motion by substances introduced into the body. For this reason various experimenters, from time to time, have attempted to "grow tissues" artificially, in such manner that their development, functions, and decay—under both healthy and diseased conditions—might be studied under the microscope. The only way in which this could be done would be to take a piece of living tissue from the body, and cause its cells to multiply; tissue being made up of an aggregation of cells.

Science has failed to produce a single living cell, that is, a cell which will undergo the process of nuclear division (growth) which is the prime condition of its being; and it seemed equally impossible to cause a cell already living to undergo the same process if deprived of the circulation of the blood. Therefore, when in 1910 it was announced that Dr. Alexis Carrel with his assistant, Dr. M. T. Burrows, had succeeded, scientific credulity was taxed. A well-known French savant expressed the opinion before the Society of Biology in Paris, that as others experimenting along these lines, had witnessed only degeneration and survival of cells, this phenomenon was all Carrel's discovery amounted to. In view of past experience, indeed, the chances were in favor of a mistake. In 1897, Leo Loeb said that he had produced this artificial growth both within and without the body. Obviously, such development within the organism where the process of utilizing the body-fluids, etc., follows the same course as in nature, takes on the character of grafting rather than of cultivating in a culture medium. As to causing the external growth, it was ten years later before it seems first to have succeeded. In 1907 Harrison, from Johns Hopkins University, furnished details of his research in such form as to be convincing. But his work had reference to the growth of tissues only of coldblooded animals, he having cultivated artificially, nerve fibers from the central nervous system of the frog.

Carrel's work consisted in extending Harrison's method to apply to warm-blooded animals, including, of course, mammals; he having primarily in view at this time a more precise knowledge of the laws governing the restoration of tissues, for example, after serious surgical wounds. He and his assistant worked steadily to this end, and succeeded. The tissues of the higher animals, including man, can now be developed in a culture, and such development can be made to correspond to a rigidly precise technique. The feat is accomplished by putting minute pieces of living tissue into a plasmatic (blood) medium which will coagulate. So complicated is this apparently simple matter in its application that only the most exquisite surgical skill is proof against incalculable modifications in results.

Having obtained evidence that tissue can be cultivated in accordance with a formula that may be relied upon to give definite results, the effort was made to grow artificially the various malignant (cancerous) tissues, in turn, of chicken, rat, dog, and human being. Cancerous tissue invariably developed cancer, and so rapidly and extensively that the growth could be observed with the naked eye.

It now became evident that, under the right circumstances, the artificial growth of tissues could be utilized in the study of many problems; such as malignant growth of tissue; certain problems in immunity, as, for example, the production of antitoxins of certain organisms; the regulation of the growth of the organism, or of different parts of the organism; rejuvenation and senility; and the character of the internal secretions of the glands, such as the thyroid which plays a role most important in physical and mental development. The difficulty lay in the fact that the artificial growth was so very short-lived. It was found that by passing the growth into a new medium, and repeating the process, the tissues would begin to grow again; but their life even under these circumstances was limited at the most to twenty days. This was manifestly too short a time in which to study the fundamental questions to which the researchers had addressed themselves. Thereupon, study was taken up to determine the question as to what made these tissues die. It was found that, apparently as incidental to growth, there was the process of decay, due to an inability of the tissues to eliminate waste products.

On January 17, 1912, experiments were commenced to determine whether these effects could be overcome. The observations were on the heart and blood-vessels, artificially grown, of the chicken fetus. These growths were put into a salt solution for a few minutes at different periods of their growth, and then placed in a new plasmatic medium. It was found that by following this method, the tissues could be made to live indefinitely. When an animal is in the early stages of its development, the growth of its tissues is necessarily greater as it matures, there being steady diminution after a certain age until the growth altogether ceases, and the size of the animal is determined. But it was found by subjecting these artificial growths to washings in salt solution that the mass was fifteen times greater at the end of than at the commencement of the third month, showing that they do not grow old at all! In the artificial growth the problem of senility and death is solved.

It was the announcement of this "permanent life of tissues" that caused such a furor in Paris last summer, and several eminent scientists to demand ocular demonstration, because "the discovery, if true, constituted the greatest scientific advance of a generation."

The following summary of this interesting and vitally important and epoch-making work of Carrel is translated from an article published in Paris recently by Professor Pozzi, who witnessed the experiments:

"Carrel found that the pulsations of a fragment of heart, which had diminished in number and intensity or ceased, could be revived to the normal state by a washing and a passage. In a secondary culture, two fragments of heart, separated by a free space, beat as strongly and regularly. The larger fragment contracted 92 times a minute and the smaller 120 times. For three days, the number and intensity of the pulsations varied slightly. On the fourth day, the pulsations diminished considerably in intensity. The large fragment beat 40 times a minute and the little fragment 90 times. The culture was washed and placed in a new medium. An hour and a half after, the pulsations had become very strong. The large fragment contracted 120 times a minute and the small fragment 160 times. At the same time the fragments grew rapidly. At the end of eight hours they were united and formed a mass of which all the parts beat synchronically."

Experiments to date seem to establish that the connective tissue, at any rate, is "immortal."

From this research, it is possible to arrive at certain logical conclusions, which, however, it remains for the future to confirm. One, and the most important, is that the normal circulation of the blood does not succeed in freeing all the waste products of the tissues, and that this is the cause of senility and death. Were science to find some way to wash the tissues in the living organism as they have been washed in these cultures, man's life might be indefinitely prolonged.

The Nobel prize in medicine for 1912 has just been awarded to Dr.
Alexis Carrel, a Frenchman, of Lyon, now employed at the Rockefeller
Institute of New York, for his entire work relating to the suture of
vessels and the transplantation of organs.

The remarkable results obtained in these fields by various experimenters, of whom Carrel is most widely known, and also the wonderful applications made of them by certain surgeons have already been widely published.

The journals have frequently spoken lately of "cultures" of tissues detached from the organism to which they belonged; and some of them, exaggerating the results already obtained, have stated that it is now possible to make living tissues grow and increase when so detached.

Having given these subjects much study I wish to state here what has already been done and what we may hope to accomplish. As a matter of fact we do not yet know how to construct living cells; the forms obtained with mineral substances by Errera, Stephane Leduc, and others, have only a remote resemblance to those of life; neither do we know how to prevent death; but yet it is interesting to know that it is possible to prolong for some time the life of organs, tissues, and cells after they have been removed from the organism.

The idea of preserving the life of greater or lesser parts of an organism occurred at about the same time to a number of persons, and though the ends in view have been quite different, the investigations have led to essentially similar results. The surgeons who for a long time have transplanted various organs and grafted different tissues, bits of skin among others, have sought to prolong the period during which the grafts may be preserved alive from the time they are taken from the parent individual until they are implanted either upon the same subject or upon another. The physiologists have attempted to isolate certain organs and preserve them alive for some time in order to simplify their experiments by suppressing the complex action of the nervous system and of glands which often render difficult a proper interpretation of the experiments. The cytologists have tried to preserve cells alive outside the organism in more simple and well-defined conditions. These various efforts have already given, as we shall see, very excellent results both as regards the theoretical knowledge of vital phenomena and for the practise of surgery.

It has been possible to preserve for more or less time many organs in a living condition when detached from the organism. The organ first tried and which has been most frequently and completely investigated is the heart. This is because of its resistance to any arrest of the circulation and also because its survival is easily shown by its contractility. In man the heart has been seen to beat spontaneously and completely 25 minutes after a legal decapitation (Renard and Loye, 1887), and by massage of the organ its beating may be restored after it has been arrested for 40 minutes (Rehn, 1909). By irrigation of the heart and especially of its coronary vessels the period of revival may be much prolonged.

The first experiments with artificial circulation in the isolated heart were made in Ludwig's laboratory, but they were limited to the frog and the inferior vertebrates. Since then experiments on the survival of the heart have multiplied and become classic. Artificial circulation has kept the heart of man contracting normally for 20 hours (Kuliabko, 1902), that of the monkey for 54 hours (Hering, 1903), that of the rabbit for 5 days (Kuliabko, 1902), etc. It has also enabled us to study the influence upon the heart of physical factors, such as temperature, isotonia; chemical factors, such as various salts and the different ions; and even complex pharmaceutical products. Kuliabko (1902) was even able to note contractions in the heart of a rabbit that had been kept in cold storage for 18 hours, and in the heart of a cat similarly kept after 24 hours. The other muscular organs have naturally been investigated in a manner analogous to that which has been used for the heart; and for the same reason, because it can be readily seen whether or not they are alive. The striated muscles survive for quite a long time after removal, especially if they are preserved at the temperature of the body and care is taken to prevent their drying. By this method many investigations have been made of muscular contractions in isolated muscles. Landois has noted that the muscles of a man may be made to contract two hours and a half after removal, those of the frog and the tortoise 10 days after. Recently Burrows (1911) has noted a slight increase in the myotomes of the embryo chick after they have been kept for 2 to 6 days in coagulated plasma.

Non-muscular organs may also survive a removal from the parent organism, but the proofs of their survival are more difficult to establish because of the absence of movements. Carrel (1906) grafted fragments of vessels that had been in cold storage for several days upon the course of a vessel of a living animal of the same species; in 1907 he grafted upon the abdominal aorta of a cat a segment of the jugular vein of a dog removed 7 days previously, also a segment of the carotid of a dog removed 20 days before; the circulation was reestablished normally; these experiments have, however, been criticized by Fleig, who thinks that the grafted fragments were dead and served merely as supports and directors for the regeneration of the vessels upon which they were set. In 1909 Carrel removed the left kidney from a bitch, kept it out of the body for 50 minutes, and then replaced it; the extirpation of the other kidney did not cause the death of the animal, which remained for more than a year normal and in good health, thus proving the success of the graft. In 1910 Carrel succeeded with similar experiments on the spleen.

Taken altogether, these experiments show that the greater part, if not all, of the bodily organs are able to survive for more or less time after removal from the organism when favorable conditions are furnished. There is no doubt but what the observed times of survival may be considerably prolonged when we have a better knowledge of the serums that are most favorable and the physical and chemical conditions that are most advantageous.

If we can preserve the organs, we may expect to also keep alive the tissues and cells of which they are composed. Biologists have studied these problems, too, and have also obtained in this department some very interesting results.

The cells which live naturally isolated in the organism, such as the corpuscles of the blood and spermatozoa, were the first studied. Since 1910 experiments on the survival of tissues have multiplied and at the same time more knowledge has been obtained concerning the conditions most favorable to survival and the microscopical appearances of the tissues so preserved. In 1910 Harrison, having placed fragments of an embryo frog in a drop of coagulated lymph taken from an adult, saw them continue their development for several weeks, the muscles and the epithelium differentiating, the nervous rudiments sending out into the lymph filaments similar to nerve fibers. Since 1910 with the aid of Dr. Minot, I have succeeded in preserving alive the nerve cells of the spinal ganglia of adult dogs and rabbits by placing them in defibrinated blood of the same animal, through which there bubbled a current of oxygen. At zero and perhaps better at 15°-20°, the structure of the cells and their colorable substance is preserved without notable change for at least four days; moreover, when the temperature is raised again to 39°, certain of the cells give a proof of their survival by forming new prolongations, often of a monstrous character. At 39° some of the ganglion cells which have been preserved rapidly lose their colorability and then their structure breaks up, but a certain number of the others form numerous outgrowths extremely varied in appearance. We have, besides, studied the influence of isotony, of agitation, and of oxygenation, and these experiments have enabled me to ascertain the best physical conditions required for the survival of nervous tissue. In 1910, Burrows, employing the technique of Harrison, obtained results similar to his with fragments of embryonic chickens. Since 1910 Carrel and Burrows applied the same method to what they call the "culture" of the tissues of the adult dog and rabbit; they have thus preserved and even multiplied cells of cartilage, of the thyroid, the kidney, the bone marrow, the spleen, of cancer, etc. Perhaps Carrel and his collaborators may be criticized for calling "culture" that which is merely a survival, but there still remains in their work a great element of real interest.

Such are, too briefly summarized, the experiments which have been made up to the present time. We can readily imagine the practical consequences which we may very shortly hope to derive from them, and the wonderful applications of them which will follow in the domain of surgery. Without going so far as the dream of Dr. Moreau depicted by Wells, since grafts do not succeed between animals of different species, we may hope that soon, in many cases, the replacing of organs will be no longer impossible, but even easy, thanks to methods of conservation and survival which will enable us to have always at hand material for exchange.

The dream of to-day may be reality to-morrow.

There are also other consequences which will follow from these researches. I hope that they will permit us to study the physical and chemical factors of life under much simpler conditions than heretofore, and it is toward this end that I am directing my researches. They will enable us to approach much nearer the solution of the old insoluble problem of life and death. What indeed is the death of an organism all of whose parts may yet survive for some time?

These, then, are the researches made in this domain, fecund from every point of view, and the great increase in the number of experts who are taking them up, while it is a proof of their interest, gives hope for their rapid progress.

THE FIRST BALKAN WAR A.D. 1912

J. ELLIS BARKER FREDERICK PALMER Prof. STEPHEN P. DUGGAN

Turkey's opéra-bouffe war with Italy in 1911 plunged her into a far more terrible and sanguinary struggle. Seeing her weakness, the little Balkan States seized the opportunity to unite and attack her. Each of the Balkan allies had once been crushed by Turkey and had fought for freedom. Each was jealous and suspicious of all the others. Each people hoped that in the break-up of Turkey their own land would be enlarged. Each saw members of their own race oppressed in the Macedonian region still held by Turkey. In face of their great opportunity, however, all the four States—Bulgaria, Greece, Servia, and Montenegro—hushed their own quarrels and joined in attacking their common enemy.

Of the causes of the war, Mr. J. Ellis Barker, the noted English authority on Turkey, here gives a brief account. The tale of the first glorious campaign, with its big battles of Kirk-Kilesseh and Lule-Burgas, is then told by Mr. Frederick Palmer, the foremost of American war correspondents upon the scene. The confused negotiations for peace are then detailed by Prof. Stephen P. Duggan, our American authority upon the Balkan States.

A short time ago I read an interesting account of Sir Max Waechter's recent journey to the capitals of Turkey and all the other Balkan States. He had visited these towns wit the object of laying before the Sovereigns of the Balkan States and their Ministers proposals for abolishing war by the creation of a European Federation of States. All the Balkan Sovereigns and Ministers whom he had seen had expressed themselves sympathetically and favorably and had agreed to accept the status quo. A month later all the Balkan States were at war; Russia, Austria-Hungary, and Italy were arming, and people were anxiously discussing the possibility of a world war. The sudden transition from peace to war appears inexplicable to those unacquainted with the realities of foreign policy.

In July, 1908, the Turkish Revolution broke out. It was a great and immediate success. Never in the world's history had there been so successful a revolution or one so bloodless. As by magic, Turkey was changed from a medieval State into a modern democracy. The Turkish masses were rejoicing. Old feuds were forgotten. Mohammedans and Christians fraternized. The words Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, Parliamentarism, and Democracy were on all lips. Over night a new Turkey had arisen. Soon the leaders of Young Turkey began to assert the right and claims of the new-born State. We were told that European intervention in the affairs of Turkey would no longer be tolerated, and that those parts of the Turkish Empire which, though nominally subject to the Sultan, were no longer under Turkish control, would have to be handed back. Great Britain was to restore Egypt and Austria-Hungary Bosnia and Herzegovina. Many Englishmen indorsed these claims, and told us that a new era had opened in the East. At that time only a few people ventured to doubt whether the Turkish Revolution would be a lasting success. I think I was the only British publicist who immediately and unhesitatingly foretold that Parliamentary Government in Turkey was bound to be a failure, and that it would inevitably lead to the formation of a Balkan Confederation which would attack Turkey. I said then:

"European Turkey has about 6,000,000 inhabitants, of whom only about one-third are Turks.

"The Young Turks have the choice of two evils. They must either follow a Liberal or a Conservative policy. If they follow a Liberal policy, if they introduce Parliamentary representation, self-government, and majority rule in Turkey in general, and in Macedonia in particular, the Christians will be the majority, and it seems likely that they will then oust the Turkish minority and convert the ruling race into a ruled race. A Liberal policy will, therefore, bring about the rapid disintegration of the Turkish Empire.

"Foreseeing the danger of allowing the alien elements to be further strengthened, many patriotic Turks have demanded that a vigorous Conservative policy should be pursued which will abolish the national differences among the alien races and between the alien races and the Turks. They demand that a Turkish national policy should be initiated, that the aliens should be nationalized in Turkish national schools, that Turkish shall be the language of Turkey, that the Greek, Bulgarian, and other schools shall be closed. Will Bulgaria, Greece, and Servia quietly look on while the work of a generation is being undone? Will the Greeks, Serbs, and Bulgarians residing in Turkey allow themselves to be denationalized more or less forcibly? Besides, can they be denationalized against their will except by destroying the Parliamentary and democratic Government, the Constitution of yesterday, and by reintroducing the ancient absolutism in an aggravated form? Two hundred years ago the Turks could easily have nationalized the alien races by means of the church and the school, but it seems that it is now too late to make an attempt at turning the subject races into Turks.

"In endeavoring to settle the conflicts among the alien nationalities and between the aliens and the Turks, the path of the new Turkish Government will scarcely be smooth. The Balkan States are watching events with attention. Although they congratulated the new Turkish Government, they have no interest in Turkey's regeneration, and they are bound to oppose the Ottomanization of their compatriots in Turkey. Therefore, they may be expected to draw the sword and to face Turkey unitedly if they see their plans of expansion threatened by the nationalization of the alien elements in Turkey."

Unfortunately, my forecast has come true in every particular. The failure of New Turkey was natural. It was unavoidable. Ancient States are ponderous and slow-moving bodies. Their course can be deflected and their character be altered only by gradual evolution, by slow and almost imperceptible changes spread over a long space of time. Democracy, like a tree, is a thing of slow growth, and it requires a congenial soil. It can not be created over night in Turkey, Persia, or China. The attempt to convert an ancient Eastern despotism, firmly established on a theocratic basis, a country in which the Koran and the Multeka are the law of the land, into a Western democracy based on the secular speculations of Rousseau, Montesquieu, Bentham, Mill, and Spencer was ridiculous. The revolution effected only an outward change. It introduced some Western innovations, but altered neither the character of the Government nor that of the people. Turkish Parliamentarism became a sham and a make-believe. The cruel absolutism of Abdul Hamid was speedily followed by the scarcely less cruel absolutism of a secret committee.

The new rulers of the country were mostly very young men, who were conspicuous for their enthusiasm and their daring but not for their judgment and experience. They had picked upon the boulevards and in the Quartier Latin of Paris and in Geneva the sonorous phrases of Western democracy and demagogy, and with these they impressed, not only their fellow citizens, but also the onlookers in Europe. Having obtained power, they embarked upon a campaign of nationalization. However, instead of trying to nationalize the non-Turkish millions slowly and gradually by kind and just treatment coupled with a moderate amount of nationalizing pressure, they began ruthlessly to make war upon the language, and to suppress the churches, schools, and other institutions of the non-Turkish citizens, whom they disarmed and deprived of their ancient rights. The complaints and remonstrances of the persecuted were answered with redoubled persecution, with violence, and with massacre, and soon serious revolts broke out in all parts of the Empire. The Young Turks followed faithfully in Abdul Hamid's footsteps. However, Abdul Hamid was clever enough always to play off one nationality or race against the other. In his Balkan policy, for instance, he encouraged Greek Christians to slay Christian Bulgarians and Servians, and allowed Bulgarian bands to make war upon Servians and Greeks, supporting, on principle, one nationality against the other. But the Young Turks persecuted indiscriminately and simultaneously all non-Turkish races, Albanians, Bulgarians, Servians, and Greeks, and thus they brought about the union of the Balkan States against themselves.

The outbreak of the war could scarcely have been prevented by the European Powers. It was bound to come. It was as inevitable as was the breakdown of the Young Turkish régime. Since the earliest times the Turks have been a race of nomadic warriors. Their policy has always been to conquer nations, to settle among the conquered, and to rule them, keeping them in strict and humiliating subjection. They have always treated the subject peoples harshly and contemptuously. Unlike other conquerors, they have never tried to create among the conquered a great and homogeneous State which would have promised permanence, but, nomad-like, have merely created military settlement among aliens. Therefore, the alien subjects of the Turks have remained aliens in Turkey. They have not become citizens of the Empire. As the Turks did not try to convert the conquered to Islam—the Koran forbids proselytism by force—and to nationalize them, the subjected and ill-treated alien masses never amalgamated with the ruling Turks, but always strove to regain their liberty by rebellion. Owing to the mistakes made in its creation, the Turkish Empire has been for a long time an Empire in the process of disintegration. Its later history consists of a long series of revolts, of which the present outbreak is the latest, but scarcely the last, instance.

The failure of the new Turkish régime has increased to the utmost the century-old antagonism between the ruling Turks and their Christian subjects. The accounts of the sufferings of their brothers across the borderline, inflicted upon them by Constitutional Turkey, which had promised such great things, had raised the indignation of the Balkan peoples to fever heat and had made an explosion of popular fury inevitable. The war fever increased when it was discovered that Servians, Bulgarians, and Greeks were at last of one mind, and that Turkey's strength had been undermined by revolts in all parts of the Empire and by the Turkish-Italian war. The Turks, on the other hand, were not unnaturally indignant with the perfidy of the Christian Powers, which, instead of supporting Turkey in her attempts at reform, had snatched valuable territories from her immediately after her revolution. Not unnaturally, they attributed the failure of the new régime and the revolts of their subjects to the machinations of the Christian States, and the Balkan troubles to the hostile policy of the Balkan States. The tension on both sides became intolerable. If the Balkan States had not mobilized, a revolution would have broken out in Sofia and Belgrade, for the people demanded war. If the Turkish Government had given way to the Balkan States, a revolution would have broken out in Constantinople. The instinct of self-preservation forced the Balkan Governments and Turkey into war. The passions of race-hatred had become uncontrollable.

[Footnote 1: Reprinted by permission from an article in Everybody's
Magazine.]

Against any one of his little Christian neighbors the Turk had superior numbers, and had only to concentrate on a single section of his many-sided frontier line. It had never entered his mind that the little neighbors would form an alliance. He had trusted to their jealousies to keep them apart. United, they could strike him on the front and both sides simultaneously. He was due for an attack coming down the main street and from alleys to the right and left.

In this situation he must temporarily accept the defensive. Meanwhile, he foresaw the battalions of "chocolate soldiers" beating themselves to pieces against the breastworks of his garrisons, and Greek turning on Serb and Serb on Bulgar after a taste of real war. Against divided counsels would be one mind, which, with reenforcements of the faithful from Asia Minor, would send the remnants of the opéra bouffe invasion flying back over their passes.

But the allies fully realized the danger of quarreling among themselves, which would have been much harder to avert if their armies had been acting together as a unit under a single command. Happily, each army was to make a separate campaign under its own generals; each had its own separate task; each was to strike at the force in front of its own borders. Prompt, staggering blows before the Turkish reserves could arrive were essential.

The Montenegrins in the northwest, who had the side-show (while Bulgaria, Servia, and Greece had the three rings under the main tent), did their part when they invested the garrison of Scutari.

Advancing northward, the Greeks, with strong odds in their favor, easily took care of the Turkish force at Elassona and continued their advance toward Salonika.

Advancing southward, the Serbs, one hundred thousand strong (that is, the army of their first line), moved on Kumanova among the hills, where the forty thousand Turks defending the city of Uskub would make their stand as inevitably as a board of army engineers would select Sandy Hook as a site for some of the defenses of New York harbor. Confidently, the Turkish commander staked all on the issue.

The Serbs did not depend alone on mass or envelopment by flank. They murderously and swiftly pressed the attack in the front as well as on the sides; and the cost of victory was seven or eight thousand casualties. Two or three fragments of the Turkish army escaped along the road; otherwise, there was complete disintegration.

Uskub was now undefended. It was the ancient capital of Servia; and the feelings of the Serbs, as they marched in, approximated what ours would be if our battalions were swinging down Pennsylvania Avenue after a Mexican proconsul had occupied the White House for five hundred years. Meanwhile, at Monastir were forty thousand more Turks. So far as helping their comrades at Kumanova was concerned, they might as well have been in jail in Kamchatka. You can imagine them sitting cross-legged, Turkish fashion, waiting their turn. They broke the precedent of Plevna, which the garrisons of Adrianople and Scutari gloriously kept, by yielding rather easily. There must have been a smile on the golden dome of the tomb of Napoleon, who thrashed the armies of Europe in detail.

A Servian division, immediately after Kumanova, started southwest over the mountain passes in the snow and through the valleys in the mud to clinch the great Servian object of the war with the nine points of possession. To young Servia, Durazzo, the port of old Servia, is as water to the gasping fish. It stands for unhampered trade relations with the world; for economic freedom. When that division, ragged and footsore, came at last in sight of the blue Adriatic—well, it may safely be called a historic moment for one little nation.

Now we turn from the side lines, where the Serbs and the Greeks were occupied, to the neck of the funnel through which the Turkish reenforcements from Asia Minor were coming. There the Bulgars had undertaken the great, vital task of the war against the main Turkish army.

The Bulgarian army was little given to gaiety and laughter, but sang the "Shuma Maritza" on the march. This is the song of big men in boots—big white men with set faces—making the thunder of a torrent as they charge. "Roaring Maritza" is the nearest that you can come to putting it into English. The Maritza is the national river, and the song pictures it swollen and rushing in the winter rains or when the snows on the Balkans melt, on its way past the Bulgarian border into Turkey; and the gray army was now to follow it to the Aegean, in the spirit of its flood, and make the harbor at its mouth Bulgarian.

Yes, a gray army, bent on a grim business in a hurry, in gray winter weather and chill mountain mists, with the sun showing through overcast skies—something of the kind of weather that bred the Scotch. Cromwell or Stonewall Jackson would have felt at home, saying his prayers at the double-quick, in such company. As mementos from home, the soldiers wore in their caps and buttonholes withered flowers and sprigs of green which their womenfolk had given in farewell. The women were just as Spartan as the Spartans; perhaps more so. If any soldier lacked innate courage, the spur of public opinion drove him forward in step with his comrades.

Naturally, Bulgarian generalship had to adapt its plan of campaign to the obstacles between it and its adversary. For armies are cumbrous affairs. In all times they have been tied down to roads and bridges. The main highway and the main railway line from Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria, to Constantinople both ran through Adrianople. Nature meant this city, set in a basin among hills, for defense, and for the center of any army defending Thrace. On the near-by hills is a circle of permanent forts that commands all approaches for guns or infantry. In front of it is the turbulent Maritza, and to the northeast lies the town of Kirk-Kilesseh, partly fortified and naturally strong, which formed the Turkish right. The left rested at Demotika, to the south of Adrianople, in a rough country inaccessible to prompt action by a large force.

The Bulgars must turn one wing or the other. Foreign military experts thought that Kirk-Kilesseh could be taken only after a long operation, and then only by a force much larger than the Bulgars could spare for concentration at any one point of the line. Let two weeks pass without a definite victory, and the Turks would have numbers equal to the Bulgars; a month, superior numbers. As it was, the Turks had altogether, including the Adrianople garrison, a hundred and seventy-five thousand men in strong position against the Bulgars' first line of two hundred and eighty thousand.

A branch of the Sofia-Constantinople railway line runs northeast to Yamboli, on the Bulgarian frontier. Between Yamboli and Kirk-Kilesseh is a highway—the Turkish kind of highway—and no unfordable streams or other natural obstacles to an army's progress. At Yamboli the Bulgars concentrated their third army corps, under General Demetrief, and a portion of their second. The rest of the second faced Adrianople, while the first corps operated to the south and east.

Swinging around on Kirk-Kilesseh, the third army would not take "No!" for an answer. The Bulgarian infantry stormed the redoubts in the moonlight. They knew how to use the bayonet and the Turks did not. Skilfully driven steel slaughtered Mohammedan fanaticism that fought with clubbed guns, hands, and teeth, asking no quarter this side of Paradise. Kirk-Kilesseh fell. The Turkish army, flanked, had to go; Adrianople was isolated. The Bulgarian dead on the field could not complain; the wounded were in the rear; the living had burning eyes on the next goal.

"Na noj!" ("Fix bayonets!") had won. "Na noj! Give them the steel!" was the cry of a nation. Soldiers sang it out to one another on the march. Children prattled it at home as if it were a new kind of game:

"Give them the steel and they will go! Nothing can stop Bulgaria!"

Not more than two Bulgarian soldiers out of twenty ever reached the Turk with a bayonet. The Turk did not wait for them. So the bayonet counted no less in the morale of the eighteen than of the two. Frequently they fixed it at a distance of five or six hundred yards. Their desire to use it made them press close at all points with the grim initiative that will not be gainsaid. When they charged, the spirit of cold steel was in their rush.

There was a splendid audacity in General Demetrief's next move after Kirk-Kilesseh. He did not pause to surround Adrianople. To the east was a wide gap in the investing lines. Through this the garrison might have made a sortie with telling effect. But Demetrief knew his enemy. He took it for granted that the garrison was settling itself for a siege. With twelve thousand Turkish reenforcements a day arriving from Asia, even hours counted.

As yet, the Turks were not decisively beaten; only the right that fought at Kirk-Kilesseh had been really demoralized. On the line of Bunar Hissar to Lüle Burgas they formed to receive the second shock. They were given scant time to prepare for it. "Na noj!" For three days this battle, the Waterloo of the war, raged. The advancing Bulgarian infantry went down like ninepins; but it did not give up, for it knew that "they would go when they saw the steel." Again the turning movement in flank crushed in the end. This time the Turkish main army was shattered. It hardly had the cohesiveness of a large mob. It was many little mobs, hungry, staggering on to the rear, where the ravages of cholera awaited.

In two weeks the Bulgars had made their dispositions and fought two battles, each lasting three days. They had advanced seventy-five miles over a rough country where the roads were sloughs. The loss in killed and wounded was sixty thousand; one man out of five was down.

When officers and men had snatched any sleep it was on the rain-soaked earth. The bread in their haversacks was wet and moldy. When they lay in the fire zones they were lucky if they had this to eat. By day they had dug their way, trench by trench, up to the enemy's position, crouching in the mud to keep clear of bullets. By night they had charged. They were an army in a state of auto-intoxication, bent on the one object of driving the Turkish army back to the narrow line of the peninsula. This accomplished, all the isolated forces in European Turkey, whether at distant Scutari or near-by Adrianople, were without hope of relief. The neck of the funnel was closed; the war practically won.

All the world knows now, and the Bulgarian staff must have known at the time, that for a week after Lüle Burgas the utter demoralization of the Turkish retreat left the way open to Constantinople. Why did not General Demetrief go on? Why did that army which had proceeded thus far with such impetuous and irresistible momentum suddenly turn snail?

For the reason that the Marathon winner when he drops across the tape is not good for another mile. The Bulgar was on his stomach in the mud, though he was facing toward the heels of the Turk. Food and ammunition were not up. A fresh force of fifty thousand men following up the victory might easily have made its own terms at the door of Yildiz Palace within three or four days; but there was not even a fresh regiment.

It was three weeks after Lüle Burgas before Demetrief was ready to attack; three weeks, in which the cholera scare had abated, the panic in Constantinople had come and gone, reenforcements had arrived and been organized into a kind of order, while they built fortifications. The Turkish cruisers supported both of Nazim Pasha's flanks with the fire of heavier guns than the Bulgars possessed. There was an approachable Turkish front of only about sixteen miles. Without silencing the Turkish batteries, Demetrief sent his infantry against the redoubts. He lost five or six thousand men without gaining a single fort. Against a stubborn and even semi-intelligent foe there is no storming a narrow frontal line of fortifications when you may not turn the ends.

Adrianople lay across the straight line of transportation by railroad and highway to the peninsula. All munitions for Demetrief's army had to go around it in the miserable, antiquated ox-carts. It was the rock splitting the flood of the Bulgarian advance. While the world was hearing rumors of the city's fall, the truth was that it was not really invested until a month after Lüle Burgas was fought.

For a month the garrison reported to be starving was drawing in supplies from a big section of farming country. When the armistice was signed it still had pasturage within the lines of defense for flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. The problem for the Bulgars first and last was to keep this fact masked and to check the savage sorties and spare all the guns and men they could for the main army. Volunteers from Macedonia still in native dress, clerks still in white collars, old men who had perjured themselves about their age in order to get a rifle, and the young conscripts of twenty years came to take the place of the regular forces on the investing lines, who moved on to re-enforce Demetrief. Fifty thousand Servians, two divisions, were spared after Kumanova, and speeded across Bulgaria on the single-line railway with an amazing rapidity to assist, according to plan, the Bulgars in the investment operations.

To the Turk, Adrianople is a holy city. Here is the most splendid mosque in all the empire, that built by the conqueror Sultan Selim. With the shadow of the minarets over his shoulder, the Turkish private in a trench was ready to die for Allah. But death must come for him. He is not going to hustle intelligently after paradise. In short, he is a sit-and-take-it fighter. While any delay of the Bulgarian advance was invaluable in gaining time, he made no use of his opportunities in a country of hills and transverse valleys and ravines, which nature meant for rear-guard action. A company of infantry posted on a hill could force a regiment to deploy and attack, and a few miles farther on could repeat the process. Cavalry could harass the flanks of the attacking force. Field-guns could get a commanding position above a road, with safe cover for retreat.

At Mustapha Pasha, twenty miles in front of Adrianople, was a solid old stone bridge over the Maritza, whose floods in the winter rains would be a nightmare to engineers who had to maintain a crossing with pontoons. If ever a corps needed a bridge the second Bulgarian corps needed this one. They found that a small and badly placed charge of dynamite had merely knocked out a few stones between two of the buttresses, leaving the bridge intact enough for all the armies of Europe to pass over it; and the Turks did not even put a mitrailleuse behind sandbags in the streets or use field-guns from the adjacent hills to delay the Bulgars in their crossing.

The soldier who is good only for the defensive can never win. What beat the Turk was the Turk himself. His army was in the chaos between old-fashioned organization and an attempt at a modern organization. His generals were divided in their counsels; his junior officers aped the modern officer in form, but lacked application. They had ceased to believe in their religion. Therefore, they did not lead their privates who did believe. In the midst of the war, captains and lieutenants, trustworthy observers tell me, would leave their untrained companies of reservists to march by the road while they themselves rode by train. They took their soldiers' pay. They neglected all the detail which is the very essence of that preparation at the bottom without which no generalship at the top can prevail.

The Bulgarian officers, two-thirds of whom were reservists, enjoyed a comradeship with their men at the same time that discipline was rigid. They believed in their God; at least, in the god of efficiency. They worked hard. They belong in the world of to-day and the Turk does not. Therefore the Turk has to go.

"We will not make peace without Adrianople!" was the cry of every Bulgar. Its possession became a national fetish, no less than naval superiority to the British. Adrianople stood for the real territorial object of the war. It must be the center of any future line of defense against the Turk. Practically its siege was set, once there was stalemate at Tchatalja. With no hope of beating the main Bulgarian army back, there was no hope of relieving the garrison, whose fate was only a matter of time.

At the London Peace Conference the allies stood firm for the possession of Adrianople. The Turkish commissioners, after repeating for six weeks that they would never cede it, had finally agreed to yield on orders from Constantinople, when the young Turks killed Nazim Pasha, the Turkish commander-in-chief, and overthrew the old cabinet. "You can have Adrianople when you take it!" was the defiance of the new cabinet to the allies.

PROF. STEPHEN P. DUGGAN

The Peace Conference came to naught and hostilities were resumed on February 14, 1913, because of the impossibility of agreement between the allies and Turks on three important points: the status of Adrianople, the disposal of the Aegean islands, and the payment of an indemnity by Turkey. Bulgaria and Turkey both maintained that Adrianople was essential to their national safety. Moreover, its possession by Bulgaria was absolutely necessary were she to secure the hegemony in the Balkans at which she aimed. On the other hand, to the Turks, Adrianople is a sacred city around which cluster the most glorious memories of their race. Thus they would yield it only as a last necessity. The ambassadorial conference, anxious to bring to an end a war which was threatening to embroil Austria-Hungary and Russia and desirous also to make the settlement permanent, had already on January 17th in its collective note to the Porte unavailingly recommended to the Porte the cession of Adrianople to the Balkan States.

The question of the Aegean islands presented similar difficulties. They are inhabited almost exclusively by Greeks who demand to be united to the mother country; but Turkey insisted that the possession of some of them (e.g., Imbros, Tenedos, and Lemnos) was necessary to her for the protection of the Dardanelles, since they command the entrance to the straits, while others (e.g., Chios and Mitylene) are part of Asiatic Turkey. The Greeks asserted that to leave any of them to Turkey would cause constant unrest in Greece, and subsequent uprising against Turkey, thus merely repeating the history of Crete. Moreover, the Greeks maintained that they must have the disputed islands because they are the only large and profitable ones; but they expressed a willingness to neutralize them so that the integrity of the Dardanelles would not be endangered. The difficulty was complicated by the retention of a number of the islands by Italy until Turkey should fulfil all the provisions of the Treaty of Lausanne arising from the Tripolitan war. The Greeks asserted that their fleet would have taken all the islands except for the Italian occupation. Moreover, they are suspicious of Italian intentions, especially with regard to Rhodes. The ambassadorial conference in its collective note to the Porte had advised the Porte "to leave to the Powers the task of deciding upon the fate of the islands of the Aegean Sea and the Powers would arrange a settlement of the question which will exclude all menace to the security of Turkey."

The third question in dispute concerned a money indemnity. The war had been a fearful drain upon the resources of the allies. They were determined not to share any of the Ottoman debt and to compel Turkey, if possible, to bear the financial burden of the war. But to yield to this demand would absolutely destroy Turkish credit. This would result in the financial ruin of many of the subjects of the great Powers. Hence this demand of the allies met with scant favor in the ambassadorial conference.

The war dragged on during the entire month of February without changing the relative positions of the belligerents. In the mean time, the relations between Austria-Hungary and Russia were daily becoming more strained. This was due to the determination of Austria-Hungary to prevent Servia from securing a seaboard upon the Adriatic. In the slogan of the allies, "the Balkan peninsula for the Balkan peoples," Austria-Hungary found a principle which could be utilized against their demands. She took the stand that the Albanians are a Balkan people entirely distinct from Slavs and Greeks and particularly unfriendly to the Slavs. It would be as suicidal to place any of the Albanians under the Slavs as to put back any of the Slavs under the Turks. Albania must be an autonomous State; that it may live in peace, it must possess its seaboard intact. In this position Austria-Hungary was seconded by Italy, which has interests in Albania as important as those of Austria-Hungary. Neither State can afford to allow the other to possess the eastern shore of the Adriatic; and both are determined that it shall not fall into the possession of another possibly stronger power.

As early as December 20, 1912, the ambassadors had recommended to their governments, and the latter had accepted, the principle of Albanian autonomy, together with a provision guaranteeing to Servia commercial access to the Adriatic. This had aroused the intense indignation of the Serbs, whose armies, contrary to the express prohibitions of Austria-Hungary, had already occupied Durazzo on the Adriatic and overrun northern Albania. The Serbs denied the right of any State to forbid them to occupy the territory of the enemy whom they had conquered, and Servia sent a detachment of her best troops and some of her largest siege guns to help the Montenegrins take Scutari. Moreover, numerous reports of outrages committed upon Albanians by the "Liberators" in their attempts to convert both Moslem and Catholic Albanians to the orthodox faith reached central Europe and caused great danger in Vienna. Count Berchtold's statement to the Delegations that Austria-Hungary would insist upon territory enough to enable independent Albania to be a stable State with Scutari as the capital, aroused in turn much excitement in Russia. Scutari was the chief goal of Montenegrin ambition. To possess it had been the hope of King Nicholas and his people during his long reign of half a century. To forbid him to possess it would be to deprive him of the fruits of the really heroic sacrifices his people had made during this war. Hence the excitement in all Slavdom. On February 7th Francis Joseph sent Prince Hohenlohe to St. Petersburg with an autograph letter to the Czar which had the good effect of reducing the tension between the two countries.

The ambassadorial conference at London then directed its attention exclusively to settling the status of Albania. After more than a month of acrimonious discussion a settlement was reached on March 26th in which the principle of nationality which had been invoked to justify the creation of an independent Albania was quietly ignored. The conference agreed upon the northern and northeastern boundaries of Albania. In order to carry her point that Scutari must be Albanian, Austria-Hungary agreed that the almost exclusively Albanian towns of Ipek, Djakova, Prizrend, and Dibra should go to the Serbs. On April 1st King Nicholas was notified that the powers had unanimously agreed to blockade his coast if he did not raise the siege of Scutari. His answer was that the proposed action of the powers was a breach of neutrality and that Montenegro would not alter her attitude until she had signed a treaty of peace. At once the warships of all the powers save Russia (which had none in the Mediterranean) engaged in the blockade. On April 15th, owing to the pressure of the powers and to the strained relations that had arisen between Servia and Bulgaria, the Servian troops were recalled from Scutari. Nevertheless the Montenegrins persisted alone and Scutari fell April 22, 1913. Two days later the Austro-Hungarian government demanded that vigorous action be undertaken by the powers to put independent Albania in possession of Scutari according to the agreement of March 26th. At once the greatest excitement prevailed throughout Russia. Street demonstrations against the Austro-Hungarian policy were held in many of the large cities. In Austria-Hungary military preparations became active on a large scale, and on May 1st the Dual Monarchy gave notice that it would undertake individual action should Montenegro not agree to the ultimatum. Italy, which is determined never to permit the Dual Monarchy individual action in Albania, announced that she would support her ally. As the result of all the pressure brought to bear upon him, on May 5th, King Nicholas yielded and placed Scutari in the hands of the powers, just in time, as Sir Edward Grey informed the English House of Commons, to prevent an outbreak of hostilities between Austria-Hungary and Russia.

While the chancelleries of the great powers were thus straining every nerve to agree upon the status of Albania and thereby to prevent a conflict between the two powers most vitally interested, the war between the allies and Turkey was prosecuted during March with greater vigor and with more definite results. On March 5th, Janina surrendered to the Greeks and on March 26th Adrianople fell. The powers had already offered to mediate between the belligerents, and their good offices had been accepted by both sides. The allies at first insisted upon the Rodosto-Malatra line as the western boundary of Turkey, but were informed that the powers would not consent to giving Bulgaria a foothold on the Dardanelles.

After much outcry and violent denunciation by the allies, an armistice was signed at Bulair on April 19th by representatives of all the belligerents except Montenegro, which was thereby only incited to more heroic efforts to capture Scutari. Nevertheless the allies had profited so much by delay in their relations with the powers since the very outbreak of the war that they now hoped to secure advantages by a similar policy, and it was not until May 21st that their representatives reassembled at London. Even then there appeared to be no sincere desire to come to terms, and on May 27th Sir Edward Grey informed the delegates that they would soon lose the confidence of Europe, and that for all that was being accomplished they might as well not be in London. The delegates were very indignant at this strong language, but it had the desired effect, for on May 30, 1913, the Treaty of London was signed by the representatives of all the belligerents. Its principal provisions were those already suggested by the powers, viz.:

(1) The boundary between Turkey and the allies to be a line drawn from Midia to Enos, to be delimited by an international commission:

(2) The boundaries of Albania to be determined by the powers.

(3) Turkey to cede Crete to Greece.

(4) The powers to decide the status of the Aegean islands.

(5) The settlement of all the financial questions arising out of the war to be left to an international commission to meet at Paris.

It was time for a settlement, since the problem was no longer to secure peace between Turkey and the allies, but rather to maintain peace among the allies. The solution of the great problem of the war, the division of the spoils, could no longer be deferred. From the moment that Adrianople had fallen, the troops of Bulgaria, Servia, and Greece maneuvered for position, each state determined to secure possession of as much territory as possible, in the hope that at the final settlement it might retain what it had seized.

HUERTA SEIZES A DICTATORSHIP A.D. 1913

EDWIN EMERSON WILLIAM CAROL

Mexico has loomed large in the affairs of the world during recent years. The overthrow of Diaz in 1911 did not, as the world had hoped, bring into power an earnest and energetic middle class capable of guiding the downtrodden peons into the blessings of civilization. On the contrary, the land passed from the grip of a cruel oligarchy into that of a far more cruel anarchy. Hordes of bandits sprang up everywhere. The new president, Madero, was a philosopher and a patriot. But he failed wholly to get any real grasp of the situation. He was betrayed on every side; rebellion rose all around him; and in his extremity he entrusted his army and his personal safety to the most savage of his secret enemies, General Huerta. Madero died because he was too far in advance of his countrymen to be able to understand them. After that, Huerta sought to reestablish the old Diaz regime of wealth and terrorism; but he only succeeded in plunging the land back into utter barbarism.

The Mexicans are the last large section of the earth's population thus left to rule themselves in savagery. Hence the rest of the world has watched them with eagerness. Europe repeatedly reminded the United States that by her Monroe Doctrine she had assumed the duty of keeping order in America. At last she felt compelled to interfere. The picture of those days of anarchy is here sketched by two eye-witnesses, an Englishman and an American, both fresh from the scene of action.

There is a saying in Mexico that it is much easier to be a successful general than a successful president. Inasmuch as almost all Mexican presidents during the hundred years since Mexico became a Republic, owed their presidency to successful generalship, this saying is significant. At all events, no Mexican general who won his way into the National Palace by his military prowess ever won his way out with credit to himself or to his country.

General Victoriano Huerta, Mexico's latest Interim-President, during the first few months that followed his overthrow of the Madero Government found out to his own cost how much harder it is to rule a people than an army.

As a matter of fact, General Huerta was pushed into his interim-presidency before he really had a fair opportunity to learn how to command an army. At the time he was so suddenly made Chief Magistrate of Mexico he was not commanding the Mexican army, but was merely a recently appointed major-general who happened to command that small fraction of the regular army at the capital which was supposed to have remained loyal to President Madero and his constitutional government. Huerta had been appointed by President Madero to the supreme command of the loyal forces at the capital, numbering barely three thousand soldiers, only a few days before Madero's fall. Even if he had not turned traitor to his commander-in-chief, as he did in the end, Huerta's command of the loyal troops during the ten days' struggle at the capital preceding the fall of the constitutional government could not be described as anything but a dismal failure.

Before considering General Huerta's qualifications as a President, one should know something of his career as a soldier. During the last few years it has repeatedly fallen to my lot to follow General Huerta in the field, so that I have had a fair chance to view some of his soldierly qualities at close hand. I accompanied General Huerta during his campaign through Chihuahua, in 1912, and was present at his famous Battle of Bachimba, near Chihuahua City, on July 3, 1912—the one decisive victory won by General Huerta against the rebel forces of Pascual Orozco. Before this campaign I was in Cuernavaca, in the State of Morelos, during the time when General Huerta had his headquarters there in his campaign against Zapata's bandit hordes in that State after the fall of General Diaz's government.

General Huerta then took charge of the last military escort which accompanied General Porfirio Diaz on his midnight flight from Mexico City to the port of Vera Cruz. During the ten hours' run down to the coast, it may be recalled, the train on which President Diaz and his family rode was held up by rebels in the gray of dawn, and the soldiers of the military escort had to deploy in skirmish order, led by Generals Diaz and Huerta in person; but the affair was over after a few minutes' firing, with no casualties on either side.

Before this eventful year General Huerta had but few opportunities of winning laurels on the field of battle. Having entered the Military Academy of Chapultepec in the early 'seventies under Lerdo de Tejada's presidency, Victoriano Huerta was graduated in 1875, at the age of twenty-one, and was commissioned a second lieutenant of engineers. While still a cadet at Chapultepec he distinguished himself by his predilection for scientific subjects, particularly mathematics and astronomy. During the military rebellion of Oaxaca, when General Diaz rose against President Lerdo, Lieutenant Huerta was engaged in garrison duty, and got no opportunity to enter this campaign.

After General Diaz had come into power and had begun his reorganization of the Mexican army, young Huerta, lately promoted to a captaincy of engineers, came forward with a plan for organizing a General Staff. General Diaz approved of his plans, and Captain Huerta, accordingly, in 1879, became the founder of Mexico's present General Staff Corps. The first work of the new General Staff was to undertake the drawing up of a military map of Mexico on a large scale. The earliest sections of this immense map, on which the Mexican General Staff is still hard at work, were surveyed and drawn up in the State of Vera Cruz, where the Mexican Military Map Commission still has its headquarters. Captain Huerta accompanied the Commission to Jalapa, the capital of the State of Vera Cruz, and served there through a period of eight years, receiving his promotion to major in 1880 and to lieutenant-colonel in 1884. During this time he had charge of all the astronomical work of the Commission, and he also led surveying and exploring parties over the rough mountainous region that extends between the cities of Jalapa and Orizaba. While at Jalapa he married Emilia Aguila, of Mexico City, who bore him three sons and a daughter.

In 1890 Huerta was promoted to a colonelcy and was recalled to Mexico City. As a reward for Indian campaign services Huerta was promoted to the rank of brigadier-general. In Mexico's centennial year of 1910, when Francisco Madero rose in the north, and other parts of the Republic gave signs of disaffection, General Huerta was ordered south to take charge of all the detached Government force in the mountainous State of Guerrero. Almost simultaneously with his arrival in Chilpancingo, the capital of the State of Guerrero, almost the whole south of Mexico rose in rebellion. The military situation there was soon found to be so hopeless that Huerta was recalled to Mexico City.

After General Huerta saw General Porfirio Diaz off to Europe at Vera
Cruz, he returned to the capital and placed himself at the disposition
of Don Francisco L. de la Barra, Mexico's new President ad interim.
President de la Barra dispatched him with a column of soldiers to
Cuernavaca to restore peace.

Huerta placed himself at Señor Madero's complete disposition when the latter was elected and inaugurated as President at Mexico. Madero, for reasons that are self-evident, was anxious to propitiate the military element, and to secure the cooperation of the more experienced officers in the regular army for the better pacification of the country. Accordingly, when Zapata and his bandit hordes gave signs of returning to their old ways, refusing to "stay bought," President Madero sent General Huerta back into Morelos, at the head of a strong force of cavalry, mountain artillery, and machine guns, numbering altogether 3,500 men, with orders to put down Zapata's new rebellion "at any cost." At the same time President Madero induced his former fellow rebel, Ambrosio Figueroa, now Commander-in-Chief of Mexico's rural guards, to cooperate with General Huerta by bringing a mounted force of three thousand rurales from Guerrero into Morelos from the south so as to hem in the Zapatistas between himself and Huerta at Cuernavaca. Figueroa's men, though they had to cover three times the distance, struck the main body of the rebels first and got badly mussed up in the battle that followed. General Huerta's column did not get away from Cuernavaca until the second day of the fight, and did not reach the battlefield in the extinct crater of Mount Herradura until Figueroa's rurales had been all but routed. In the battle that followed, General Huerta succeeded in driving the rebels out of their strong position, but the losses of the federals, owing to their belated arrival and hastily taken positions, were disproportionately heavy.

This affair caused much ill-feeling between the rurales and regulars, and Figueroa sent word to Madero that he could not afford to sacrifice his men by trying to cooperate with such a poor general as Huerta. The much-heralded joint campaign accordingly fell to the ground.

President Madero thereupon recalled General Huerta, and sent General
Robles, of the regular army, to replace him in command. This furnished
Huerta with another grievance against Madero.

Some time afterward I heard General Huerta explain in private conversation to some of his old army comrades that he had been recalled from Morelos because of his sharp military measures against the Zapatistas, owing to President Madero's sentimental preference for dealing leniently with his old Zapatista friends. At the time when General Huerta made this private complaint, however, it was a notorious fact that his successor in Morelos, General Robles, had received public instructions from Madero to deal more severely with the Morelos rebels. General Robles did, as a matter of fact, handle the Morelos rebels far more ruthlessly than Huerta, leading to his own subsequent recall on charges of excessive cruelty.

Meanwhile the Orozco rebellion had arisen in the north, and became so threatening that General Gonzalez Salas, Madero's War Minister, felt called upon to resign his portfolio to take the field against Orozco. General Salas, after organizing a fairly formidable-looking force of 3,500 regulars and three batteries of field artillery at Torreon, rushed into the fray, only to suffer a disgraceful defeat in his first battle at Rellano, in Chihuahua, not far from Torreon. General Salas took his defeat so much to heart that he committed suicide on his way back to Torreon. This, together with the panic-stricken return of his army to Torreon, caused the greatest dismay at the Capital, the inhabitants of which already believed themselves threatened by an irresistible advance of Orozco's rebel followers. None of the federal generals at the front were considered strong enough to stem the tide.

The only available federal general of high rank, who had any experience in commanding large forces in the field, was Victoriano Huerta. President Madero, in his extremity, called upon Huerta to reorganize the badly disordered forces at Torreon, and to take the field against Orozco, "cost what it may." This was toward the end of March, 1912.

General Huerta, whom the army had come to regard as "shelved," lost no time in getting to Torreon. There he soon found that the situation was by no means so black as it had been painted—General Trucy Aubert, who had been cut off with one of the columns of the army, having cleverly extricated his force from its dangerous predicament so as to bring it safely back to the base at Torreon without undue loss of men or prestige.

Thenceforth no expense was saved by General Huerta in bringing the army to better fighting efficiency. Heavy reenforcements of regulars, especially of field artillery, were rushed to Torreon from the Capital, and large bodies of volunteers and irregulars were sent after them from all parts of the Republic.

President Madero had said: "Let it cost what it may"; so all the preparation went forward regardless of cost. "Hang the expense!" became the blithe motto of the army.

When General Huerta at last took the field against Orozco, early in May, his federal army, now swelled to more than six thousand men and twenty pieces of field artillery, moved to the front in a column of eleven long railway trains, each numbering from forty to sixty cars, loaded down with army supplies and munitions of all kinds, besides a horde of several thousand camp followers, women, sutlers, and other non-combatants. The entire column stretched over a distance of more than four miles. The transportation and sustenance of this unwieldy column, which had to carry its own supply of drinking water, it was estimated, cost the Mexican Government nearly 350,000 pesos per day. Its progress was exasperatingly slow, owing to the fact that the Mexican Central Railway, which was Huerta's only chosen line of advance, had to be repaired almost rail by rail.

After more than a fortnight's slow progress, General Huerta struck Orozco's forces at Conejos, in Chihuahua, near the branch line running out to the American mines at Mapimi. Orozco's forces, finding themselves heavily outnumbered and overmatched in artillery, hastily evacuated Conejos, retreating northward up the railway line by means of some half-dozen railway trains. Several weeks more passed before Huerta again struck Orozco's forces at Rellano, in Chihuahua, close to the former battlefield, along the railway, where his predecessor, General Gonzalez Salas, had come to grief. This was in June.

Huerta, with nearly twice as many men and three times as much artillery, drove Orozco back along the line of the railway after a two days' long-range artillery bombardment, against which the rebels were powerless. This battle, in which the combined losses in dead and wounded on both sides were less than 200, was described in General Huerta's official report as "more terrific than any battle that had been fought in the Western Hemisphere during the last fifty years." In his last triumphant bulletin from the field, General Huerta telegraphed to President Madero that his brave men had driven the enemy from the heights with a final fierce bayonet charge, and that their bugle blasts of victory could be heard even then on the crest.

Pascual Orozco, on the other hand, reported to the revolutionary Junta in El Paso that he had ordered his men to retire before the superior force of the federals, and that they had accomplished this without disorder by the simple process of boarding their waiting trains and steaming slowly off to the north, destroying the bridges and culverts behind him as they went along. One of my fellow war correspondents, who served on the rebel side during this battle, afterward told me that the federals, whose bugle calls Huerta heard on the heights, did not get up to this position until two days after the rebels had abandoned their trenches along the crest.

The subsequent advance of the federals from Rellano to the town of Jimenez, Orozco's old headquarters, which had been evacuated by him without firing a shot, lasted another week.

Here Huerta's army camped for another week. At Jimenez the long-brewing unpleasantness between Huerta's regular officers and some of Madero's bandit friends, commanding forces of irregular cavalry, came to a head. The most noted of these former guerrilla chieftains was Francisco Villa, an old-time bandit, who now rejoiced in the honorary rank of a Colonel. Villa had appropriated a splendid Arab stallion, originally imported by a Spanish horse-breeder with a ranch near Chihuahua City. General Huerta coveted this horse, and one day, after an unusually lively carouse at general headquarters, he sent a squad of soldiers to bring the horse out of Villa's corral to his own stable. The old bandit took offense at this, and came stalking into headquarters to make a personal remonstrance. He was put under arrest, and Huerta forthwith sentenced him to be shot. That same day the sentence was to be put into execution. Villa was already facing the firing squad, and the officer in charge had given the command to load, when President Madero's brother, Emilio, who was serving on Huerta's staff in an advisory capacity, put a stop to the execution by taking Villa under his personal protection. President Madero was telegraphed to, and immediately replied, reprieving Villa's sentence, and ordering him to be sent to Mexico City pending further official investigation.

This act of interference infuriated Huerta. For the moment he had to content himself with formulating a long string of serious charges against Villa, ranging from military insubordination to burglary, highway robbery, and rape. It was even given out at headquarters that Villa had struck his commanding general.

Huerta never forgave the Madero brothers for their part in this affair,
and his resentment was fanned to white heat, subsequently, when
Francisco Villa was allowed to escape scot-free from his prison in
Mexico City.

Meanwhile Huerta kept telegraphing to President Madero for more reenforcements of men, munitions, and supplies, more engines, more railway trains and tank cars, and, above all, for more artillery. Madero kept sending them, though it cost his Government a new loan of forty million dollars. Every other day or so a new train, with fresh supplies, arrived at the front.

At the end of several more weeks, when Orozco had slowly retreated half-way through the State of Chihuahua, and when he found that the destruction of the big seven-span bridge over the Conchos River at Santa Rosalia did not permanently stop Huerta's advance, he reluctantly decided to make another stand at the deep cut of Bachimba, just south of Chihuahua City. This was in July.

By this time General Huerta's Federal column had swelled to 7,500 fighting men, 20 pieces of field artillery, 30 machine guns, and some 7,500 camp-followers and women, making a total of more than 15,000 persons of all sexes and ages, who were being carried along on more than twenty railroad trains, stretching over a dozen miles of single track. The column was so long that some of my companions and I, when we climbed a high hill near the front end of the column at Bachimba, found it impossible to discern the tail end through our field-glasses. All the hungry people that were being carried on all those twenty railroad trains had to be fed, of course, so that none of us were surprised to read in the Mexican newspapers that the Chihuahua campaign was now costing Madero's Government nearly 500,000 pesos per day.

The battle at Bachimba must have swelled this budget. During this one day's fight nearly two million rifle cartridges and more than 10,000 artillery projectiles were fired away by the Federals. Huerta's twenty pieces of field artillery, neatly posted in a straight line on the open plain, barely half a mile away from his ammunition railway train, kept firing at the supposed rebel positions all day long without any appreciable interruption, and all day long the artillery caissons and limbers kept trotting to and fro between the batteries and ammunition cars. Orozco had but 3,000 men with two pieces of so-called artillery, with gun barrels improvised from railroad axles, so he once more ordered a general retreat by way of his railroad trains, waiting at a convenient distance on a bend of the road behind the intervening hills. As at Rellano, at Conejos, and at other places in the campaign where the railroad swept in big bends around the hills, no attempt was made on the Federal side to cut off the rebels' retreat by short-cut flanking movements of cavalry, of which Huerta had more than he could conveniently use, or chose to use. The whole ten hours' bombardment and rifle fire resulted in but fourteen dead rebels; but it won the campaign for the Government, and earned for Huerta his promotion to Major-General besides the proud title of "Hero of Bachimba."

President Madero and his anxious Government associates were more than glad to receive the tidings of this "decisive victory." The only trouble was that it did not decide anything in particular. Orozco and his followers, while evacuating the capital of Chihuahua, kept on wrecking railway property between Chihuahua City and Juarez, and the campaign kept growing more expensive every day.

It took Huerta from July until August to work his slow way from the center of Chihuahua to Ciudad Juarez on the northern frontier. Before he reached this goal, though, the rebels had split into many smaller detachments, some of which cut his communications in the rear, while others harried his flanks with guerrilla tactics and threatened to carry the "war" into the neighboring State of Sonora. So far as the trouble and expense to the Federal Government was concerned this guerrilla warfare was far worse than the preceding slow but sure railway campaign. General Huerta himself, who was threatened with the loss of his eyesight from cataract, gave up trying to pursue the fleeing rebel detachments in person, but kept close to his comfortable headquarters in Ciudad Juarez and Chihuahua City. This unsatisfactory condition of affairs gave promise of enduring indefinitely, until President Madero in Mexico City, whose Government had to bear the financial brunt of it all, suddenly lost his patience and recalled Huerta to the capital, leaving the command in General Rabago's hands.

For reasons that were never quite fathomed by Madero's Government, Huerta took his time about obeying these orders. Thus, he lingered first at Ciudad Juarez, then at Chihuahua City, then at Santa Rosalía, next at Jimenez, and presently at Torreon, where he remained for over a week, apparently sulking in his tent like Achilles. This gave rise to grave suspicions, and rumors flew all over Mexico that Huerta was about to make common cause with Orozco. President Madero himself, at this time, told a friend of mine that he was afraid Huerta was going to turn traitor. About the same time, at a diplomatic reception, President Madero stated openly to Ambassador Wilson that he had reasons to suspect Huerta's loyalty. At length, however, General Huerta appeared at the capital, and after a somewhat chilly interview with the President, obtained a suspension from duty so that he might have his eyes treated by a specialist.

Thus it happened that Huerta, who was nearly blind then, escaped being drawn into the sudden military movements that grew out of General Felix Diaz's unexpected revolt and temporary capture of the port of Vera Cruz last October.

General Huerta's part in Felix Diaz's second revolution, four months later, is almost too recent to have been forgotten. He was the senior ranking general at the capital when the rebellion broke out, and was summoned to his post of duty by President Madero from the very first. He accompanied Madero in his celebrated ride from Chapultepec Castle to the National Palace on the morning of the first day of the famous "Ten Days," and was put in supreme command of the forces of the Government after the first hurried council of war. President Madero, totally lacking in military professional knowledge as he was, confided the entire conduct of the necessary war measures to General Huerta; but it soon became apparent that the old General either could not or would not direct any energetic offensive movement against the rebels. From the very first the Government committed the fatal blunder of letting the rebels slowly proceed to the Citadel—a fortified military arsenal—the retention of which was of paramount importance, without even attempting to intercept their roundabout march or to frustrate their belated entry into the poorly guarded Citadel. Later, when it became clear that the rebels could not be dislodged from this stronghold by street rushes, no attempt was made to shell them out of their strong position by a high-angle bombardment of plunging explosive shells.

After it was all over General Huerta explained the ill-success of his military measures during the ten days' street-fighting by saying that President Madero was a madman who had spoiled all Huerta's military plans and measures by utterly impracticable counter-orders. At the time, though, it was given out officially that Huerta had been placed in absolute, unrestricted command. When the American Ambassador, toward the close of the long bombardment, appealed to President Madero to remove some Federal batteries, the fire from which threatened the foreign quarter of Mexico City, President Madero replied that he had nothing to do with the military dispositions, and referred the Ambassador to General Huerta, who promptly acceded to the request. On another occasion, later in the bombardment, when Madero insisted that the Federal artillery should use explosive shells against the Citadel, General Huerta did not hesitate to take it upon himself to countermand the President's suggestions to Colonel Navarrete, the Federal chief of artillery. Afterward General Navarrete admitted in a speech at a military banquet that his Federal artillery "could have reduced the Citadel in short order had this really been desired."

Whether General Huerta was really able to win or not is beside the issue, since the final turn of events plainly revealed that his heart was not in the fight, and that he was only waiting for a favorable moment to turn against Madero. Before General Blanquet with his supposed relief column was allowed to enter the city, General Huerta had a private conference with Blanquet. This conference sealed Madero's doom. Later, after Blanquet's forces had been admitted to the Palace, on Huerta's assurances to the President that Blanquet was loyal to the Government, it was agreed between the two generals that Blanquet should make sure of the person of the President, while Huerta would personally capture the President's brother, Gustavo, with whom he was to dine that day. The plot was carried out to the letter.

When Huerta put Gustavo Madero under arrest, still sitting at the table where Huerta had been his guest, Huerta sought to palliate his action by claiming that Gustavo Madero had tried to poison him by putting "knock-out" drops into Huerta's after-dinner brandy. At the same time Huerta claimed that President Madero had tried to have him assassinated, on the day before, by leading Huerta to a window in the Palace, which an instant afterward was shattered by a rifle bullet from outside.

Neither of the two prisoners ever had a chance to defend themselves against these charges, for Gustavo Madero on the night following his arrest was shot to death by a squad of soldiers in the garden of the Citadel, and President Madero met a similar fate a few nights afterward. General Huerta, who by this time had got himself officially recognized as President, gave out an official statement from the Palace pretending that Gustavo Madero had lost his life while attempting to escape, and that his brother, the President, had been accidentally shot by some of his own friends who were trying to rescue him from his guard.

Few people in Mexico were inclined to believe this official version. Yet the murder of the two Maderos, and of Vice-President Pino Suarez, as well as the subsequent killing of other prisoners, like Governor Abraham Gonzalez, of Chihuahua, was condoned by many in Mexico on the ground that these men, if allowed to remain alive, were bound to make serious trouble for the new Government. It was generally hoped, at the same time, even by those who condemned these murders as barbarous, that General Huerta might still prove himself a wise and able ruler, no matter how severe.

These fond hopes were changed to gloomy foreboding only a few weeks after Huerta's assumption of the presidency, when he was seen to surround himself with notorious wasters of all kinds, and when he was seen to fall into Madero's old error of extending the "glad hand" to unrepentant rebels and bandits like Orozco, Cheche Campos, Tuerto Morales, and Salgado.

Victoriano Huerta, whether he be considered as a general or as a president, can be expressed in one phrase: He is an Indian.

Huerta himself proudly says that he is a pure-blooded Aztec. His friends claim for him that he has the virtues of an Indian—courage, patience, endurance, and dignified reserve. His enemies, on the other hand, profess to see in him some of the vices of Indian blood.

From what I have seen of General Huerta in the field, in private life, and as a President, I would say that he combines in himself both the virtues and the faults of his race. In battle I have seen him expose himself with a courage worthy of the best Indian traditions; nor have I ever heard it intimated by any one that he was a coward. One of his strong points as a commander was that he was a man of few words. On the other hand, his own soldiers at the front hailed him as a stern and cruel leader; and some of the things that were done to his prisoners of war at the front were enough to curdle any one's blood.

It was during a moment of conviviality that General Huerta once revealed his true sentiments toward the United States and ourselves. This was during a banquet given in his honor at Mexico City on the eve of his departure to the front in Chihuahua. On this occasion an Englishman, who had long been on terms of intimacy with Huerta, asked the General what he would do if northern Mexico should secede to the United States and the Americans should take a hand in the fray. This question aroused General Huerta to the following extemporary speech:

"I am not afraid of the gringoes. Why should I be? No good Mexican need be afraid of the gringoes. If it had not been for the treachery of President Santa Anna, who sold himself to the United States in 1847, we should have beaten the Yankees then, as we surely shall beat them the next time. Let them cross the Rio Bravo! We will send them back with bloody heads.

"We Mexicans need not be afraid of any foreign nation. Did we not beat the Spaniards? Did we not also beat the French, and the Austrians, and the Belgians, and all the other foreign adventurers who came with Maximilian? In the same way we would have beaten the gringoes had we had a fair chance at them. The Texans, who beat Santa Anna, at San Jacinto, you must know, were not gringoes, but brother Mexicans, of whom we have reason to be proud.

"To my mind, there are only two real nations in the world, besides our old Aztec nation. Those nations are England and Japan.

"All the others can not properly be called nations; least of all the United States, which is a mere hodge-podge of other nations. One of these days England and Japan and Mexico will get together, and after that there will be an end to the United States."

[Footnote 1: Reproduced in condensed form from The World's Work by the kind permission of Doubleday, Page & Co.]

In order to understand the situation in Mexico, it is necessary to get firmly in our minds that there are in reality two Mexicos. One may be called American Mexico and the other Mexican Mexico.

The representative of the new, half-formed northern or American Mexico was Francisco Madero—rich, educated, well mannered, honest, and idealistically inclined. The representative of the old Mexico is Huerta—"rough, plain, old Indian," as he describes himself, pugnacious, crafty, ignorant of political amenities, without understanding of any rule except the rule of blood and powder.

By the law of 1894 Diaz changed the character of the land titles in Mexico. Many smaller landowners, unable to prove their titles under the new system, lost their holdings, which in large measure eventually fell into the hands of a few rich men. In the feudal south this did not cause so much disturbance. But in the north the growing middle class bitterly resented it. Madero became the spokesman of this discontent. In his books and in his program of reform, "the plan of San Luis Potosi," he attacked the Diaz regime. And then in 1910 he joined the rebel band organized by Pascual Orozco in the mountains of Chihuahua. With his weakened army Diaz was unable to cope with this revolution, and in October, 1911, Madero became President.

The country was then at peace, except for the band of robbers led by Zapata in the provinces of Morelos and Guerrero. These are and have been the most atrocious of the many bandits with which Mexico is infested. No outrage or barbarity known to savages have they left untried. Madero attempted to buy them off, but to no avail. He then sent military forces against them, one column commanded by General Huerta, but with no success.

In the mean time, Pascual Orozco, who emerged from the Madero revolution as a great war hero in his own State, was given no post of responsibility under the new Government, but was left as commander of the militia in the State of Chihuahua. The adherents of the old Diaz régime took this opportunity to win him over to their side, for Orozco's fighting was done purely for profit, not for principle. A reactionary movement, with Orozco at its head, broke out in February, 1912. Five thousand men were quickly got together. The Madero Administration—a Northern Administration in the Southern country—was not fully organized, and, with the army not yet rehabilitated, found itself seriously embarrassed. Had Orozco been an intelligent and competent leader he probably could have marched straight through to Mexico City at that time, as the only governmental troops that were available to fight him were only about sixteen hundred, which he defeated and nearly annihilated at Rellano in Chihuahua. Their commander, General Gonzalez Salas, Madero's war minister, committed suicide after the defeat.

The only general available at the time who had had experience in handling large forces in the field was Victoriano Huerta. Although he had never especially distinguished himself, Huerta's record shows that he was one of the most progressive members of the army.

Huerta's column encountered little resistance. Chihuahua City was occupied on July 7th, and later, Juarez. The rebels were not pursued to any extent away from the railroads. They separated into bands, keeping up a guerrilla warfare, raiding American mining camps and ranches, and seizing and holding Americans and others for ransom. Prominent among these leaders of banditti was Inez Salazar, a former rock driller in an American mine, who raised a force in Chihuahua and declared against Madero. Little was done to destroy these rebel bands by the Federals, and no engagements of any size took place. In fact, it was a current rumor that the Federals did not wish to put them down. In the first place, the regular army was the same old Diaz organization which considered Madero largely as a usurper and which remained with the established Government in a rather lukewarm manner. Besides, the bands of Orozco, Salazar, and others were instigated and supported by the adherents of the old regime, and, although opposed to the Mexican army, both had many ideas in common regarding the Madero Administration. Furthermore, the officers and men of the army were receiving large increases of pay for the campaign.

An instance showing this disposition on the part of the Federals occurred in the State of Sonora in October, 1912. General Obregon, now the commander of the Sonora State forces, was at that time a colonel of the army and had his battalion, composed largely of Maya Indians, at Agua Prietá, just across the border from Douglas, Ariz. Salazar's band of rebels had crossed the mountains from Chihuahua and had come into Sonora. Popular clamor forced the Federal commander at Agua Prietá to do something, and accordingly he ordered Obregon to take his battalion, proceed south, get in touch with Salazar, and "remain in observation." Salazar was looting the ranch of a friend of Obregon's near Fronteras. The rebel had taken no means to secure his bivouac against surprise; his men were scattered around engaged in slaughtering cattle, cooking, and making camp for the night. Obregon deployed his force and charged Salazar's camp. Forty of Salazar's men were killed, and a machine gun and a number of horses, mules, and rifles were captured; whereupon Salazar left that part of the country. Upon Obregon's return to Agua Prietá he was severely reprimanded and nearly court-martialed for disobeying his orders in not "remaining in observation" of Salazar, and attacking him instead. Had Obregon been given a free hand, he undoubtedly could have destroyed Salazar's force.

After Salazar's defeat at Fronteras, he moved east again, and about a month later appeared near Palomas, a town about three miles from the international boundary south of Columbus, N.M. At Palomas there was a Federal detachment of about one hundred and thirty men under an old colonel. They had been sent there to protect various cattle interests in that vicinity; and they had a considerable amount of money, equipment, and ammunition for maintaining and providing rations and forage for themselves and for some outlying detachments. Salazar, hearing of this, demanded that the money and equipment be immediately surrendered. Upon being refused, Salazar, with about three hundred and fifty men, attacked. A furious battle was fought, ending in a house-to-house fight with grenades—cans filled with dynamite, with fuse attached, which are thrown by hand. Salazar's force captured the town after the Federals had suffered more than 50 per cent. in casualties, including the Federal commander, who was wounded several times; the rebels suffered more than 30 per cent. casualties. The town, in the mean time, was wrecked. This particular instance shows that the Mexicans fight and fight well from a standpoint of physical courage. The general idea that the Mexicans would not fight, which Americans obtained during this period, was obtained because they did not care to in the majority of cases.

Meanwhile, General Huerta, having "finished" his Chihuahua campaign in the autumn of 1912, was promoted to the rank of General of Division (Major-General) and decorated for his achievement. It was rumored in many places at that time that General Huerta was about to turn against the Madero Government. Madero, suspecting his loyalty, ordered him back to Mexico City. Huerta took his time about obeying this order, and, when he reported in Mexico City, obtained a sick-leave to have his eyes treated. Huerta was nearly blind when Felix Diaz's revolt broke out in Vera Cruz in October, 1912, and probably thus escaped being drawn into that unsuccessful demonstration.

From this time until the coup d'etat of February 8, 1913, there was no large organized resistance to the Madero Administration, although banditism increased at an alarming rate in all parts of the Republic. The Diaz-Reyes outburst, in Mexico City on February 8, 1913, which resulted in the death of Madero and Suarez and the elevation of Huerta to practical military dictatorship, was brought about by the adherents of the old regime, who looked upon Madero's extinction as a punishment meted out to a criminal who had raised the slaves against their masters. This view prevailed to a considerable extent in Mexico south of San Luis Potosi. In the North, however, the people almost as a whole (at least 90 per cent. in Sonera, and only to a slightly lesser extent in the other provinces) saw in it the cold-blooded murder of their political idol at the hands of unscrupulous moneyed interests and of adherents of the old regime of the days of Porfirio Diaz.

The resentment was general in the North—this new, largely Americanized North, Venustiano Carranza, the governor of Coahuila, organized the resistance in the provinces of Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas, while Maytorena, the governor of Sonora, and Pesqueira (later in Washington, D.C., as Carranza's representative), with Obregon as the head of their military forces, rapidly cleared that State of Federals, with the exception of the port of Guaymas. These fights were no mere bloodless affairs, but stubbornly contested, with heavy casualties, as a decided principle was involved in the conflict. Villa, the old bandit and personal enemy of Huerta, organized a force in Sonora, and Urbina did likewise in northern Durango. Arms, and especially money to buy them with, were hard to get. Funds were obtained from the tariff at ports of entry, internal taxation, amounting at times to practical confiscation, contributions, and gifts from various sources. It is said that the Madero family put aside $1,000,000, gold, for this purpose.

Though a few individuals went over to the Constitutionalist cause, the Mexican regular army remained true to the ad interim Government. The revolutionists either held or rapidly possessed themselves of the great railroad lines in the majority of cases. Huerta, who is an excellent organizer, soon appreciated the magnitude of the revolt and rushed troops to the north as rapidly as possible, his strategy being to hold all railroad lines and cities with strong columns which would force the revolutionists to operate in the intervals between the railroads. Then Huerta, with these columns as a supporting framework, pushed out mobile columns for the destruction of the rebel bands.

The Carranzistas understood this plan and, to meet it, tore up all the railroads that they could and adopted as their fixed plan never to risk a general engagement of a large force. For the first few months, the rebels, who had adopted the name of Constitutionalists, continued recruiting their forces and destroying the railroads. The Federals tried to repair the railroads and get enough troops into the north to cope with this movement. They obtained new military equipment of all descriptions, the army was increased, and old rebels, such as Orozco and Salazar, sympathizers or tools of the old régime, were taken into the Federal forces as irregulars and given commands.

To understand the apparent slowness of the Federals in moving from place to place and their inability to pursue the rebels away from the railroads, some idea must be given as to their system of operating. The officers of the regular army are well instructed and quite competent. The enlisted men, however, come from the lowest strata of society, and, except in the case of a foreign war, have to be impressed into the ranks. They bring their women with them to act as cooks and to transport their food and camp equipage. Military transportation, that is to say, baggage trains of four-mule wagons and excellent horses for the artillery, does not exist in the Mexican army. In fact, when away from a railroad, the "soldaderas," as the women are called, carry nearly everything; and they obtain the food necessary for the soldiers' rations. A commissariat, as we understand it, does not exist. This ties the Federals to the railroads, as they can not carry enough ammunition and food for any length of time.

On the other hand, those who first saw Obregon's rebel forces in Sonora and Villa's in Chihuahua were surprised at their organization. There were no women taken with them. They had wagons, regular issues of rations and ammunition, a paymaster, and the men were well mounted and armed.

With Obregon, also, were regiments of Yaqui Indians, who are excellent fighting material. These forces were mobile, and could easily operate away from the railroad. They lacked artillery, without which they were greatly handicapped, especially in the attack on fortified places and on stone or adobe towns. As most of the horses and mules were driven away from the railroads, the insurgents could get all the animals they wanted.

The first large battle occurred on May 9-10-11-12th outside of Guaymas, between Ojeda's Federals and Obregon's Constitutionalists, at a place called Santa Rosa. The Federal advance north consisted of about twelve hundred men and eighteen pieces of artillery. They were opposed by about four thousand men under Obregon, without artillery. Eight hundred Federals were killed and all their artillery captured. The Constitutionalists lost two hundred and fifty men killed and wounded. Comparatively few Federals returned to Guaymas. Each side killed all the wounded that they found, and also all captives who refused to enlist in the captor's force. This success was not followed up and Guaymas remained in the hands of the Federals. The artillery captured by the Constitutionalists had had the breech blocks removed to render them unserviceable; new ones, however, were made in the shops at Cananca by a German mechanician named Klaus.

In the summer, Urbina captured the city of Durango, annihilating the Federals. The city was given over to loot and the greatest excesses were indulged in by the victors. Arson, rape, and the robbing of banks, stores, and private houses were indiscriminately carried on. Horses were stabled in the parlors of the homes of the prosperous citizens, and many non-combatants were killed by the soldiers before order was restored.

At this time the only points held by the Federals on the boundary between the United States and Mexico were Juarez, in Chihuahua, and Nuevo Laredo, in Tamaulipas. The railroads south of these points were also in the physical possession of the Federals but subject to continual interruption at the hands of the Constitutionalists. Venustiano Carranza had established headquarters at Ciudad Porfirio Diaz (Piedras Negras) across the Rio Grande from Eagle Pass, Tex. He started on a trip, during the late summer, through the northern provinces to confer with the leaders of the Constitutionalist movement in order to bring about better coordination of effort on their part. He went through the States of Coahuila, Durango, Chihuahua, and Sonora and established a new headquarters in Sonora. Since then the efforts of the Constitutionalists have been much better coordinated, with the result that they have had much better success.

Jesus Carranza and Pablo Gonzalez were left in charge at Ciudad Porfirio Diaz by Venustiano Carranza when he left on his trip. Shortly after this a Federal column was organized under General Maas for the capture of the railroad between Saltillo and Ciudad Porfirio Diaz. This column slowly worked its way to Monclova and then to Ciudad Porfirio Diaz, which it occupied on October 7th; the Constitutionalists ripped up the railroad and destroyed everything that might be useful to the Federals and a good deal that could not, and offered very little resistance. Villa, in the mean time, having been reenforced by men from Durango and some from Sonora, had been operating in Chihuahua with considerable success. He had fallen on several small Federal columns, destroyed them, and obtained about six pieces of artillery, besides a fresh supply of rifles and ammunition. In September, he had interposed his force between the Federals at Chihuahua City and Torreon, at a place called Santa Rosalía. Villa and the Federals each had about four thousand men. The Federals from the south were making a determined attempt to retake Durango and had started two columns for Torreon of more than two thousand men each, one west from Saltillo, another north from Zacatecas. These had to repair the railroad as they went. Torreon was being held by about one thousand Federal soldiers.

Villa was well informed of these movements, and also of the fact that, in their anxiety to take Durango, a Federal force of about 800 men, under General Alvirez, was to leave Torreon before the arrival of the Saltillo and Zacatecas columns. Having the inner line, Villa with his mobile force could maneuver freely against any one of these. He accordingly left a rear guard in front of the Federals at Santa Rosalía, and, marching south rapidly, met and completely defeated General Alvirez's Federal column about eighteen miles west of Torreon, near the town of Aviles. General Alvirez and 287 of his men were killed, fighting to the last.

Villa then turned toward Torreon. The "soldaderas" of Alvirez's force had escaped when the fight at Aviles began and reached Torreon, quickly spreading the news. The Federal officer in command attempted to round them up, but to no avail, and Torreon's weak garrison became panic stricken, put up a feeble resistance, and evacuated the town. Villa occupied it on the night of October 1st. He sent his mounted troops against the Federal columns from Saltillo and Zacatecas, tearing up the railroad around them, until they both retreated. He maintained splendid order in Torreon; sent a detachment of one officer and twenty-five men to the American consul to protect American interests, and stationed patrols throughout the city with orders to shoot all looters. At first, a few stores containing provisions and clothing were looted, and some Spaniards who were supposed to be aiding the Federals were killed, but the pillaging soon stopped. Villa's occupation of Torreon thus contrasted strikingly with Urbina's occupation of Durango.

The capture of Torreon made precarious the military position of the Federals in Chihuahua, as Torreon was their principal supply point. When Villa's advance reached Santa Rosalía, the Federals evacuated their fortified position at that place and concentrated all available troops at Chihuahua City. They expected that a decided attempt would be made by Villa to take it. The Federals did succeed in repelling small attacks against Chihuahua on November 6th-9th and, to strengthen their garrison, they reduced the troops in Juarez until only 400 remained. Villa, while keeping up the investment of Chihuahua City, prepared a force for a dash on Juarez, and on the night of November 14th-15th the Federal garrison at that place was completely surprised and the city was captured.

These are the main events (to December 1st) that marked this chapter in the inevitable struggle between the new Mexico and the old, before the United States by interfering actively in the tumult changed the entire character of the war. The Carranza practise of killing the wounded shows that even the North has much to learn in civilized methods of warfare. On the other hand, the self-restraint exercised, in many cases, against looting captured towns, indicates that progress has been made. This account also indicates that the new Mexico, in aims as well as in material things, is getting the upper hand.

THE FORCES OF CHANGE DOMINATE AMERICA A.D. 1913

WOODROW WILSON

On March 4, 1913, Woodrow Wilson was inaugurated as President of the United States, and thus became the central figure of a new and tremendously important movement. He was, it is true, elected as the candidate of what is known as the Democratic party, which has existed since the days of Thomas Jefferson. But the ideas advanced by President Wilson as being democratic were so different from the original theories and policies of Jefferson that President Wilson himself felt called on to formulate his principles in a now celebrated work entitled "The New Freedom." From the opening pages of this, as originally published in The World's Work, we here, by permission of both the President and the magazine, give his own statement of the ideas of the new era.

The voting body of Americans who stand behind President Wilson are obviously of the type now generally called progressive. In the convention which nominated him, the conservative element of the old Democracy struggled long and bitterly against the naming of any "progressive" candidate. In the Republican party, the strife between conservatism and progress was so bitter as to produce a complete split; and the progressives nominated a candidate of their own, preferring, if they could not control the government themselves, to hand it over to the progressive element among the Democrats. The former political parties in the United States seem to have been so completely disrupted by recent events that even though they continue to hold some power under the old names, they now stand for wholly different things. The two parties which in the triangular presidential contest polled the largest numbers of votes were both "progressive."

So it seems settled that we are to "progress." But whither—and into what? Is there any clear purpose before our new leaders, and how does it differ from mankind's former purposes? That is what President Wilson tries to tell us.

There is one great basic fact which underlies all the questions that are discussed on the political platform at the present moment. That singular fact is that nothing is done in this country as it was done twenty years ago.

We are in the presence of a new organization of society. Our life has broken away from the past. The life of America is not the life that it was twenty years ago; it is not the life that it was ten years ago. We have changed our economic conditions, absolutely, from top to bottom; and, with our economic society, the organization of our life. The old political formulae do not fit the present problems; they read now like documents taken out of a forgotten age. The older cries sound as if they belonged to a past age which men have almost forgotten. Things which used to be put into the party platforms of ten years ago would sound antiquated if put into a platform now. We are facing the necessity of fitting a new social organization, as we did once fit the old organization, to the happiness and prosperity of the great body of citizens; for we are conscious that the new order of society has not been made to fit and provide the convenience or prosperity of the average man. The life of the nation has grown infinitely varied. It does not center now upon questions of governmental structure or of the distribution of governmental powers. It centers upon questions of the very structure and operation of society itself, of which government is only the instrument. Our development has run so fast and so far along the line sketched in the earlier days of constitutional definition, has so crossed and interlaced those lines, has piled upon them such novel structures of trust and combination, has elaborated within them a life so manifold, so full of forces which transcend the boundaries of the country itself and fill the eyes of the world, that a new nation seems to have been created which the old formulae do not fit or afford a vital interpretation of.

We have come upon a very different age from any that preceded us. We have come upon an age when we do not do business in the way in which we used to do business—when we do not carry on any of the operations of manufacture, sale, transportation, or communication as men used to carry them on. There is a sense in which in our day the individual has been submerged. In most parts of our country men work for themselves, not as partners in the old way in which they used to work, but as employees—in a higher or lower grade—of great corporations. There was a time when corporations played a very minor part in our business affairs, but now they play the chief part, and most men are the servants of corporations.

You know what happens when you are the servant of a corporation. You have in no instance access to the men who are really determining the policy of the corporation. If the corporation is doing the things that it ought not to do, you really have no voice in the matter and must obey the orders, and you have, with deep mortification, to cooperate in the doing of things which you know are against the public interest. Your individuality is swallowed up in the individuality and purpose of a great organization.

It is true that, while most men are thus submerged in the corporation, a few, a very few, are exalted to power which as individuals they could never have wielded. Through the great organizations of which they are the heads, a few are enabled to play a part unprecedented by anything in history in the control of the business operations of the country and in the determination of the happiness of great numbers of people.

Yesterday, and ever since history began, men were related to one another as individuals. To be sure there were the family, the Church, and the State, institutions which associated men in certain limited circles of relationships. But in the ordinary concerns of life, in the ordinary work, in the daily round, men dealt freely and directly with one another. To-day, the everyday relationships of men are largely with great impersonal concerns, with organizations, not with other individual men.

Now this is nothing short of a new social age, a new era of human relationships, a new stage-setting for the drama of life.

In this new age we find, for instance, that our laws with regard to the relations of employer and employee are in many respects wholly antiquated and impossible. They were framed for another age, which nobody now living remembers, which is, indeed, so remote from our life that it would be difficult for many of us to understand it if it were described to us. The employer is now generally a corporation or a huge company of some kind; the employee is one of hundreds or of thousands brought together, not by individual masters whom they know and with whom they have personal relations, but by agents of one sort or another. Working men are marshaled in great numbers for the performance of a multitude of particular tasks under a common discipline. They generally use dangerous and powerful machinery, over whose repair and renewal they have no control. New rules must be devised with regard to their obligations and their rights, their obligations to their employers and their responsibilities to one another. New rules must be devised for their protection, for their compensation when injured, for their support when disabled.

There is something very new and very big and very complex about these new relations of capital and labor. A new economic society has sprung up, and we must effect a new set of adjustments. We must not pit power against weakness. The employer is generally, in our day, as I have said, not an individual, but a powerful group; and yet the working man when dealing with his employer is still, under our existing law, an individual.

Why is it that we have a labor question at all? It is for the simple and very sufficient reason that the laboring man and the employer are not intimate associates now, as they used to be in time past. Most of our laws were formed in the age when employer and employees knew each other, knew each other's characters, were associates with each other, dealt with each other as man with man. That is no longer the case. You not only do not come into personal contact with the men who have the supreme command in those corporations, but it would be out of the question for you to do it. Our modern corporations employ thousands, and in some instances hundreds of thousands, of men. The only persons whom you see or deal with are local superintendents or local representatives of a vast organization, which is not like anything that the working men of the time in which our laws were framed knew anything about. A little group of working men, seeing their employer every day, dealing with him in a personal way, is one thing, and the modern body of labor engaged as employees of the huge enterprises that spread all over the country, dealing with men of whom they can form no personal conception, is another thing. A very different thing. You never saw a corporation, any more than you ever saw a government. Many a working man to-day never saw the body of men who are conducting the industry in which he is employed. And they never saw him. What they know about him is written in ledgers and books and letters, in the correspondence of the office, in the reports of the superintendents. He is a long way off from them.

So what we have to discuss is, not wrongs which individuals intentionally do—I do not believe there are a great many of those—but the wrongs of the system. I want to record my protest against any discussion of this matter which would seem to indicate that there are bodies of our fellow citizens who are trying to grind us down and do us injustice. There are some men of that sort. I don't know how they sleep o' nights, but there are men of that kind. Thank God they are not numerous. The truth is, we are all caught in a great economic system which is heartless. The modern corporation is not engaged in business as an individual. When we deal with it we deal with an impersonal element, a material piece of society. A modern corporation is a means of cooperation in the conduct of an enterprise which is so big that no one can conduct it, and which the resources of no one man are sufficient to finance. A company is formed; that company puts out a prospectus; the promoters expect to raise a certain fund as capital stock. Well, how are they going to raise it? They are going to raise it from the public in general, some of whom will buy their stock. The moment that begins, there is formed—what? A joint-stock corporation. Men begin to pool their earnings, little piles, big piles. A certain number of men are elected by the stockholders to be directors, and these directors elect a president. This president is the head of the undertaking, and the directors are its managers.

Now, do the working men employed by that stock corporation deal with that president and those directors? Not at all. Does the public deal with that president and that board of directors? It does not. Can anybody bring them to account? It is next to impossible to do so. If you undertake it you will find it a game of hide and seek, with the objects of your search taking refuge now behind the tree of their individual personality, now behind that of their corporate irresponsibility.

And do our laws take note of this curious state of things? Do they even attempt to distinguish between a man's act as a corporation director and as an individual? They do not. Our laws still deal with us on the basis of the old system. The law is still living in the dead past which we have left behind. This is evident, for instance, with regard to the matter of employers' liability for working men's injuries. Suppose that a superintendent wants a workman to use a certain piece of machinery which it is not safe for him to use, and that the workman is injured by that piece of machinery. Our courts have held that the superintendent is a fellow servant, or, as the law states it, a fellow employee, and that, therefore, the man can not recover damages for his injury. The superintendent who probably engaged the man is not his employer. Who is his employer? And whose negligence could conceivably come in there? The board of directors did not tell the employee to use that piece of machinery; and the president of the corporation did not tell him to use that piece of machinery. And so forth. Don't you see by that theory that a man never can get redress for negligence on the part of the employer? When I hear judges reason upon the analogy of the relationships that used to exist between workmen and their employers a generation ago, I wonder if they have not opened their eyes to the modern world. You know, we have a right to expect that judges will have their eyes open, even though the law which they administer hasn't awakened.

Yet that is but a single small detail illustrative of the difficulties we are in because we have not adjusted the law to the facts of the new order.

Since I entered politics, I have chiefly had men's views confided to me privately. Some of the biggest men in the United States, in the field of commerce and manufacture, are afraid of somebody, are afraid of something. They know that there is a power somewhere so organized, so subtle, so watchful, so interlocked, so complete, so pervasive, that they had better not speak above their breath when they speak in condemnation of it.

They know that America is not a place of which it can be said, as it used to be, that a man may choose his own calling and pursue it just so far as his abilities enable him to pursue it; because to-day, if he enters certain fields, there are organizations which will use means against him that will prevent his building up a business which they do not want to have built up; organizations that will see to it that the ground is cut from under him and the markets shut against him. For if he begins to sell to certain retail dealers, to any retail dealers, the monopoly will refuse to sell to those dealers, and those dealers will be afraid and will not buy the new man's wares.

And this is the country which has lifted to the admiration of the world its ideals of absolutely free opportunity, where no man is supposed to be under any limitation except the limitations of his character and of his mind; where there is supposed to be no distinction of class, no distinction of blood, no distinction of social status, but where men win or lose on their merits.

I lay it very close to my own conscience as a public man whether we can any longer stand at our doors and welcome all newcomers upon those terms. American industry is not free, as once it was free; American enterprise is not free; the man with only a little capital is finding it harder to get into the field, more and more impossible to compete with the big fellow. Why? Because the laws of this country do not prevent the strong from crushing the weak. That is the reason, and because the strong have crushed the weak, the strong dominate the industry and the economic life of this country. No man can deny that the lines of endeavor have more and more narrowed and stiffened; no man who knows anything about the development of industry in this country can have failed to observe that the larger kinds of credit are more and more difficult to obtain, unless you obtain them upon the terms of uniting your efforts with those who already control the industries of the country; and nobody can fail to observe that any man who tries to set himself up in competition with any process of manufacture which has been taken under the control of large combinations of capital will presently find himself either squeezed out or obliged to sell and allow himself to be absorbed.

There is a great deal that needs reconstruction in the United States. I should like to take a census of the business men—I mean the rank and file of the business men—as to whether they think that business conditions in this country, or rather whether the organization of business in this country, is satisfactory or not. I know what they would say if they dared. If they could vote secretly they would vote overwhelmingly that the present organization of business was meant for the big fellows and was not meant for the little fellows; that it was meant for those who are at the top and was meant to exclude those who are at the bottom; that it was meant to shut out beginners, to prevent new entries in the race, to prevent the building up of competitive enterprise that would interfere with the monopolies which the great trusts have built up.

What this country needs, above everything else, is a body of laws which will look after the men who are on the make rather than the men who are already made. Because the men who are already made are not going to live indefinitely, and they are not always kind enough to leave sons as able and as honest as they are.

The originative part of America, the part of America that makes new enterprises, the part into which the ambitious and gifted working man makes his way up, the class that saves, that plans, that organizes, that presently spreads its enterprises until they have a national scope and character—that middle class is being more and more squeezed out by the processes which we have been taught to call processes of prosperity. Its members are sharing prosperity, no doubt; but what alarms me is that they are not originating prosperity. No country can afford to have its prosperity originated by a small controlling class. The treasury of America does not lie in the brains of the small body of men now in control of the great enterprises that have been concentrated under the direction of a very small number of persons. The treasury of America lies in those ambitions, those energies, that can not be restricted to a special, favored class. It depends upon the inventions of unknown men, upon the originations of unknown men, upon the ambitions of unknown men. Every country is renewed out of the ranks of the unknown, not out of the ranks of those already famous and powerful and in control.

There has come over the land that un-American set of conditions which enables a small number of men who control the Government to get favors from the Government; by those favors to exclude their fellows from equal business opportunity; by those favors to extend a network of control that will presently drive every industry in the country, and so make men forget the ancient time when America lay in every hamlet, when America was to be seen on every fair valley, when America displayed her great forces on the broad prairies, ran her fine fires of enterprise up over the mountain sides and down into the bowels of the earth, and eager men were everywhere captains of industry, not employees; not looking to a distant city to find out what they might do, but looking about among their neighbors, finding credit according to their character, not according to their connections, finding credit in proportion to what was known to be in them and behind them, not in proportion to the securities they held that were approved where they were not known. In order to start an enterprise now, you have to be authenticated, in a perfectly impersonal way, not according to yourself, but according to what you own that somebody else approves of your owning. You can not begin such an enterprise as those that have made America until you are so authenticated, until you have succeeded in obtaining the good-will of large allied capitalists. Is that freedom? That is dependence, not freedom.

We used to think, in the old-fashioned days when life was very simple, that all that government had to do was to put on a policeman's uniform and say, "Now don't anybody hurt anybody else." We used to say that the ideal of government was for every man to be left alone and not interfered with, except when he interfered with somebody else; and that the best government was the government that did as little governing as possible. That was the idea that obtained in Jefferson's time. But we are coming now to realize that life is so complicated that we are not dealing with the old conditions, and that the law has to step in and create the conditions under which we live, the conditions which will make it tolerable for us to live.

Let me illustrate what I mean: It used to be true in our cities that every family occupied a separate house of its own, that every family had its own little premises, that every family was separated in its life from every other family. That is no longer the case in our great cities. Families live in tenements, they live in flats, they live on floors; they are piled layer upon layer in the great tenement houses of our crowded districts, and not only are they piled layer upon layer, but they are associated room by room, so that there is in every room, sometimes, in our congested districts, a separate family. In some foreign countries they have made much more progress than we in handling these things. In the city of Glasgow, for example (Glasgow is one of the model cities of the world), they have made up their minds that the entries and the hallways of great tenements are public streets. Therefore, the policeman goes up the stairway and patrols the corridors; the lighting department of the city sees to it that the halls are abundantly lighted. The city does not deceive itself into supposing that that great building is a unit from which the police are to keep out and the civic authority to be excluded, but it says: "These are public highways, and light is needed in them, and control by the authority of the city."

I liken that to our great modern industrial enterprises. A corporation is very like a large tenement house; it isn't the premises of a single commercial family; it is just as much a public affair as a tenement house is a network of public highways.

When you offer the securities, of a great corporation to anybody who wishes to purchase them, you must open that corporation to the inspection of everybody who wants to purchase. There must, to follow out the figure of the tenement house, be lights along the corridors, there must be police patrolling the openings, there must be inspection wherever it is known that men may be deceived with regard to the contents of the premises. If we believe that fraud lies in wait for us, we must have the means of determining whether our suspicions are well founded or not. Similarly, the treatment of labor by the great corporations is not what it was in Jefferson's time. Whenever bodies of men employ bodies of men, it ceases to be a private relationship. So that when courts hold that working men can not peaceably dissuade other working men from taking employment, and base the decision upon the analogy of domestic servants, they simply show that their minds and understandings are lingering in an age which has passed away. This dealing of great bodies of men with other bodies of men is a matter of public scrutiny, and should be a matter of public regulation.

Similarly, it was no business of the law in the time of Jefferson to come into my house and see how I kept house. But when my house, when my so-called private property, became a great mine, and men went along dark corridors amidst every kind of danger in order to dig out of the bowels of the earth things necessary for the industries of a whole nation, and when it came about that no individual owned these mines, that they were owned by great stock companies, then all the old analogies absolutely collapsed, and it became the right of the government to go down into these mines to see whether human beings were properly treated in them or not; to see whether accidents were properly safeguarded against; to see whether modern economical methods of using these inestimable riches of the earth were followed or were not followed. If somebody puts a derrick improperly secured on top of a building or overtopping the street, then the government of the city has the right to see that that derrick is so secured that you and I can walk under it and not be afraid that the heavens are going to fall on us. Likewise in these great beehives where in every corridor swarm men of flesh and blood, it is the privilege of the government, whether of the State or of the United States, as the case may be, to see that human life is properly cared for, and that human lungs have something to breathe.

These, again, are merely illustrations of conditions. We are in a new world, struggling under old laws. As we go inspecting our lives to-day, surveying this new scene of centralized and complex society, we shall find many more things out of joint.

One of the most alarming phenomena of the time—or rather it would be alarming if the Nation had not awakened to it and shown its determination to control it—one of the most significant signs of the new social era is the degree to which government has become associated with business. I speak, for the moment, of the control over the Government exercised by Big Business. Behind the whole subject, of course, is the truth that, in the new order, government and business must be associated, closely. But that association is, at present, of a nature absolutely intolerable; the precedence is wrong, the association is upside down. Our Government has been for the past few years under the control of heads of great allied corporations with special interests. It has not controlled these interests and assigned them a proper place in the whole system of business; it has submitted itself to their control. As a result, there have grown up vicious systems and schemes of governmental favoritism (the most obvious being the extravagant tariff), far-reaching in effect upon the whole fabric of life, touching to his injury every inhabitant of the land, laying unfair and impossible handicaps upon competitors, imposing taxes in every direction, stifling everywhere the free spirit of American enterprise.

Now this has come about naturally; as we go on, we shall see how very naturally. It is no use denouncing anybody or anything, except human nature. Nevertheless, it is an intolerable thing that the government of the Republic should have got so far out of the hands of the people; should have been captured by interests which are special and not general. In the train of this capture follow the troops of scandals, wrongs, indecencies, with which our politics swarm.

There are cities in America of whose government we are ashamed. There are cities everywhere, in every part of the land, in which we feel that, not the interests of the public, but the interests of special privileges of selfish men, are served; where contracts take precedence over public interest. Not only in big cities is this the case. Have you not noticed the growth of socialistic sentiment in the smaller towns? Not many months ago I stopped at a little town in Nebraska while my train lingered, and I met on the platform, a very engaging young fellow, dressed in overalls, who introduced himself to me as the mayor of the town, and added that he was a Socialist. I said, "What does that mean? Does that mean that this town is socialistic?" "No, sir," he said; "I have not deceived myself; the vote by which I was elected was about 20 per cent. socialistic and 80 per cent, protest." It was protest against the treachery to the people and those who led both the other parties of that town.

All over the Union people are coming to feel that they have no control over the course of affairs. I live in one of the greatest States in the Union, which was at one time in slavery. Until two years ago we had witnessed with increasing concern the growth in New Jersey of a spirit of almost cynical despair. Men said, "We vote; we are offered the platform we want; we elect the men who stand on that platform, and we get absolutely nothing." So they began to ask, "What is the use of voting? We know that the machines of both parties are subsidized by the same persons, and therefore it is useless to turn in either direction."

It is not confined to some of the State governments and those of some of the towns and cities. We know that something intervenes between the people of the United States and the control of their own affairs at Washington. It is not the people who have been ruling there of late.

Why are we in the presence, why are we at the threshold, of a revolution? Because we are profoundly disturbed by the influences which we see reigning in the determination of our public life and our public policy. There was a time when America was blithe with self-confidence. She boasted that she, and she alone, knew the processes of popular government; but now she sees her sky overcast; she sees that there are at work forces which she did not dream of in her hopeful youth.

Don't you know that some man with eloquent tongue, without conscience, who did not care for the Nation, could put this whole country into a flame? Don't you know that this country from one end to another believes that something is wrong? What an opportunity it would be for some man without conscience to spring up and say: "This is the way. Follow me!"—and lead in paths of destruction.

The old order changeth—changeth under our very eyes, not quietly and equably, but swiftly and with the noise and heat and tumult of reconstruction.

I suppose that all struggle for law has been conscious, that very little of it has been blind or merely instinctive. It is the fashion to say, as if with superior knowledge of affairs and of human weakness, that every age has been an age of transition, and that no age is more full of change than another; yet in very few ages of the world can the struggle for change have been so widespread, so deliberate, or upon so great a scale as in this in which we are taking part.

The transition we are witnessing is no equable transition of growth and normal alteration; no silent, unconscious unfolding of one age into another, its natural heir and successor. Society is looking itself over, in our day, from top to bottom; is making fresh and critical analysis of its very elements; is questioning its oldest practises as freely as its newest, scrutinizing every arrangement and motive of its life; and it stands ready to attempt nothing less than a radical reconstruction, which only frank and honest counsels and the forces of generous cooperation can hold back from becoming a revolution. We are in a temper to reconstruct economic society, as we were once in a temper to reconstruct political society, and political society may itself undergo a radical modification in the process. I doubt if any age was ever more conscious of its task or more unanimously desirous of radical and extended changes in its economic and political practise.

We stand in the presence of a revolution—not a bloody revolution, America is not given to the spilling of blood—but a silent revolution whereby America will insist upon recovering in practise those ideals which she has always professed, upon securing a government devoted to the general interest and not to special interests.

We are upon the eve of a great reconstruction. It calls for creative statesmanship as no age has done since that great age in which we set up the government under which we live, that government which was the admiration of the world until it suffered wrongs to grow up under it which have made many of our own compatriots question the freedom of our institutions and preach revolution against them. I do not fear revolution. I have unshaken faith in the power of America to keep its self-possession. Revolution will come in peaceful guise, as it came when we put aside the crude government of the Confederation, and created the great Federal Union which governed individuals, not States, and which has been these one hundred and thirty years our vehicle of progress. Some radical changes we must make in our law and practise. Some reconstructions we must push forward, which a new age and new circumstances impose upon us. But we can do it all in calm and sober fashion, like statesmen and patriots.

I do not speak of these things in apprehension, because all is open and above-board. This is not a day in which great forces rally in secret. The whole stupendous program must be publicly planned and canvassed. Good temper, the wisdom that comes of sober counsel, the energy of thoughtful and unselfish men, the habit of cooperation and of compromise which has been bred in us by long years of free government in which reason rather than passion has been made to prevail by the sheer virtue of candid and universal debate, will enable us to win through to still another great age without violence.

THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION AMENDED A.D. 1913

JOSEPH A. HILL

During the year 1913 a most amazing event happened. The United States amended its Constitution by peaceful means. Indeed the Constitution was twice amended; for, having passed the sixteenth amendment in February, permitting an income tax, the States, just to show what they could do when aroused to it, passed the seventeenth amendment in May, authorizing the direct election of United States senators by the people.

Amending the United States Constitution is so difficult and cumbrous a proceeding, that it had not previously been accomplished for over a century, except by the throes of the terrible Civil War. The original Constitution had twelve amendments added to it before it was fully established in running order in 1804. The thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth amendments were added after 1865 to prohibit slavery. They were forced upon the unwilling Southern States. From 1804 to 1913 no amendment was put through by the regular process. Yet in that time efforts to amend were made on over one hundred and forty occasions. Men had grown discouraged at last; they said that amendment was impossible. The cumbrous system which has thus so long blocked all change was that Congress must by a two-thirds vote in each House agree to submit an amendment to the States. These must then pass upon the new law, each in its own legislature. If three-fourths of the legislatures approved, the amendment was to be accepted. Few of the proposed changes ever won a two-thirds vote in both Congressional Houses; and of those few not one had ever appealed to the necessary overwhelming majority of State legislatures. The Senatorial amendment passed Congress several years ago, and had long been knocking rather hopelessly at legislative doors. Then the Income Tax amendment appeared. Congress passed it almost hurriedly in a spasm of progressiveness in 1909. Then came the great sweep of progressive policies to victory in the elections of 1912; and legislatures everywhere awoke to the universal insistence on the Income Tax. All the States but six approved the amendment; and one of the last acts of President Taft during his administration was to proclaim its adoption. The popular amendment swept along in its train the Senatorial change; and the latter, though still opposed by most of the old South, was ratified by all the rest of the States except Rhode Island and Utah. So it also became law.

Nothing illustrates better the "tyranny of the dead hand" in the United States than the history of the income tax. The Constitution laid it down that no head tax or other direct tax should be imposed except by apportioning it among the several States on the basis of their population. No more effective barrier to any system of direct taxation could possibly have been devised. It would seem clear that the main intention of this Constitutional provision was not merely to protect the people of the smaller States, but to force the United States Government to depend for its revenue upon indirect taxes. Such, at any rate, has been its effect. Legal ingenuity, however, can get round anything. The Supreme Court decided as long ago as 1789 that an income tax was not a direct tax, and need not, therefore, be apportioned among the States. During the Civil War, though not, curiously enough, until every other source of taxable wealth had pretty well run dry, an income tax was actually imposed by three separate Acts of Congress, the Act of 1864 levying a tax of 5 per cent. on all incomes between $600 and $5,000, and of 10 per cent. on all incomes above $5,000. The tax continued to be collected up to 1872, when it was repealed.

The constitutional character of the tax, when levied without apportionment among the States of the Union, was once more fully argued out in the Supreme Court, which in 1880 reaffirmed its decision of 1789, that a tax on incomes was not a direct tax. Some fifteen years later, however, the question emerged again, and in a crucial form. The Democrats came into power in 1893, and proceeded to reduce the tariff, relying upon a tax of 2 per cent. on all incomes of over $4,000 to make good the expected loss of revenue. The Supreme Court in 1895 shattered all their fiscal plans and policies by pronouncing the income tax to be a direct tax, and therefore incapable of being levied, except in strict proportion to the population of the various States, and therefore, in effect, incapable of being levied at all.

That decision, in all its absurdity, has stood ever since. Its consequences were to deny to the United States Government the right to tax incomes, to restrict it still further to customs duties as virtually its sole source of revenue, to deprive it of a power that might one day be vital to the safety of the Union, and to exhibit it in a condition of feebleness that was altogether incompatible with any rational conception of a sovereign State. It is true that the Supreme Court has changed not only its personnel, but its spirit, and its whole attitude toward questions of public policy, since 1895. It has more and more allowed the influence of the age and the necessities of the times and the clear demands of social and economic justice to moderate its decisions; and had the question of an income tax been brought before it any time in the last five years, it would probably have reversed its judgment of 1895. But President Taft was undoubtedly right when he urged, in 1909, that the risk of another adverse decision was too great to be run, and that the safer course was to proceed by way of an amendment to the Constitution.

The mere passing of the Income Tax amendment did not, however, establish an income tax. It merely authorized the government to do this at will. President Wilson's administration was prompt to take the matter up. The Democrats, in conjunction with their reduction of the tariff, needed a new source of revenue. So in October of 1913 the Income Tax law was passed. In theory an Income Tax is obviously the most just of all taxes. It summons each citizen to pay for the government in proportion to his wealth; and his wealth marks roughly the amount of government protection that he needs. In practise, however, the working out of an income tax is so complex that every grumbler can find in its intricacies some cause of complaint. The present tax is therefore described here by an expert statistician, Mr. Joseph A. Hill, the United States Government official at the head of the Division of Revision and Results of the Census Bureau in Washington.

Among the notable events of the year 1913, one of the most important in its influence upon the national finances and constitutional development of the United States is the adoption of an amendment to the Federal Constitution giving Congress the power "to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States and without regard to any census or enumeration." The mere fact that an amendment of any kind has been adopted is notable, this being the first occasion on which the Constitution had undergone any change since the period of the Civil War, and the first amendment adopted in peaceful and normal times since the early days of the Republic.

It is a little remarkable, although perhaps not altogether accidental, that the adoption of this amendment should coincide with the return to power of the political party whose attempt to levy an income tax in 1894 was frustrated by the decision of the Supreme Court in that year. Then as now an income tax was a component part of the program of fiscal and commercial reform to which that party was committed. This program included the reduction of protective tariff duties and the direct taxation of incomes. What the Democratic party failed to accomplish in 1894, it has had a free hand to do in 1913. Indeed, the national taxation of incomes might almost be regarded as a mandate of the people of the United States. At any rate, it was a foregone conclusion that the adoption of the constitutional amendment would be immediately followed by the enactment of an income-tax law.

The law instituting the income tax was approved October 31[?], together with the law revising the tariff, both measures being included in one comprehensive statute entitled "An Act to reduce tariff duties and to provide revenue for Government, and for other purposes." It is the object of the present article to give a general description of the income tax. This seems to be especially well worth while because the tax can not be readily understood from a mere perusal of the involved and sometimes obscure phraseology of the law itself. For the same reason, however, the task of interpretation is not easy or entirely safe. The law has certain novel features; and some of the questions of detail to which they give rise can not be answered until we have the official construction placed upon the language of the act by the executive branch of the government and possibly by the courts. At the same time, the main features of the tax become fairly evident to any one who makes a careful study of the provisions of the act, even though its application to specific cases may remain doubtful.

The law provides that incomes shall be subject to a tax of one per cent. on the amount by which they exceed the prescribed minimum limit of exemption. This is designated as the "normal income tax." There is, then, an "additional tax" of one per cent, on the amount by which any income exceeds $20,000. The rate is increased to two per cent. on the amount above $50,000, to three per cent. above $75,000, to four per cent. above $100,000, to five per cent. above $250,000, and to six per cent. above $500,000. Therefore, under the normal and additional tax combined, the first $20,000 of income, exclusive of the minimum exemption, will be taxed one per cent.; the next $30,000, two per cent.; the next $25,000, three per cent.; the next $25,000, four per cent.; the next $150,000, five per cent.; the next $250,000, six per cent.; and all income above that point seven per cent. This is a rigorous application of the progressive principle.

The minimum exemption, at the same time, is comparatively high,—$4,000 for a married person and $3,000 for everybody else. The higher exemption in case of the married is conditional upon husband and wife living together, and applies only to their aggregate income; that is to say, it can not be deducted from the income of each. It may be noted, in this connection, that in England the exemption allowed under the income tax is £160 or $800; in Prussia it is 900 marks, or $225; and in the State of Wisconsin it is $800 for individuals and $1,200 for a husband and wife, with a further allowance for children or dependent members of the family.

The sharply progressive rates and the comparatively high exemption have given rise to the criticism that this is a rich man's income tax and disregards the principle that all persons should contribute to the expenses of the government in proportion to their several abilities. It is often said that an income tax ought to reach all incomes with the exception of those which are close to or below the minimum necessary for subsistence, and that if people generally were called upon to contribute directly to the government they would take greater interest in public affairs and show more concern over any wasteful or unwise expenditure of public money. In reply it is contended that the limitation of the tax to the wealthy or well-to-do classes is justified because these classes do not pay their fair share of the indirect national taxes, or of local property taxes. These debatable questions lie outside the scope of the present article. It is evident, however, that the income tax should not be criticized as if it were a single tax or formed the only source of revenue for the Federal government. From the fiscal standpoint it occupies a subordinate position in the national finances, being expected to yield about $125,000,000 annually out of a total estimated tax revenue of $680,000,000.

The normal tax of one per cent, is to be levied upon the income of corporations. In effect this provision of the law merely continues the corporation or "excise" tax which was already in existence. But that tax now becomes an integral part of the income tax, covering the income which accrues to the stockholder and is distributable in the form of dividends. On the theory that this income is reached at the source by the tax upon the net earnings of the corporation the dividends as such are exempt. They are not to be included, so far as concerns the normal tax, in the taxable incomes of the individual stockholders and the law does not provide that the tax paid by the corporation shall be deducted from the dividend.

It is perhaps a question whether under these conditions income which consists of dividends should be considered as subject to the normal tax or as exempt. It may be contended that a tax upon the net earnings of corporations is virtually a tax on the stockholder's income, and in theory this is true. But so long as the tax is not actually withheld from the dividends, or the dividends are not reduced in consequence of the tax, the stockholder's current income is not affected. The imposition of the tax might indeed affect his prospective income and might depreciate the value of his stocks. It is hardly likely, however, that such effects will be perceptible, at least as regards the stocks of railroads and other large corporations. If, however, it be considered that income consisting of dividends pays the tax, it follows that the stockholder's income is taxed no matter how small it may be. No minimum is left exempt. On the other hand, if it be considered that all dividends are virtually exempt, the stockholder would seem to be unduly favored under this form of taxation in comparison with people whose incomes are derived from other sources. Doubtless in future the investor will look upon dividends as a form of income not subject to the normal income tax.

In the levy of the normal income tax there is to be a limited application of the method of assessment and collection at the source of the income. This method is applied very completely in the taxation of income in Great Britain. It may be well to recall summarily the essential features of the British system. The tax is levied upon the property or industrial enterprise which yields or produces the income. But the person occupying the property or conducting the enterprise, and paying the assessment in the first instance, is authorized and required to deduct the tax from the income as it is distributed among the persons entitled to share in it either as proprietors, landlords, creditors, or employees. Under the English system, an industrial corporation, for instance, pays the income tax upon its gross earnings and then deducts it from the dividends, interest, salaries, and rents as these payments are made. The householder pays an assessment levied upon the annual value of his dwelling (less an allowance for repairs and insurance) and then if he occupies the premises as tenant deducts the tax from his rent. The income from agriculture is reached by a similar assessment upon the farmer, based upon the annual or rental value of the farm and with the same right of deduction from the rent if he is a tenant farmer.

From the standpoint of the government, the main advantage of this mode of assessment as compared with a tax levied directly upon the recipients of the income is the greater certainty with which it reaches the income subject to taxation. The opportunities for evasion by concealment of income are reduced to a minimum, partly because the sources of income are, in general, not easily concealed and partly because, to a considerable extent, the persons upon whom the tax is assessed are not interested in avoiding the tax. The advantages, however, are not all on the side of the government. The tax possesses certain advantages from the standpoint of the taxpayer, also, assuming him to be an honest taxpayer who is not seeking opportunities to evade taxation. One advantage is that he is relieved in almost every case from the necessity of revealing to the tax officials the whole of his personal income. The tax does not pry into his personal affairs. Another advantage is that the tax is paid out of current income, being deducted from the income as it is received. It is therefore distributed over the year and adjusted to the flow of income as it comes in. A tax thus collected is less burdensome in its incidence than a tax paid in one lump sum several months after the expiration of the year to which it related and after the income on which it is levied has been all received and perhaps all expended.

The English system of assessing an income tax at the source, however, has its disadvantages. It is admirably suited for a tax levied at a uniform rate on all income or on all income above a small minimum. But it is not well suited for the application of progressive taxation or for the introduction of gradations or distinctions based upon the size or character of the individual incomes. Nevertheless, the English income tax, besides exempting a minimum, provides for graded reductions or abatements in favor of the possessors of small incomes above the minimum, and for a reduced rate on "unearned" income within certain limits. All this, however, makes necessary a declaration or complete statement of income from the persons claiming the benefit of those provisions, and also necessitates refunding a large amount of the tax collected at the source. Moreover, the progressive principle has recently been applied by imposing a "super-tax" on incomes in excess of £5,000, which also requires a declaration, the tax being necessarily assessed upon the possessor of the income and not at the source. The super-tax, it may be observed, occupies a position in the English system similar to that of the additional tax in the United States, serving to increase the tax upon the larger incomes in accordance with the principle of progression.

Considering the various provisos and exceptions in connection with the general rule of the act, the scope of the application of the method of collecting the tax at the source may perhaps be safely stated thus: the normal tax is to be deducted (1) from all interest payments made by corporations on bonds and the like, without regard to the amount; (2) from all other interest payments when the amount is more than $3,000 in any one year; (3) from all payments of rents, salaries, or wages amounting in any one case to over $3,000 annually; (4) from all other payments of over $3,000 (excepting dividends) which may be comprised under the designations "premiums, compensations, remuneration, emoluments, or other fixed or determinable gains, profits, or income."

The principle of assessing income at its source, as applied in this act, does not relieve the individual from the necessity of making a full revelation to the tax officials of his personal income from all sources. Though this statement needs to be qualified in one or two particulars, the law provides in general that every person subject to the tax and having an income of $3,000 or over shall make a true and accurate return under oath or affirmation "setting forth specifically the gross amount of income from all separate sources and from the total thereof deducting the aggregate items or expenses and allowance" authorized by the law. Although income from which the tax has been withheld is not included in the net personal and taxable income of the taxpayer, it must, nevertheless, be accounted for and included in his declaration as a part of his gross income, forming one of the specified items which are to be deducted from the gross income in arriving at the income subject to taxation.

As already intimated, the general requirement of the full and complete statement of income is subject to certain exceptions. One relates to the income from dividends, the law providing that "persons liable to the normal tax only … shall not be required to make return of the income derived from dividends on the capital stock or from the net earnings of corporations, joint-stock companies or associations, and insurance companies taxable upon their net income." It will be noted that this proviso is restricted to persons who are "liable for the normal tax only," i.e., persons having net incomes under $20,000. It would seem, therefore, that the taxpayer claiming and securing this privilege must in some way, without revealing the amount received from dividends, satisfy the tax assessors that his total net income, including the dividends (amount not stated), does not exceed $20,000. Of course a form of statement can easily be devised to cover the situation. But whether the law will be administered in such a way that this provision affords some relief from the general obligation of making a detailed and complete statement of income remains to be seen.

Another exception to the general requirement of a complete declaration of income covers the case of the taxpayer whose entire income has been assessed and the tax on it deducted at the source. The law relieves such persons from the obligation of making any declaration of income; although it is not certain that this privilege can be secured without foregoing or sacrificing the benefits of any abatements to which the individual taxpayer might be entitled on account of business expenses, interest payments, losses, etc. It seems probable that where the income is all assessed at the source the taxpayer may obtain the benefit of the minimum exemption without making a declaration of income.

It appears, therefore, that assessment at the source does not, under this law, operate in such a way as to afford the taxpayer any substantial relief from the necessity of making a revelation of his income to tax officials. Whatever basis there may be for the common criticism or complaint that an income tax is inquisitorial remains under the operation of this law to nearly the same extent that it would if the tax were levied wholly and directly upon the recipients of the income, with no resort to taxation at the source.

Regarding the assessment of the additional tax not much need be said in the way of explanation. It is, in theory at least, a comparatively simple matter. There is no attempt here to make any application of the principle of collection at the source. The tax is all levied directly upon the recipients of the individual incomes, and the assessment is based upon the taxpayer's declaration, which for the purposes of this tax must cover the "entire net income from all sources, corporate or otherwise." The tax is thus largely distinct from the normal income tax as regards both the method of assessment and the rates. It is, however, to be administered through the same machinery, and no doubt to some extent the information obtained as to the sources of income in connection with the assessment of the normal tax will prove useful as a check upon the returns of income required for assessment of the additional tax. Every person whose income exceeds $20,000 will be subject to both taxes, the normal and the additional, but presumably will be required to make only one declaration. For the purposes of the additional tax he will be required to declare his income from all sources, and therefore any relief from the obligation of making a complete revelation of income which may be secured to him through the application of the principle of assessment at the source in connection with the normal tax will be entirely sacrificed.

The administration of a direct personal income tax—using that term to describe a tax levied directly on individual incomes—is a comparatively simple matter, however ineffective it may prove to be in reaching the income subject to it. Under this method of taxation it is easy to exempt a minimum, to apply progression in the rates, or to make any other adjustments that may be deemed equitable with reference either to the size or character of the income or to the circumstances of the taxpayer. But as soon as we depart from this simple method and resort to taxation at the source, we encounter difficulties in varying the rates, allowing exemptions, or making any similar adjustments. In the English income tax, these difficulties are squarely met and surmounted. As previously explained, that tax is in the first instance levied indiscriminately on all accessible sources of income and the adjustments are effected by refunding the tax collected at the source so far as may be necessary. No provision is made for forestalling the deduction of the tax, and no returns are required of the names and addresses of persons to whom payments of incomes are made. The exemption, however, is small ($800), and the abatements extend only to incomes below $3,500. Above that point the entire income is taxable.

A tax which provides for the exemption of $3,000 or $4,000 from every individual income places a formidable barrier in the way of a thoroughgoing application of assessment at the source. It is evident that with a universal exemption as high as this, a very large amount of tax withheld and collected at the source would ultimately have to be refunded. The law as enacted indicates an intention to secure in part the advantage of assessment at the source and at the same time avoid in part the attendant disadvantage of having to refund the tax. The measure might be characterized as one which as regards the "normal tax" applies the principle of assessment at the source to corporate income completely and to other income in spots. The "additional tax" is simply the direct personal tax. The normal tax will doubtless be successful in reaching the large amount of income earned or created by enterprises conducted under the corporate form of organization, much of which would probably escape assessment under a direct personal income tax. But beyond this it is questionable whether the method of assessment at the source as here applied will be of sufficient advantage to justify the administrative complications which it involves.

It seems useless, however, as well as unwise, to venture any predictions as to how successful the tax will be in reaching the income subject to it or how well it will work in actual practise. The law will doubtless require amendment in many particulars, even if it does not need to be radically revised. That the income tax in some form will be perpetuated as a permanent part of our system of national finance may safely be predicted. Properly adjusted and wisely administered, it should greatly strengthen the financial resources of the Government, make possible a closer adjustment of revenue to expenditure, and secure a more equitable distribution of the burden of taxation.

GREECE AND SERVIA CRUSH THE AMBITIONS OF BULGARIA

A.D. 1913

PROF. STEPHEN P. DUGGAN

CAPT. A.H. TRAPMANN

The crushing defeat of Turkey by the Balkan States during the winter of 1912-13 had been accomplished mainly by Bulgaria. The Bulgarians were therefore eager to assert themselves as the chief Balkan State, the Power which was to take the place of Turkey as ruler of the "Near East." Naturally this roused the antagonism not only of Bulgaria's recent allies, Greece and Servia, but also of the other neighboring State, Roumania. Bulgaria hoped to meet and crush her two allies before Roumania could join them. Thus she deliberately precipitated a war which resulted in her utter defeat. From this contest Greece has emerged as the chief State of the eastern Mediterranean, a growing Power which at last bears some resemblance to the classic Greece of ancient times.

To understand this war, it should be realized that the Bulgars are really an Asiatic race, who broke into Europe as the Hungarians had done before them, and as the Turks did afterward. Hence their kinship with European races or manners is really slight, though they have something of Slavic or Russian blood. The Servians are near akin to the Russians. The Roumanians trace their ancestry proudly, if somewhat dubiously, back to the old Roman colonists of the days of Rome's world empire. The Greeks are really the most ancient dwellers in the region; and to their pride of race was now added a furious eagerness to prove their military power. This had been much scorned after their ineffective war against Turkey in 1897, and they had found no opportunity to give decisive proof of their strength during the war of 1912.

To Professor Duggan's account of the causes and results of the war, which appeared originally in the Political Science Quarterly, we append the picture of its most striking incidents by Captain Trapmann, who was with the Greek army through its brief but brilliant campaign.

When the secret treaty of alliance of March, 1912, between Bulgaria and Servia against Turkey was signed, a division of the territory that might possibly fall to the allies was agreed upon. Neither Bulgaria nor Servia has ever published the treaty in full, but from the denunciations and recriminations indulged in by the parliaments of both, we know in general what the division was to be. The river Maritza, it was hoped, would become the western boundary of Turkey, and a line running from a point just east of Kumanova to the head of Lake Ochrida was to divide the conquered territory between Servia and Bulgaria. This would give Monastir, Prilip, Ochrida, and Veles to the Bulgarians—a great concession on the part of Servia. Certain other disputed towns were to be left to the arbitrament of the Czar of Russia. The chief aim to be attained by this division was that Servia should obtain a seaboard upon the Adriatic Sea, and Bulgaria upon the Aegean. Incidentally Bulgaria would obtain western Thrace and the greater part of Macedonia, and Servia would secure the greater part of Albania.

These calculations had been entirely upset by the course of events. Bulgaria's share had been considerably increased by the unexpected conquest of eastern Thrace, including Adrianople, whereas Servia's portion had been greatly diminished by the creation of an independent Albania out of her share. Moreover, M. Pashitch, the Servian prime minister, maintained that whereas by the preliminary treaty Bulgaria was to send detachments to assist the Servian armies operating in the Vardar valley, the reverse had been found necessary and Adrianople had only been taken with the help of 60,000 Servians and by means of the Servian siege guns. Equity demanded that the new conditions which had arisen and which had entirely altered the situation should be given consideration and that Bulgaria should not expect the preliminary agreement to be carried out. Now, from the outbreak of hostilities Bulgaria's foreign affairs, in which King Ferdinand was supposed to be supreme, were really controlled by the prime minister, Dr. Daneff. He proved to be the evil genius of his country; for his arrogant, unyielding attitude upon every disputed point, not only with the enemy, but with the allies and with the Powers, destroyed all kindly feeling for Bulgaria, and left her friendless in her hour of need. Dr. Daneff's answer to the Servian contention was that Bulgaria bore the brunt of the fight; that, had she not kept the main Turkish force occupied, Servia and Greece would have been crushed; that a treaty is a treaty, and that the additional gain of eastern Thrace in no way invalidated the old agreement.

The recriminations between Greeks and Bulgarians were quite as bitter. There had been no preliminary agreement as to the division of conquered territory between them, and this permitted each to indulge in the most extravagant claims. The great bone of contention was the possession of the fine port of Salonika. As soon as the war against Turkey broke out, both states pushed forward troops to occupy that city. The Greeks arrived first and were still in possession. Moreover, they maintained that, except for the Jews, the population is chiefly Greek. So are the trade and the schools. M. Venezelos, the Greek prime minister, insisted also that the erection of an independent Albania deprived Greece of a large part of northern Epirus, as it had deprived Servia of a great part of Old Servia, and Montenegro of Scutari. In fact, he asserted that Bulgaria alone would retain everything she hoped for, securing nearly three-fifths of the conquered territory, and leaving only two-fifths to be divided among her three allies; and this, despite the fact that but for the activity of the Greek navy in preventing the convoy of Turkey's best troops from Asia, Bulgaria would never have had her rapid success at the beginning of the war. Finally, he strenuously objected to the whole seaboard of Macedonia going to Bulgaria, as the population where it was not Moslem was chiefly Greek. All the parties to the dispute made much of ethnical and historical claims—"A thousand years are as a day" in their sight. The answer of Dr. Daneff to the Greek demands was to the effect that Greece already had one good port on the Mediterranean, while Bulgaria had none, and that Bulgaria would have to spend immense sums on either Kavala or Dedeagatch to make them of any great value. Moreover, as a result of the war, Greece would get Crete, the Aegean islands, and a good slice of the mainland. She had suffered least in the war and was really being overpaid for her services.

Behind all these formal contentions were the conflicting ambitions and the racial hatreds which no discussion could effectually resolve. Bulgaria was determined to secure the hegemony of the Balkan peninsula. She believed that her role was that of a Balkan Prussia, and her great victories made her confident of her ability to play the role successfully. To this Servia would never consent. The Servians far outnumber the Bulgarians. Were they united under one scepter they would be the strongest nation in the Balkans. Their policy is to maintain an equilibrium in the peninsula until the hoped-for annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina will give them the preponderance. This alone would incline Servia to make common cause with Greece. In addition, she had the powerful motive of direct self-interest. Since she did not secure the coveted territory on the Adriatic, Salonika would be more than ever the natural outlet for her products. Should Bulgaria wedge in behind Greece at Salonika, Servia would have two Powers to deal with, each of which could pursue the policy of destroying her commerce by a prohibitory tariff, a policy so often adopted toward her by Austria-Hungary. M. Pashitch, therefore, was determined to have the new southern boundary of Servia coterminous with the northern boundary of Greece. Moreover, Greeks and Servians were aware of the relative weakness of the Bulgarians due to their great losses and to the wide territory occupied by their troops. The war party was in the ascendant in each country. The Servians were anxious to avenge Slivnitza, and the Greeks still further to redeem themselves from the reputation of 1897. Had peace been signed in January, there is little doubt that a greater spirit of conciliation would have prevailed. The Young Turks were universally condemned at that time for refusing to yield; but had they deliberately adopted Abdul Hamid's policy of playing off one people against another, they could not have succeeded better than by their determination to fight.

Even before the fall of Adrianople, on March 26th, military conflicts had taken place between Bulgarians and Servians and between Bulgarians and Greeks. On March 12th a pitched battle occurred between the latter at Nigrita; and though a mixed commission at once drew up a code of regulations for use in towns occupied by joint armies, not the slightest attention was subsequently paid to it. The Servians shortly afterward expelled the manager of the branch of the National Bulgarian Bank at Monastir, a step which drew forth emphatic protests from Sofia against the policy of Serbizing districts in anticipation of the final settlement. On April 17th, M. Pashitch informed Bulgaria that the Government would refuse to be bound by the terms of the preliminary treaty of March, 1912. From that date until the signing of the treaty of peace with Turkey on May 31st, the recent allies carried on an unofficial war, which consisted of combats of extermination marked by inhuman rage. After that event each of the combatants strained every nerve to push forward its armies and to possess new territories, while each continued to accuse the other of violating every principle of international law.

The ambassadors of the great Powers at the capitals of the Balkan States made urgent representations to the Balkan Governments to restrain their armies, but without effect. On June 10th the Servian Government dispatched a note to Sofia demanding a categorical answer to the Servian demand for a revision of the preliminary treaty. On July 11th the Czar telegraphed to King Peter and King Ferdinand appealing to them to avoid a fratricidal war, reminding them of his position as arbitrator under the preliminary treaty and warning them that he would hold responsible whichever state appealed to force. "The state which begins war will be responsible before the Slav cause." This well-meant action had an effect the opposite of that hoped for. In Vienna it was looked upon as an indirect assertion of moral guardianship by Russia over the Slav world. The Austrian press insisted that the Balkan states were of age and could take care of themselves. If not, it was for Europe, not for Russia, to control them. The political horizon grew still darker when one week later Dr. Daneff answered the Servian note in the negative. This resulted in the Servian Minister withdrawing from Sofia on June 22d.

What was the plan of campaign and the degree of preparedness of the principal belligerent in the second Balkan war which was about to commence? The plan of the Bulgarians was the only one whereby they could hope to secure victory. It depended for success upon surprizing the Servians by sending masses of Bulgarian troops into the home territory of Servia by way of the passes leading directly from Sofia westward through the mountains. This would cut off the Servian armies operating in Macedonia from their base of supplies and require their immediate recall for the defense of the home territory. It was an operation attended by almost insurmountable obstacles. The major part of the Bulgarian army was in eastern Thrace and would have to be brought across a country unprovided with either railroads or sufficient highways. Moreover, the army would have to rely for the transport of provisions and equipment upon slow-moving bullock wagons. Nevertheless, given time, secrecy, and freedom from interference, the aim might be attained. The necessary divisions of the army were set in motion in the beginning of May. So successful were the Bulgarians in keeping secret the route and the progress of the army, that by the middle of June they confidently looked forward to success. Their high hopes were destroyed by the evil diplomacy of Dr. Daneff in his relations with Roumania.

Russia rewarded Roumania for her splendid assistance in the Russo-Turkish war of 1877 by depriving her of her fertile province of Bessarabia and compelling her to take in exchange the Dobrudja, a low, marshy district inhabited chiefly by Bulgarians and Moslems. And that was not all. Through Russian influence the commission appointed to delimit the boundary between Roumania and the new principality of Bulgaria put the town of Silistria upon the Bulgarian side of the boundary. Now the heights of Silistria command absolutely the Roumanian territory opposite to it and the Dobrudja. The Danube directly in front of Silistria spreads out in a marsh several miles wide, so that it is impossible to approach Silistria from the Roumanian side by bridge. As a result Roumania has always felt that her southern border was at the mercy of Bulgaria and has always, as one of the chief aims of her national existence, looked forward to the rectification of her southern boundary. The unfriendly attitude of Russia threw Roumania into the arms of Austria, so that from the days of the Berlin treaty to the Balkan war, Roumania has been considered a true friend of the Triple Alliance. She viewed with jealousy and fear the rapid growth of Bulgaria in power and in strength. Crowded in between the two military empires of Russia and Austria-Hungary, Roumania naturally looked upon the development of another military state upon her southern border as a menace to her national existence. Hence when the Macedonian question became very acute in 1903, and it seemed that action would be undertaken by Bulgaria and Servia against Turkey, Roumania had declared that she would not tolerate an alteration of the status quo. She did not move, however, when the allies undertook the war of liberation in October, 1912. But when a month's campaign changed the war from one of liberation to one of conquest, Roumania demanded from Bulgaria as the price of neutrality Silistria and a small slice of the Black Sea coast sufficient to satisfy strategic military demands.

It was in his relations with Roumania that Daneff's diplomacy was most stupid. M. Take Jonescu, one of Roumanians ablest statesmen, was sent by the Government to the first Peace Conference at London to secure pledges from Dr. Daneff in regard to the Roumanian demand. He could get no answer. Daneff used every device to gain time in the hope that a settlement with Turkey would relieve Bulgaria from the necessity of giving anything. When the peace negotiations failed and the war between the allies and Turkey recommenced, the relations between Roumania and Bulgaria became very critical. However, at the Czar's suggestion, both countries agreed to refer the dispute to a conference of the ambassadors of the great Powers at St. Petersburg. Dr. Daneff, who represented Bulgaria, adopted a most truculent attitude and refused to yield on any point. As a result of the skilful diplomacy of the French ambassador, M. Delcassé, in reconciling the divergent views of the great Powers, Roumania was awarded, on April 19th, the town of Silistria and a three-mile zone around it, but was refused an increase on the seaboard. The award was very unpopular in Roumania, but M. Jonescu risked his official life by successfully urging the Roumanian Government to accept it. But when it became perfectly evident, after the signing of the Treaty of London on May 30th, that the former allies were now to be enemies, the Roumanian government notified Bulgaria that she could not rely upon its neutrality without compensation in the interests of the equilibrium of the Balkans.

Such was the diplomatic situation when the Czar's telegram of June 11th was received by King Ferdinand. Nothing could have been more inopportune for the Bulgarian cause. Though the government had no intention of changing its plan, sufficient deference had to be paid to the Czar's request to suspend the forward movement of troops. The delay was fatal. The Servians, who were already aware that the Bulgarians were in motion, now learned their direction and their actual positions. The Servian Government hastened to fortify the passes of the Balkans between Bulgaria and the home territory, and the Servian army in Macedonia effected a junction with the Greek army from Salonika. There was nothing left for the Bulgarians but to direct their offensive movements against the southern Servian divisions in Macedonia. The great coup had failed. Instead of attacking first the Servians and then the Greeks and overwhelming them separately, it was necessary to fight their combined forces.

Every element in the situation demanded the utmost caution on the part of Bulgaria. Elementary prudence dictated that she yield to Roumanians demand for a slice of the seaboard to Baltchik in order to prevent Roumania from joining Servia and Greece. No doubt, had Daneff yielded he would have been voted out of office by the opposition, for the military party was in the ascendant at Sofia also. But a real statesman would not have flinched. Seldom has the influence of home politics upon the foreign affairs of a State operated so disastrously upon both. It was determined to carry out that part of the original plan of campaign which called for a surprise attack upon the Servians. It must be remembered that all the engagements that had hitherto taken place between the former allies had been unofficial, Daneff all the while insisting that there existed no war, but "only military action to enforce the Serbo-Bulgarian treaty." Nevertheless, on June 29th the word went forth from Bulgarian headquarters for a general attack upon the Servian line which, taken by surprise, yielded.

In the mean time public opinion at Bucharest became almost uncontrollable in its demand for the mobilization of the troops, and the government was outraged at the continued prohibition by Russia of a forward movement. The Roumanian Government had already appealed to Count Berchtold for Austro-Hungarian support against Russian interference, but Austria-Hungary, like every other great power, expected Bulgaria to win, and she intended that Bulgaria should take the place vacated by Turkey as a counterpoise to Russia in the Balkans. Hence Count Berchtold informed Roumania that she could not rely upon Austro-Hungarian support, were she to ignore the Russian veto. But in the mean time an exaggerated report of the Servian defeat had reached St. Petersburg on July 1st, and to save Servia, Russia lifted the embargo on Roumanian action.

Forty-eight hours later Europe knew that the Greeks had fought the fearful battle of Kilchis, resulting in the utter rout of the Bulgarians, who were in full retreat to defend the Balkan passes into their home territory. Russia at once recalled her permission for Roumanian mobilization, but it was too late. The army was on the march.

The situation of Bulgaria was now truly desperate. Not only had her coup against the Servians failed, but her troops were fleeing before the victorious Greeks up the Struma valley. On July 5th war was officially recognized by the withdrawal of the representatives of Greece, Montenegro, and Roumania, from Sofia. On the same day Turkey requested the withdrawal of all Bulgarian troops east of the Enos-Midia line. In the bloody battles which continued to be fought against Greeks and Servians, the Bulgarians were nearly everywhere defeated, and on July 10th Bulgaria placed herself unreservedly in the hands of Russia with a view to a cessation of hostilities.

This did not, however, prevent the forward movement of all her enemies. On July 15th, Turkey, "moved by the unnatural war" existing in the Balkan Peninsula, dispatched Enver Bey with an army to Adrianople, which he reoccupied July 20th. By that time the Roumanians were within twenty miles of Sofia, and the guns of the Servians and Greeks could be heard in the Bulgarian capital. The next day King Ferdinand telegraphed to King Charles of Roumania, asking him to intercede with the kings of Greece, Servia, and Montenegro. He did so, and all the belligerents agreed to send peace delegates to Bucharest. They assembled there on July 29th and at once concluded an armistice.

Each of the belligerent States sent its best man to the peace conference. Greece was represented by M. Venezelos, Servia by M. Pashitch, Roumania by M. Jonescu, Montenegro by M. Melanovitch, and Bulgaria chiefly by General Fitcheff, who had opposed the surprise attack upon the Servians. The policy of Bulgaria at the conference was to satisfy the demands of Roumania at once, sign a separate treaty which would rid her territory of Roumanian troops, and then treat with Greece and Servia. But M. Jonescu, who controlled the situation, insisted that peace must be restored by one treaty, not by several. At the same time he let it be known that Roumania would not uphold extravagant claims on the part of Greece and Servia which they could never have advanced were her troops not at the gates of Sofia. The moderate Roumanian demands were easily settled. Her southern boundary was to run from Turtukai via Dobritch to Baltchik on the Black Sea. She also secured cultural privileges for the Kutzovlachs in Bulgaria. The Servians, who before the second Balkan war would have been satisfied with the Vardar river as a boundary, now insisted upon the possession of the important towns of Kotchana, Ishtib, Radovishta, and Strumnitza, to the east of the Vardar. With the assistance of Roumania, Bulgaria was permitted to retain Strumnitza. The Greeks were the most unyielding. Before the war they would have been perfectly satisfied to have secured the Struma river as their eastern boundary. Now they demanded much more of the Aegean seacoast, including the important port of Kavala. The Bulgarian representatives refused to sign without the possession of Kavala, but under pressure from Roumania they had to consent. But they would yield on nothing else. The money indemnity demanded by Greece and Servia and the all-around grant of religious privileges suggested by Roumania had to be dropped. The treaty was signed August 6, 1913.

In the mean time the Powers had not been passive onlookers. Austria-Hungary insisted that Balkan affairs are European affairs and that the Treaty of Bucharest should be considered as merely provisional, to be made definitive by the great Powers. On this proposition the members of both the Triple Alliance and the Triple Entente divided. Austria and Italy in the one, and Russia in the other, favored a revision. Austria fears a strong Servia, and Italy dislikes the growth of Greek influence in the eastern Mediterranean. These two States and Russia favored a whittling-down of the gains of Greece and Servia and insisted upon Kavala and a bigger slice of the Aegean seaboard for Bulgaria. But France, England, and Germany insisted upon letting well-enough alone. King Charles of Roumania, who demanded that the peace should be considered definitive, sent a telegram to Emperor William containing the following sentence: "Peace is assured, and thanks to you, will remain definitive." This gave great umbrage at Vienna; but in the divided condition of the European Concert, no State wanted to act alone. So the treaty stands.

The condition of Bulgaria was indeed pitiable, but her cup was not yet full. Immediately after occupying Adrianople on July 20th, the Turks had made advances to the Bulgarian government looking to the settlement of a new boundary. But Bulgaria, relying upon the intervention of the Powers, had refused to treat at all. On August 7th the representatives of the great Powers at Constantinople called collectively upon the Porte to demand that it respect the Treaty of London. But the Porte had seen Europe so frequently flouted by the little Balkan States during the previous year, that it had slight respect for Europe as a collective entity. In fact, Europe's prestige at Constantinople had disappeared. J'y suis, j'y reste was the answer of the Turks to the demand to evacuate Adrianople. The recapture of that city had been a godsend to the Young Turk party. The Treaty of London had destroyed what little influence it had retained after the defeat of the armies, and it grasped at the seizure of Adrianople as a means of awakening enthusiasm and keeping office. As the days passed by, it became evident that further delay would cost Bulgaria dear. On August 15th the Turkish troops crossed the Maritza river and occupied western Thrace, though the Porte had hitherto been willing to accept the Maritza as the boundary. The Bulgarian hope of a European intervention began to fade. The Turks were soon able to convince the Bulgarian Government that most of the great Powers were willing to acquiesce in the retention of Adrianople by the Turks in return for economic and political concessions to themselves. There was nothing for Bulgaria to do but yield, and on September 3d General Savoff and M. Tontcheff started for Constantinople to treat with the Turkish government for a new boundary line. They pleaded for the Maritza as the boundary between the two States, the possession of the west bank being essential for railway connection between Bulgaria and Dedeagatch, her only port on the Aegean. But this plea came in conflict with the determination of the Turks to keep a sufficient strategic area around Adrianople. Hence the Turks demanded and secured a considerable district on the west bank, including the important town of Dimotika. By the preliminary agreement signed on September 18th the boundary starts at the mouth of the Maritza river, goes up the river to Mandra, then west around Dimotika almost to Mustafa Pasha. On the north the line starts at Sveti Stefan and runs west so that Kirk Kilesseh is retained by Turkey.

While the Balkan belligerents were settling upon terms of peace among themselves, the conference of ambassadors at London was trying to bring the settlement of the Albanian problem to a conclusion. On August 11th the conference agreed that an international commission of control, consisting of a representative of each of the great Powers, should administer the affairs of Albania until the Powers should select a prince as ruler of the autonomous State. The conference also decided to establish a gendarmerie under the command of military officers selected from one of the small neutral States of Europe. At the same time the conference agreed upon the southern boundary of Albania. This line was a compromise between that demanded by Greece and that demanded by Austria-Hungary and Italy. Unfortunately it was agreed that the international boundary commission which was to be appointed should in drawing the line be guided mainly by the nationality of the inhabitants of the districts through which it would pass. At once Greeks and Albanians began a campaign of nationalization in the disputed territory, which resulted in sanguinary conflicts. Unrest soon spread throughout the whole of Albania. On August 17th a committee of Malissori chiefs visited Admiral Burney, who was in command, at Scutari, of the marines from the international fleet, to notify him that the Malissori would never agree to incorporation in Montenegro. They proceeded to make good their threat by capturing the important town of Dibra and driving the Servians from the neighborhood of Djakova and Prizrend. Since then the greater part of northern and southern Albania has been practically in a state of anarchy.

The settlement of the Balkans described in this article will probably last for at least a generation, not because all the parties to the settlement are content, but because it will take at least a generation for the dissatisfied States to recuperate. Bulgaria is in far worse condition than she was before the war with Turkey. The second Balkan war, caused by her policy of greed and arrogance, destroyed 100,000 of the flower of her manhood, lost her all of Macedonia and eastern Thrace, and increased her expenses enormously. Her total gains, whether from Turkey or from her former allies, were but eighty miles of seaboard on the Aegean, with a Thracian hinterland wofully depopulated. Even railway communication with her one new port of Dedeagatch has been denied her. Bulgaria is in despair, but full of hate. However, with a reduced population and a bankrupt treasury, she will need many years to recuperate before she can hope to upset the new arrangement. And it will be hard even to attempt that; for the status quo is founded upon the principle of a balance of power in the Balkan peninsula; and Roumania has definitely announced herself as a Balkan power. Servia, and more particularly Greece, have made acquisitions beyond their wildest dreams at the beginning of the war and have now become strong adherents of the policy of equilibrium.

The future of the Turks is in Asia, and Turkey in Asia just now is in a most unhappy condition. Syria, Armenia, and Arabia are demanding autonomy; and the former respect of the other Moslems for the governing race, i.e., the Turks, has received a severe blow. Whether Turkey can pull itself together, consolidate its resources, and develop the immense possibilities of its Asiatic possessions remains, of course, to be seen. But it will have no power, and probably no desire, to upset the new arrangement in the Balkans.

The settlement is probably a landmark in Balkan history in that it brings to a close the period of tutelage exercised by the great Powers over the Christian States of the Balkans. Neither Austria-Hungary nor Russia emerges from the ordeal with prestige. The pan-Slavic idea has received a distinct rebuff. To Roumania and Greece, another non-Slavic State, i.e., Albania, has been added; and in no part of the peninsula is Russia so detested as in Bulgaria which unreasonably protests that Russia betrayed her. "Call us Huns, Turks, or Tatars, but not Slavs." Twice the Austro-Hungarians, in their anxiety to maintain the balance of power in the Balkans, made the mistake of backing the wrong combatant. In the first war, they upheld Turkey; and in the second, they favored Bulgaria. In encouraging Bulgarian aggression they estranged Roumania, the faithful friend of a generation, and Bulgaria won only debt and disgrace. Yet Austria-Hungary must now continue to support Bulgaria as a counterpoise to a stronger Servia which they consider a menace to their security because of Servian influence on their southern Slavs. The Balkan states will manage their own affairs in the future, but they will still offer abundant opportunity for the play of Russian and Austro-Hungarian rivalry. It had been hoped that the Balkan peninsula, when freed from the incubus of Turkish misrule, would settle down to a period of general tranquillity. Instead of this, the ejectment of the Turk has resulted in increased bitterness and more dangerous hate.

I doubt if history can show a more brilliant or dramatic campaign than that which the Greeks commenced on the first of July and ended on the last day of the same month; certainly no country has ever been drenched with so much blood in so short a space of time as was Macedonia, and never in the history of the human race have such enormities been committed upon the helpless civilian inhabitants of a war-stricken land.

Bulgaria felt herself amply strong enough to crush the Servian and Greek armies single-handed, provided peace with Turkey could be assured, and the Bulgarian troops at Tchataldja set free. Thus, while Bulgaria talked loudly about the conference at St. Petersburg, she was making feverish haste to persuade the Allies to join with her in concluding peace with Turkey. But the Allies were quite alive to the dangers they ran. As peace with Turkey became daily more assured, the Bulgarian army at Tchataldja was gradually withdrawn and transported to face the Greek and Servian armies in Macedonia.

But meanwhile Bulgaria had got one more preparation to make. Her plan was to attack the Allies suddenly, but to do it in such a way that the Czar and Europe might believe that the attack was mutual and unpremeditated. She therefore set herself to accustom the world to frontier incidents between the rival armies. On no fewer than four occasions various Bulgarian generals acting under secret instructions attacked the Greek or Servian troops in their vicinity. The last of these incidents, which was by far the most serious, took place on the 24th of May in the Pangheion region, when the sudden attack at sunset of 25,000 Bulgarians drove the Greek defenders back some six miles upon their supports. On each occasion the Bulgarian Government disclaimed all responsibility, and attributed the bloodshed to the personal initiative of individual soldiers acting under (imaginary) provocation.

The incident of the 24th of May cost the Bulgarians some 1,500 casualties, while the Greeks lost about 800 men, sixteen of whom were prisoners; two of these subsequently died from ill-treatment. In connection with this last "incident" a circumstance arose which demonstrates more vividly than mere adjectives the underhand methods employed by the Sofia authorities. It was announced that the Bulgarians had captured six Greek guns, and these were duly displayed at Sofia and inspected by King Ferdinand. I myself was at Salonica at the time, and, knowing that this was not true, I protested through the Daily Telegraph against the misleading rumor. A controversy arose, but it was subsequently proved by two artillery experts who inspected the guns in question that they were really Bulgarian guns painted gray, with their telltale breech-blocks removed.

On the morning of the 29th of June we at Salonica received the news that during the night Bulgarian troops in force had attacked the Greek outposts in the Pangheion region and driven them in. All through the day came in fresh news of further attacks all along the line. At Guevgheli, where the Greek and Servian armies met, the Bulgarians had attacked fiercely, occupied the town, and cut the railway line. The two armies were separated from each other by an interposing Bulgarian force. On the morning of the 30th of June it was learned that all along the line the Bulgarians had crossed the neutral line and were advancing, while at Nigrita they had driven back a Greek detachment and pressed some fifteen miles southward, thus threatening entirely to cut off the Greek troops remaining in the Pangheion district. The situation was critical and demanded prompt attention. King Constantine was away at Athens, but he sent his instructions by wireless and hastened hotfoot back to Salonica to place himself at the head of the army.

At noon General Hessaptchieff (brother-in-law of M. Daneff), the Bulgarian plenipotentiary accredited to Greek Army Headquarters, drove to the station and with his staff left by the last train for Bulgarian Headquarters at Serres. Orders were immediately given for all Bulgarian troops to be confined to barracks, and the Cretan gendarmerie duly arrested any found about the streets. Gradually as the afternoon wore on, the civilian element retired behind closed doors and shuttered windows; all shops were shut, and pickets of Greek soldiery were alone to be seen in the deserted streets. At 4.30 P.M. the Bulgarian battalion commander was invited to surrender the arms of his men, when they would be conveyed in two special trains to Serres or anywhere else they liked. He was given an hour to decide. Owing to the intervention of the French Consul the time limit was extended, but the offer was refused, and at 6.50 P.M. on the 30th of June the Greeks applied force. Around every house occupied by Bulgarian soldiery Greek troops had been introduced into neighboring houses, machine guns had been installed on rooftops, companies of infantry were picketed at street corners. Suddenly throughout the town all this hell was let loose. The streets gave back the echo a thousandfold. The crackle of musketry and din of machine guns was positively infernal. As evening came and darkened into night, one after another of the Bulgarian forts Chabrol surrendered, sometimes persuaded thereto by the deadly effect of a field-gun at thirty yards' range, but the sun had risen ere the chief stronghold containing five hundred Bulgarians gave up the hopeless struggle. By nine o'clock the Bulgarian garrison of Salonica, deprived of its arms, was safely stowed in the holds of Greek ships bound for Crete. The casualty list was as follows: Bulgarians—prisoners: 11 officers, 1,241 men; 11 men wounded; 51 men killed; comitadjis, 4 wounded, 11 killed. Greeks: 11 soldiers killed; 4 Cretan gendarmes killed; 4 officers wounded; 6 soldiers wounded; while 6 Bulgarian officers who had deserted their men and escaped in women's clothing were not captured until later in the day.

All the morning of the 1st of July the Greek troops were busy rounding up Bulgarian comitadjis and collecting hidden explosives, but at 4 P.M. the Second Division marched out of the town. King Constantine, who had arrived in the small hours of the morning, had given the order for a general advance of his army. Greek patience was expended, and no wonder.

Meanwhile, let us consider the Bulgarian intentions as revealed by the captured dispatch-box of the General commanding the 3d Bulgarian Division, which contained documents likely to become historic. On the 28th of June the Bulgarian Divisional Commanders received orders from the Commander-in-Chief to undertake a general attack upon the Allies on the 2d of July. Unfortunately for the Bulgarians, General Ivanoff, Commanding-in-Chief against the Greeks, could not restrain his impatience, and instead of waiting for a sudden and general attack on the 2d of July his troops attacked piecemeal during the nights of the 29th and 30th of June as described; thus the Greek general forward movement on the 1st and 2d of July found the bulk of his troops unprepared, while the 14th Bulgarian Division, scheduled to arrive at Kilkis on the 2d of July from Tchataldja, was not available during that day to oppose the Greek initiative, though they saved the situation on the 3d of July by detraining partly at Kilkis and partly at Doiran.

The two weak points of the Allies were at Guevgheli and in the Pangheion region, and it was precisely at these points that the Bulgarians struck. As regards numbers, on the 2d of July the respective forces numbered: Bulgarians, 80,000; Greeks, 60,000; on the 3d of July (not deducting losses)—Bulgarians, 115,000; Greeks, 80,000; in both cases the troops on lines of communication are not reckoned with; these probably amounted to—Bulgarians, 25,000; Greeks, 12,000.

Almost immediately and at all points the opposing armies came into contact. The Bulgarian gunners had very carefully taken all ranges on the ground over which the Greeks had to advance, and at first their shrapnel fire was extremely damaging. The Greeks, however, did not wait to fight the battle out according to the usual rules of warfare—by endeavoring to silence the enemy's artillery before launching their infantry forward. Phenomenal rapidity characterized the Greek tactics from the moment their troops first came under fire. Their artillery immediately swept into action and plied the Bulgarian batteries with shell and shrapnel, the while Greek infantry deployed into lines of attack and pushed forward. At Kilkis so rapid was the advance of the Greek infantry that the Bulgarian gunners could hardly alter their ranges sufficiently fast, and every time that the Greek infantry had made good five hundred yards the Greek artillery would gallop forward and come into action on a new alinement. It was a running fight. By leaps and bounds the incredible élan of the Greek troops drove the Bulgarians back toward Kilkis itself, which position had been heavily entrenched. By 4 P.M. on the 2d of July, the Greek main army was within three miles of the town, while the 10th Division, helped by two battalions of Servian infantry, gradually fought its way up the Vardar toward Guevgheli. At 4.30 P.M. (at Kilkis) the Bulgarians delivered a furious counter-attack in which some 20,000 bayonets took part, but it was repulsed with heavy slaughter, and the weary Greek soldiers, who had fought their way over twenty miles of disputed country, rolled over on their sides and slept. Toward Guevgheli the Evzone battalions had for two hours to advance through waist-deep marshes under a heavy artillery fire, but they struggled along through muddy waters singing their own melancholy songs and without paying the least attention to the heavy losses they were sustaining. On the 3d of July the Greeks reoccupied Guevgheli, and toward evening the Bulgarian trenches at Kilkis were taken at the bayonet's point, the town being entirely destroyed, partly by Greek shell fire (for the Bulgarian batteries had been located in the streets) and partly by the Bulgarians, who fired the town as they retired. On the 3d and 4th the Bulgarians retired sullenly northward toward Doiran, contesting every yard and putting in the units of the 14th Division as quickly as they could be detrained; but the Greeks never flagged for one moment in the pursuit. The 10th and 3d Divisions, marching at tremendous speed, came up on the left, menacing the line of retreat on Strumnitza. It was in the pass ten miles south of this town that remnants of the Bulgarian 3d and 14th Divisions made their last stand upon the 8th of July. Throughout the week they had been fighting and retreating incessantly, had lost at least 10,000 in killed and wounded, some 4,500 prisoners, and about forty guns, while the Greeks lost about 4,500 and 5,000 men in front of Kilkis and another 3,000 between Doiran and Strumnitza.

Meanwhile at Lakhanas an equally sanguinary two days' conflict had been in progress. The Greeks attacked and finally captured the Bulgarian entrenched positions. Time after time their charges failed to reach, but eventually their persistent courage and inimitable élan won home, and the Bulgarians fled in utter rout and panic, leaving everything, even many of their uniforms, behind them.

King Constantine, speaking in Germany recently, attributed the success of the Greek armies to the courage of his men, the excellence of the artillery, and to the soundness of the strategy, but I think he overlooked the chief factor that made for victory—the unspeakable horror, loathing, and rage aroused by the atrocities committed upon the Greek wounded whenever a temporary local reverse left a few of the gallant fellows at the mercy of the Bulgarians. I have seen an officer and a dozen men who had had their eyes put out, and their ears, tongues, and noses cut off, upon the field of battle during the lull between two Greek charges. And there were other worse, but nameless, barbarities both upon the wounded and the dead who for a brief moment fell into Bulgarian hands.

This was during the very first days of the war; later, when the news of the wholesale massacres of Greek peaceable inhabitants at Nigrita, Serres, Drama, Doxat, etc., became known to the army, it raised a spirit which no pen can describe. The men "saw red," they were drunk with lust for honorable revenge, from which nothing but death could stop them. Wounds, mortal wounds, were unheeded so long as the man still had strength to stagger on; I have seen a sergeant with a great fragment of common shell through his lungs run forward for several hundred yards vomiting blood, but still encouraging his men, who, truth to tell, were as eager as he. It is impossible to describe or even conceive the purposeful and aching desire to get to close quarters regardless of all losses and of all consequences. The Bulgarians, in committing those obscene atrocities, not only damned themselves forever in the eyes of humanity, but they doubled, nay, quadrupled, the strength of the Greek army. Nothing short of extermination could have prevented the Greek army from victory; there was not a man who would not have a million times rather died than have hesitated for a moment to go forward.

The days of those first battles were steaming hot with a pitiless Macedonian sun. The Greek troops were in far too high a state of spiritual excitation to require food, even if food had been able to keep pace with their lightning advance. All that the men wanted, all they ever asked for, was water and ammunition; and here the greatest self-sacrifice of all to the cause was frequently seen; for a wounded man, unable to struggle forward another yard, would, as he fell to the ground, hastily unbuckle water-bottle and cartridge-cases and hand them to an advancing comrade with a cheery word, "Go on and good luck, my lad," and then as often as not he would lay him down to die with parched lips and cleaving tongue.

I was myself, at the pressing and personal invitation of King Constantine, the first to visit Nigrita, where the Bulgarian General, before leaving, had the inhabitants locked into their houses, and then with guncotton and petroleum burned the place to the ground. Here 470 victims were burned alive, mostly old folk, women, and children. Serres, Drama, Kilkis, and Demir Hissar (all important towns) have similar tales to tell, only the death-roll is longer. Small wonder that these stories of ferocity are not given credence, for they are incredible, and it is only when one studies the Bulgarian character that one can understand how such orgies of carnage were possible.

The scope of this article does not permit me to describe in detail the minor battles and operations between the 6th of July and the 25th of July; suffice it to say that the rapidity of the Greek advance upon Strumnitza and up the valley of the Struma forced the Bulgarians to beat in full retreat toward their frontier, leaving behind them all that impeded their flight. Military stores, guns, carts, and even uniforms strewed the line of their march, and they were only saved from annihilation because the mountains which guarded their flanks were impassable for the Greek artillery. By blowing up the bridges over the Struma the impetuosity of the Greek pursuit was delayed, and it was in the Kresna Pass that the Bulgarian rear-guard first turned at bay. The pass is a twenty-mile gorge cut through mountains 7,000 feet high, but the Greeks turned the Bulgarian positions by marching across the mountains, and it was near Semitli, five miles north of the pass, that the Bulgarians offered their last serious resistance. It was a wonderful battle. The Greeks, at the urgent request of the Servian General Staff, had detailed two divisions to help the Servians. On the west bank of the Struma they pushed the 2d and 4th Divisions gently northward, while in the narrow Struma valley (it is little better than a gorge in most places) they had the 1st Division on the main road with the 5th behind it in reserve; on the right, perched on the summit of well-nigh inaccessible mountains, was the Greek 6th Division, with the 7th Division on its right, somewhat drawn back.

It came to the knowledge of Greek headquarters that the Bulgarians contemplated an attack upon Mehomia, a village six miles on the extreme right and rear of the 7th Division, only held by a small detachment of that Division; reenforcements were immediately dispatched to relieve the pressure, and the 6th Division was called upon to reenforce the positions of the 7th during the absence of the relief column, with the result that on the 25th of July the 6th Division only had some 6,000 men available.

Meanwhile, the Bulgarians had secretly transferred the 40,000 men of their 1st Division from facing the Servians at Kustendil to Djumaia; 20,000 of these were sent in a column to strike at the junction of the Greek and Servian armies, where they were held by the 3d and 10th Greek divisions after a bloody battle which lasted three days; 5,000 marched on Mehomia and were annihilated by the Greek 7th Division; the remaining 15,000 reenforced the troops facing the Greek 6th Division. It was a most dramatic fight. On the 25th of July the Greeks, unconscious of the Bulgarian reenforcements, pushed northward, and all day long their 1st, 5th, and 6th Divisions gradually drove the enemy in front of them. The fighting was of the most desperate nature, and at one moment, the ammunition on both sides having given out, the troops pelted each other with fragments of rock. At last, toward 5 P.M., the Greek 6th Division found the enemy in front of them retiring; they pushed onward fighting for every yard. The men were dead-weary; they had slept for days upon bleak and waterless mountain summits—frozen at night, they were grilled at noon, but they pushed ever onward. At last, when victory seemed within their grasp, when their foe was seen to run, a general advance was ordered. The men sprang forward with a last effort of physical endurance—the Bulgars were running! They gave chase. Suddenly, in one solid wall, 15,000 entirely new Bulgarian troops of the 1st Division rose, as if from the ground, and delivered a counter-attack. It was a crucial moment: some 4,000 Greeks chasing a similar number of Bulgarians suddenly had to face 15,000 new troops. The impact was terrible. The Greek line broke up into fragments, around which the Bulgarians clustered and pecked like vultures at a feast. For ten minutes it was anybody's battle. The remnants of each Greek company formed itself into a ring and defended itself as best it could. These rings gradually grew smaller as bullet and bayonet claimed their victims; many of them were wiped out altogether, and when the battle was over it was possible to find the places where these companies had made their last stands, for there was not a single survivor—the wounded were killed by the victors.

But the victory was short-lived. True, the right of the 6th Division had crumpled up, but a regiment of the 1st Division came up at the critical moment and stiffened up the left and center, and again the tide of battle swayed irresolute; then, ten minutes later perhaps, a regiment from the 5th Division came up at the double on the right rear of the Bulgarians, taking them in reverse and enfilade. The Bulgarian right and center crumpled like a rotten egg, while their left fell hastily back. The Bulgars had thrown their last hazard and had lost. The carnage was appalling on both sides. The Greek 6th Division had commenced the day with about 6,000 men; at sunset barely 2,000 remained. Opposite the Greek positions nearly 10,000 Bulgarians were buried next day, which speaks well for the fighting power of the Greek when he is making his last stand.

The holocaust of wounded beggars description, but that eminent French painter, George Scott, told me an incident which came to his own notice. He was riding up to the front the day after Semitli, and was just emerging from the awesome Kresna Pass, when he and his companion came upon a Greek dressing station. The narrow space between cliff and river was entirely occupied by some hundreds of Greek wounded, some of them already dead, many dying, and others fainting. They were lying about awaiting their turn for the surgeon's knife. In the center stood the surgeon, with the sleeves of his operating-coat turned up, his arms red to the elbow in blood, all about him blood-stained bandages and wads of cotton-wool. They reined in their horses and surveyed the scene; as one patient was being removed from the packing-case that served as operating-table, the surgeon raised his weary eyes and saw them, the only unwounded men in all that vast and silent gathering. "You are newspaper correspondents?" he asked. "Well, tell me, tell me when this butchery will cease! For seventy-two hours I have been plying my knife, and look at those who have yet to come"—he swept the circle of wounded with an outstretched bloody hand. "O God! If you know how to write, write to your papers and tell Europe she must stop this gruesome war." Then, tired out and enervated, he swooned into the arms of the medical orderly. As he came to to be apologized. "That," he said, "is the third time I have fainted; I suppose I must waste precious time in eating something to sustain me!"

The battle of Semitli was fought almost contemporaneously with that of the 3d and 10th Greek Divisions on the extreme Greek left flank, which latter action resulted in a Bulgarian repulse after a temporary success, and these were the last great battles of the shortest and bloodiest campaign on record. On the 29th and 30th of July there were some skirmishes three miles south of Djumaia. On the 31st of July the armistice was conceded. During the month of July the Greek army had practically wiped out the 1st, 3d, 4th, and 14th Bulgarian Divisions, some 160,000 strong; they had marched 200 miles over terrible mountains; they had taken 12,000 prisoners, 120 guns; and had cheerfully sustained 27,000 casualties out of a total number of 120,000 troops engaged.

It is difficult to do justice to such an exploit within the scope of a single article. The privations suffered by the troops, their uncomplaining endurance, the fight with cholera, the appalling atrocities perpetrated by the Bulgarians upon those who fell within their power, furnish matter for a monumental volume.

COL. GEO. W. GOETHALS BAMPFYLDE FULLER

As was told in a previous volume, the United States acquired possession of the Panama Canal territory in 1903. Actual work on the Canal was begun by Americans in 1905 with the prediction that the Canal would be finished in ten years, 1915. The engineers have been better than their word. The difficulties with Mexico rendered the Canal suddenly useful to the United States, and Colonel Goethals reported that he would have the "big ditch" ready for the passage of any war-ship by May 15, 1914. That promise he carried out. The Canal is still in danger of being blocked by slides of mud in the deep Culebra Cut, and probably will continue exposed to this difficulty for some years to come. But the work is practically complete; ships passed through the Canal under government orders in 1914. The greatest engineering work man ever attempted, the profoundest change he has ever made in the geographical face of the globe, has been successfully accomplished.

Honor where honor is due! The man chiefly responsible for the success of this great work has been Colonel Goethals. We quote here by his special permission a portion of one of his official reports on the Canal. We then show the work "as others see us," by giving an account of the Canal and the impression it has made on other nations, written by one of the most distinguished of its recent British visitors, the Hon. Bampfylde Fuller.

A canal connecting the Atlantic and Pacific oceans has occupied public attention for upward of four centuries, during which period various routes have been proposed, each having certain special or peculiar advantages. It was not until the nineteenth century, however, that any definite action was taken looking toward its accomplishment.

In 1876 an organization was perfected in France for making surveys and collecting data on which to base the construction of a canal across the Isthmus of Panama, and in 1878 a concession for prosecuting the work was secured from the Colombian Government.

In May, 1879, an international congress was convened, under the auspices of Ferdinand de Lesseps, to consider the question of the best location and plan of the Canal. This congress, after a two weeks' session, decided in favor of the Panama route and of a sea-level canal without locks. De Lesseps's success with the Suez Canal made him a strong advocate of the sea-level type, and his opinion had considerable influence in the final decision.

Immediately following this action the Panama Canal Company was organized under the general laws of France, with Ferdinand de Lesseps as its president. The concession granted in 1878 by Colombia was purchased by the company, and the stock was successfully floated in December, 1880. The two years following were devoted largely to surveys, examinations, and preliminary work. In the first plan adopted the Canal was to be 29.5 feet deep, with a ruling bottom width of 72 feet. Leaving Colon, the Canal passed through low ground to the valley of the Chagres River at Gatun, a distance of about 6 miles; thence through this valley, for 21 miles, to Obispo, where, leaving the river, it crossed the continental divide at Culebra by means of a tunnel, and reached the Pacific through the valley of the Rio Grande. The difference in the tides of the two oceans, 9 inches in either direction from the mean in the Atlantic and from 9 to 11 feet from the same datum in the Pacific, was to be overcome and the final currents reduced by a proper sloping of the bottom of the Pacific portion of the Canal. No provisions were made for the control of the Chagres River.

In the early eighties after a study of the flow due to the tidal differences, a tidal lock near the Pacific was provided. Various schemes were also proposed for the control of the Chagres, the most prominent being the construction of a dam at Gamboa. The dam as proposed afterward proved to be impracticable, and this problem remained, for the time being, unsolved. The tunnel through the divide was also abandoned in favor of an open cut.

Work was prosecuted on the sea-level canal until 1887, when a change to the lock type was made, in order to secure the use of the Canal for navigation as soon as possible. It was agreed at that time that the change in plan did not contemplate abandonment of the sea-level Canal, which was ultimately to be secured, but merely its postponement for the time being. In this new plan the summit level was placed above the flood line of the Chagres River, to be supplied with water from that stream by pumps. Work was pushed forward until 1889, when the company went into bankruptcy; and on February 4th that year a liquidator was appointed to take charge of its affairs. Work was suspended on May 15, 1889. The new Panama Canal Company was organized in October, 1894, when work was again resumed, on the plan recommended by a commission of engineers.

This plan contemplated a sea-level canal from Limon Bay to Bohio, where a dam across the valley created a lake extending to Bas Obispo, the difference in level being overcome by two locks; the summit level extended from Bas Obispo to Paraiso, reached by two more locks, and was supplied with water by a feeder from an artificial reservoir created by a dam at Alhajuela, in the upper Chagres Valley. Four locks were located on the Pacific side, the two middle ones at Pedro Miguel combined in a flight.

A second or alternative plan was proposed at the same time, by which the summit level was to be a lake formed by the Bohio dam, fed directly by the Chagres. Work was continued on this plan until the rights and property of the new company were purchased by the United States.

The United States, not unmindful of the advantages of an isthmian canal, had from time to time made investigations and surveys of the various routes. With a view to government ownership and control, Congress directed an investigation of the Nicaraguan Canal, for which a concession had been granted to a private company. The resulting report brought about such a discussion of the advantages of the Panama route to the Nicaraguan route that by an act of Congress, approved March 3, 1889, a commission was appointed to "make full and complete investigation of the Isthmus of Panama, with a view to the construction of a canal." The commission reported on November 16, 1901, in favor of Panama, and recommended the lock type of canal.

By act of Congress, approved June 28, 1902, the President of the United States was authorized to acquire, at a cost not exceeding $40,000,000, the property rights of the New Panama Canal Company on the Isthmus of Panama, and also to secure from the Republic of Colombia perpetual control of a strip of land not less than 6 miles wide, extending from the Caribbean Sea to the Pacific Ocean, and "the right … to excavate, construct, and to perpetually maintain, operate, and protect thereon a canal of such depth and capacity as will afford convenient passage of ships of the greatest tonnage and draft now in use."

Pursuant to the legislation, negotiations were entered into with Colombia and with the New Panama Canal Company, with the end that a treaty was made with the Republic of Panama granting to the United States control of a 10-mile strip, constituting the Canal Zone, with the right to construct, maintain, and operate a canal. This treaty was ratified by the Republic of Panama on December 2, 1903, and by the United States on February 23, 1904.

The formal transfer of the property of the New Panama Canal Company on the Isthmus was made on May 4, 1904, after which the United States began the organization of a force for the construction of the lock type of canal, in the mean time continuing the excavation by utilizing the French material and equipment and such labor as was procurable on the Isthmus.

President Roosevelt, in a message to Congress, dated February 19, 1906, stated: "The law now on our statute-books seems to contemplate a lock canal. In my judgment a lock canal, as herein recommended, is advisable. If the Congress directs that a sea-level canal be constructed its direction will, of course, be carried out; otherwise the Canal will be built on substantially the plan for a lock canal outlined in the accompanying papers, such changes being made, of course, as may be found actually necessary, including possibly the change recommended by the Secretary of War as to the site of the dam on the Pacific side."

On June 29, 1906, Congress provided that a lock type of canal be constructed across the Isthmus of Panama, of the general type proposed by the minority of the Board of Consulting Engineers, and work has continued along these lines. The Board of Consulting Engineers estimated the cost of the lock type of canal at $139,705,200 and of the sea-level canal at $247,021,000, excluding the cost of sanitation, civil government, the purchase price, and interest on the investment. These sums were for construction purposes only.

I ventured a guess that the construction of the lock type of canal would approach $300,000,000, and without stopping to consider that the same causes which led to an increase in cost over the original estimates for the lock canal must affect equally the sea-level type, the advocates of the latter argued that the excess of the new estimates was an additional reason why the lock type should be abandoned in favor of the sea-level canal.

The estimated cost by the present commission for completing the adopted project, excluding the items let out by the Board of Consulting Engineers, is placed at $297,766,000. If to this be added the estimated cost of sanitation and civil government until the completion of the work, and the $50,000,000 purchase price, the total cost to the United States of the lock type of canal will amount to $375,201,000. In the preparation of these estimates there are no unknown factors.

The estimated cost of the sea-level canal for construction alone sums up to $477,601,000, and if to this be added the cost of sanitation and civil government up to the time of the completion of the canal, which will be at least six years later than the lock canal, and the purchase price, the total cost to the United States will aggregate $563,000,000. In this case, however, parts of the estimate are more or less conjectural—such as the cost of diverting the Chagres to permit the building of the Gamboa dam and the cost of constructing the dam itself.

Much criticism has resulted because of the excess of the present estimates over those originally proposed, arising largely from a failure to analyze the two estimates or to appreciate fully the actual conditions.

The estimates prepared and accompanying the report of the consulting engineers were based on data less complete than are available at present. The unit costs in the report of 1906 are identical with those in the report of 1901, and since 1906 there has been an increase in the wage scale and in the cost of material. On the Isthmus wages exceed those in the United States from 40 to 80 per cent. for the same class of labor. The original estimates were based on a ten-hour day, but Congress imposed the eight-hour day. Subsequent surveys and the various changes already noted have increased the quantity of work by 50 per cent., whereas the unit costs have increased only 20 per cent.—not such a bad showing. In addition, municipal improvements in Panama and Colon, advances to the Panama Railroad, and moneys received and deposited to the credit of miscellaneous receipts aggregate $15,000,000, which amount will eventually and has in part already been returned to the Treasury. Finally, no such system of housing and caring for employees was ever contemplated as has been introduced and installed, materially increasing the overhead charges and administration.

The idea of the sea-level canal appeals to the popular mind, which pictures an open ditch offering free and unobstructed navigation from sea to sea, but no such substitute is offered for the present lock canal. As between the sea-level and the lock canal, the latter can be constructed in less time, at less cost, will give easier and safer navigation, and in addition secure such a control of the Chagres River as to make a friend and aid of what remains an enemy and menace in the sea-level type.

In this connection attention is invited to the statement made by Mr. Taft, when Secretary of War, in his letter transmitting the reports of the Board of Consulting Engineers:

"We may well concede that if we could have a sea-level canal with a prism of 300 to 400 feet wide, with the curves that must now exist reduced, it would be preferable to the plan of the minority, but the time and cost of constructing such a canal are in effect prohibitive."

We are justly proud of the organization for the prosecution of the work. The force originally organized by Mr. John F. Stevens for the attack upon the continental divide has been modified and enlarged as the necessities of the situation required, until at the present time it approaches the perfection of a huge machine, and all are working together to a common end. The manner in which the work is being done and the spirit of enthusiasm that is manifested by all forcibly strike every one who visits the works.

The main object of our being there is the construction of the Canal; everything else is subordinate to it, and the work of every department is directed to the accomplishment of that object.

Too much credit can not be given to the department of sanitation, which, in conjunction with the division of municipal engineering, has wrought such a change in the conditions as they existed in 1904 as to make the construction of the Canal possible. This department is subdivided into the health department, which has charge of the hospitals, supervision of health matters in Panama and Colon, and of the quarantine, and into the sanitary inspection department, which looks after the destruction of the mosquito by various methods, by grass and brush cutting, the draining of various swampy areas, and the oiling of unavoidable pools and stagnant streams.

According to the statistics of the health department, based on the death-rate, the Canal Zone is one of the healthiest communities in the world, but in this connection it must be remembered that our population consists of men and women in the prime of life, with few, if any, of the aged, and that a number of the sick are returned to the United States before death overtakes them.

The Panama Canal stands out as one of the most noteworthy contributions that the Teutonic race has made toward the material improvement of the world. So regarding it, Englishmen and Germans may take some pride to themselves from this great achievement of the Americans. The Teutonic race has its limitations. It is deficient in the gaiety of mind, the expansiveness of heart, which add so largely to human happiness. Its bent has lain in directions that are, superficially at all events, less attractive. But by its cult of cleanliness, self-control, and efficiency, it has given a new meaning to civilization; it has invented Puritanism, the gospel of the day's work, and the water-closet. These reflections may not seem very apposite to the subject of the Canal; but they will suggest themselves to one who arrives in Panama after traveling through the Latin States of South America.

It was, however, by some sacrifice of moral sense that the United States gained control of the Isthmus. They offered a financial deal to the republic of Colombia: the terms were liberal, and the Colombian Government had in principle no objection to make money by the grant of a perpetual lease of so much land as was needed for the Canal. But it haggled unreasonably over the details, with the object of delaying business until the period of the French concession had expired, so that it might secure, not only its own share of the compensation, but the share that was to be paid to the French investors whose rights and achievements were taken over by the United States. A revolution occurred: the province of Panama declared its independence of Colombia, and at once completed the bargain. The revolution was so exceedingly opportune in the interests of the United States, and of the French concessionaires, that it is impossible not to suspect its instigation in these interests. Beyond a doubt the United States assisted the revolutionaries: they prevented the Colombian forces from attacking them. Panama was originally independent of Colombia, and had been badly treated by the Colombian Government, which, in its distant capital of Bogota, was out of touch with Panamanian interests, and returned to the province but a very small share of its taxes. But, however this may be, we may take it, without straining facts, that the United States, being unable to bring Colombia to terms, evicted her in favor of a more pliable authority. This is not in accord with Christian morality. Nor are political dealings generally. And, from a practical point of view, it was preposterous that the cupidity of some Colombian politicians should stand in the way of an improvement in geography. The agreement with the newly born republic of Panama gave the United States a perpetual lease of a strip of land, ten miles broad, across the Isthmus. This is styled the "Canal Zone." The Latin towns of Panama and Colon fall within its limits. But they are expressly excluded from the United States jurisdiction.

In substance the Canal works consist, first, of an enormous dam (at Gatun), which holds up the water of the river Chagres so as to flood a valley twenty-four miles long; secondly, of a channel—nine miles in length—(the Culebra Cut)—which carries the valley on through a range of low hills; and, thirdly, of a set of locks at each end of this stretch of water that are connected by comparatively short approaches with the sea. The surface of the lake will be from 79 to 85 feet above sea-level, and vessels will be raised to this height and lowered again by passing through a flight of three locks upward and another flight of three locks downward. The passage of both flights of locks is not expected to occupy more than three hours, and ships should complete the transit of the Isthmus—a distance of about fifty miles—within twelve hours at most. The design of the work offers nothing that is new in principle to engineering science. Dams, cuttings, and locks are familiar contrivances. But they are on an immensely larger scale than anything which has previously been attempted. The area of the lake of impounded water will be 164 square miles, and it has been doubted whether the damming of so large a mass of water, to a height of 85 feet, could safely be undertaken. But this portion of Central America is apparently not liable to earthquakes. And the dam is so large as to be a feature of the earth's surface. It is nearly half a mile broad across its base, so that although its crest is 105 feet above sea-level its slope is not very perceptible. Its core is formed of a mixture of sand and clay, poured in from above by hydraulic processes. This has set hard, and is believed to be quite impervious to water at a much higher pressure than that to which it will be subjected. In the center of the river valley—a mile and a half broad—across which the dam has been flung, there very fortunately arose a low rocky hill. This is included in the dam, and across its summit has been constructed the escape or spill-way. During seasons of heavy rain the surplus discharge of river water will be very heavy, and a cataract will pour over the spill-way. But it will rush across a bed of rock, and will be unable to erode its channel. And it will be employed to generate electrical power which will open and shut the lock-gates and generally operate the Canal machinery. The river Chagres will energize the Canal as well as fill it.

The locks are gigantic constructions of concrete. Standing within them one is impressed as by the mass of the Pyramids. The gates are hollow structures of steel, 7 feet thick. Their lower portions are water-tight, so that their buoyancy in the water will relieve the stress upon the bearings which hinge them to the lock-wall. Along the top of each lock-wall there runs an electric railway; four small electric locomotives will be coupled to a vessel as it enters the lock approach, and will tow it to its place. The vessel will not use its own steam. This will lessen the risk of its getting out of hand and ramming the lock-gate, an accident which has occurred on the big locks that connect Lake Superior with Lake Huron. So catastrophic would be such a mishap, releasing as it might this immense accumulation of water, that it seemed desirable at whatever expense to provide additional safeguards against it. There are in the first place cross-chains, tightening under pressure, which may be drawn across the bows of a ship that threatens to become unmanageable. Secondly, the lock-gates are doubled at the entrance to all the locks, and at the lower end of the upper lock in each flight. And, thirdly, each flight of locks can be cut off from the lake by an "emergency dam" of peculiar construction. It is essentially a skeleton gate, which ordinarily lies uplifted along the top of the lock-wall, but can be swung across, lowered, and gradually closed against the water by letting down panels. In its ordinary position it lies high above the masonry—conspicuous from some distance out at sea as a large cantilever bridge, swung in air.

Peculiar difficulties have been encountered in establishing the foundations of the locks. The lowest of each flight are planted in deep morasses, and could only be settled by removing vast masses of estuary slime to a depth of 80 feet below sea-level. The sea was cut off and a dredger introduced, which gradually cleared its way down to the bottom rock. But the troubles which the American engineers will remember are those which have presented themselves in the Culebra cutting. The channel is nine miles long. Its average depth is between 100 and 200 feet, but at one point it reaches 490 feet. The formation of the ground varies extraordinarily. At some points it is rock; at others rock gives place to contorted layers of brilliantly colored earth which is almost as restless as quicksand. Unfortunately, it is at places where the cutting is deepest that its banks are most unstable. The sides of the lowest 40 feet of the excavation—the actual water channel—are cut vertically and not to a slope; in a firm formation this reduces the amount of excavation, but in loose material it must apparently have increased the risk of slides. But, however this may be, slips on a gigantic scale were inevitable. The cutting is an endeavor to form precipitous slopes of crumbling material under a tropical rain-fall: it may be likened to molding in brown sugar under the rose of a watering-pot. The banks have been in a state of constant movement, and are broken up into irregular shelves and chasms, so that at some points the channel resembles a natural ravine rather than an artificial cutting. One thing is certain,—that for some years to come the channel will only be kept open by constant assiduous dredging. But it is, of course, easier to dredge out of water than to excavate in the dry. The material excavated from the Culebra channel will aggregate nearly one hundred million cubic yards. Some of it has been utilized in reclaiming land; much has been carried out to sea and heaped into a break-water three miles long, which runs out from the Panama or southern end of the Canal, and will check a coast-ways current that might, if uncontrolled, silt up the approach. The Canal is a triumph, not of man's hands, but of machinery. Regiments of steam shovels attack the banks, exhibiting a grotesque appearance of animal intelligence in their behavior. An iron grabber is lowered by a crane, it pauses as if to examine the ground before it, in search of a good bite, opens a pair of enormous jaws, takes a grab, and, swinging round, empties its mouthful onto a railway truck. The material is loosened for the shovels by blasts of dynamite and, all the day through, the air is shaken by explosions. Alongside each row of shovels stands a train in waiting; over a hundred and fifty trains run seaward each day loaded with spoil. The bed of the Canal is ribboned with railway tracks, which are shifted as required by special track-lifting machines. The masonry work of the locks is laid without hands. High latticed towers—grinding mills and cranes combined—overhang the wall that is being built up. They take up stone and cement by the truck-load, mix them and grind them—in fact, digest them—and, swinging the concrete out in cages, gently and accurately deposit it between the molding boards. How sharp is the contrast between this elaborate steam machinery and the hand-labor of the fellahín who patiently dug out the Suez Canal! But there are, so to speak, edges to be trimmed: this mass of machinery is to be guided and controlled, and there is work to employ a staff of over thirty thousand men. Some four thousand of them are Americans, who form a superior service, styled "gold employees" in order to avoid racial implications. Their salaries are calculated in American dollars. The remainder, classed as "silver employees," are paid in Panama dollars, the value of which is half that of the American. Two series of coins are current, one being double the value of the other; and, since the corresponding coins of the two series are of about the same size, newcomers are harassed by constant suspicions of their small change. The "silver employees" number about twenty-six thousand. Some of them are immigrants from Europe—mostly from Italy and the north of Spain—but the great majority are negroes, British subjects from Jamaica and Trinidad. It was foreseen that if negroes from the Southern States were employed, the high wages rates might unsettle the American cotton labor market: so it was decided to recruit from British colonies, and it is not too much to say that, so far as the Canal is hand-made, it is mainly the work of British labor. Several hundreds of Hindus have found their way here; they are chiefly employed upon the fortifications, because, it is said, they are unlikely to talk about them. These British colored laborers, with their families, constitute the bulk of the population of the Canal Zone: the town of Panama swarms with them, and one sees few of any other class in the streets of Colon. The American engineers have thus been working with a staff that can claim the protection of the British Minister; and it is pleasing to an Englishman to hear on every side the heartiest tributes to the energy, tact, and good sense of England's representative, Sir Claude Mallet. At the outset the negro laborers were exceedingly suspicious of the American authorities, and were ready to strike on the smallest provocation: they have refused to take their rations until Sir Claude has tasted them. He possesses the complete confidence of the British labor force, and indeed the Hindu immigrants, who deposit money at the Consulate, will hardly wait to obtain receipts for it.

Speaking of rations, it may be mentioned that the Canal authorities undertake to feed all their employees, and a large commissariat establishment, including extensive cold-storage depots at Colon, is one of the most prominent features of their administration. Every morning a heavy trainload of provisions leaves Colon, dropping its freight as it passes the various labor settlements. In numerous eating-houses meals are provided at very moderate charges, and at Panama and Colon large, up-to-date hotels are maintained by the American Government. These are used very extensively by the Canal staff, and give periodic dances, which are crowded with young people. The vagaries of the one-step are sternly barred by a puritan committee, and, to one who expects surprises, the style of dancing is disappointingly monotonous. But these hotels are also of great use in conciliating the American taxpayers. Tourists come by thousands, and elaborate arrangements are made for their education by special sight-seeing trains, by appreciative guides, and by courses of lectures. The Canal staff is also housed by the State—in wooden structures, built upon piles, and protected by mosquito-proof wire screening. The accommodation for bachelors is somewhat meager; but married couples are treated very liberally, and their quarters are brightened by pretty little gardens. The rates of pay are high, and there are numerous concessions which to one of Indian experience appear exceedingly generous. But the expenditure throughout is on a lavish scale: the Canal will not cost much less than eighty million pounds. The money that is drawn from the American taxpayers is, however, for the most part returned to them. Practically the whole of the machinery is of American manufacture; the food is American; the stores that are sold in the shops are mainly American; and the only money that is lost to the States is that which is saved by the foreign laborers. Very few of these have any intention of remaining under the American flag, or will, indeed, be permitted to remain.

Residence within the Canal Zone, apart from the towns of Panama and Colon, is only to be permitted to the permanent working staff of the Canal and to the military force in occupation. It should be added that the salaries of the American "gold employees," liberal though they may appear, do not tempt them to remain in service. One is astonished to learn that nearly half the American staff changes annually: young men come to acquire a little experience and save a little money, which may help them to a start in their own country. Service on the Canal works leads to no pension; and the medal which is to be granted to all who remain two years in employ is but moderately attractive to men whose objects are severely practical. The chief controlling authorities are all in the military service of the State.

In the Northern States of America the British love of cleanliness has become a gospel of life, and the sanitation of the Canal Zone is a model of scientific and successful thoroughness. To India it is also a model of hopeless generosity, nearly three million pounds having been spent in improving the health conditions of this small area. The agreement which reserves the towns of Panama and Colon to the administration of the republic of Panama provides for American interference in matters that may concern general health, and the Canal authorities have taken the fullest advantage of this provision. The streets of both towns have been paved; insanitary dwellings have been ruthlessly demolished; water-works have been provided by loans of American money, the water rate being collected by American officials. The meanest house is equipped with a water-closet and a shower-bath. Panama and Colon are now models of cleanliness, and from their appearance might belong to a North American State. Efficiency is the watchword, and in cleansing these towns the American health officers have not troubled themselves with the compromises which would temper the despotism of British officials. Americans can hardly be imagined as stretching their consciences by such a concession as that, for instance, which in British India exempts gentlemen of position from appearance in the civil courts. Efficiency is not popular with those who do not practise it, and the Latin races of Southern and Central America have no love for their northern neighbors. The Americans, like the Germans, would increase their popularity did they appreciate the value of personal geniality in smoothing government.

Within the Canal Zone the jungle has been cut back from the proximity of dwelling-houses; surface water, whether stagnant or running, is regularly sterilized by doses of larvicide; all inhabited buildings are protected by mosquito-proof screening, and, in some places, a mosquito-catching staff is maintained. At the time of my visit not a mosquito was to be seen; but this was during the season of dry heat. During the rainy months mosquitos are, it seems, still far from uncommon; and the latest sanitary rules emphasize the importance of systematically catching them. Medical experience has shown that if houses are kept clear of mosquitos, there is very little fever, even in places where the water pools and channels are left unsterilized. Wire screening, supplemented by a butterfly net, is the great preventive. But we can not attain the good without an admixture of evil: behind the wire screening the indoor atmosphere becomes very oppressive. Yellow fever, the scourge of the isthmus in former days, has been completely eradicated. Admissions to hospital for malarial fever amount, it must be confessed, to several thousands a year. But, judging from the terrible experiences of the French Company, were it not for these precautions fever would incapacitate for long periods the whole of the staff.

The hospital, a heritage from the French, is a village of wooden buildings set upon a hill overlooking the Gulf of Panama, in the midst of a charming study in tropical gardening. It is managed with an energy which explores to the uttermost the medical experiences of other tropical countries, and is not afraid of improving upon time-honored methods. The daily dose of quinine is seldom less than forty-five grains, and patients are not allowed to leave their beds until their temperature has remained normal for five days at least. Complaints of deafness are disregarded; if the patient turns of a blue color he may be consoled by a dose of Epsom salts. It is claimed that by this drastic treatment the relapses are prevented which, in India and elsewhere, probably account for at least nine attacks out of ten.

Democracies are not always fortunate in the selection of their executives. But Mr. Roosevelt's Government was gifted with the wit to find, in the United States Army, men who could carry out this big work, and with the good sense to employ them. So much is told of the commanding influence of Colonel Goethals, the chief in command; of the administrative talents of Colonel Gorgas, the head of the sanitary department; of the engineering skill of Colonel Sibert, the protagonist of the Gatun dam, that an Englishman must wish to claim kinship with these American officers who are making so large a mark upon the surface of the earth. Devotion to the great work in hand has exorcised meaner feelings, and you will hear little of the "boost" which we are tempted to associate with the other side of the Atlantic. I asked Colonel Sibert whether his initial calculations had needed much correction as the operation developed. "Our guesses" he replied, "have been remarkably fortunate." The medical staff relate with delight how a British doctor, sent by the Indian Government to study their methods, being left to himself for half an hour, succeeded in catching quite a number of mosquitoes of a very noxious kind within the mosquito-proof precincts of a hospital ward.

New York is now divided from San Francisco by 13,135 miles of sea travel. The Canal will reduce this distance by 7,873 miles, and will bring New York 6,250 miles nearer Callao and 3,747 miles nearer Valparaiso. The Pacific Ocean includes so large an extent of the curvature of the earth that the effect of the Canal in developing trade routes with Asia will depend very greatly upon their direction across it. Vessels from New York which, after passing the Canal, trend northward or southward upon the great circle, will find that the Panama route will be much shorter than that via Suez; they will save 3,281 miles on the distance to Yokohama and 2,822 miles on the distance to Melbourne. But if their course lies along the equator the Panama Canal will not curtail their journey very materially. It is surprising to find that Manila will be only forty-one miles nearer New York via Panama than it is via Suez, and the saving on a journey to Hong Kong will be no more than 245 miles. In trading with Peru, Chile, Australia, North China, and Japan, the merchants of New York will gain very materially by the opening of the Canal. They will gain, moreover, by the withdrawal of the advantage which English merchants now enjoy in trading with New Zealand, Australia, North China, and Japan via the Suez Canal. At present London is nearer to these places than New York is by 1,000 miles or more. The Canal will not only withdraw this advantage: it will give New York a positive advantage in distance of 2,000 to 3,000 miles. It is more than doubtful, however, whether the Canal would ever have been constructed in the sole interests of commerce. Its chief value to the United States is strategical; it will mobilize their fleet and enable them to concentrate it upon either their eastern or their western coastline. The Canal will primarily be an instrument against war; but, like much else in this world, it will incidentally bestow multifarious advantages. The importance of fortifying it is manifest. It would appear that the locks at either end are open to naval bombardment; indeed, those at Gatun are clearly visible from the sea. Fortifications are being constructed at both entrances, and it is probable that the Canal Zone will be garrisoned by a force of 25,000 men. World enterprises involve world responsibilities.

EMBRACING THE PERIOD COVERED IN THIS VOLUME A.D. 1910-1914

DANIEL EDWIN WHEELER

Events treated at length are here indicated in large type; the numerals following give volume and page.

Separate chronologies of the various nations, and of the careers of famous persons, will be found in the Index Volume.

1910. The United States established an annual meeting of State Governors as a new machinery of government. See "THE UNITED STATES HOUSE OF GOVERNORS," XXI, 1.

Chile and Argentina completed the first railroad crossing the Andes
Mountains.

A naval revolt in Brazil, finally pacified.

Mrs. Eddy, founder of Christian Science, died.

King Edward VII of England died and was succeeded by his son, George V.

The various British provinces in South Africa united in a single confederation. See "UNION OF SOUTH AFRICA," XXI, 17.

The "Labor" party gained complete control of power in Australia under
Mr. Fisher as Prime Minister.

A Revolution made Portugal a republic. See "PORTUGAL BECOMES A
REPUBLIC," XXI, 28.

In Paris there were unprecedented floods, and many people were killed.

In Greece a National Assembly was called, and the Constitution was revised.

The new Turkish government faced revolts in Albania and other provinces.

Russia completed the destruction of Finnish liberty. See "THE CRUSHING
OF FINLAND," XXI, 47.

In Egypt the native Prime Minister Boutros Pasha was assassinated;
England adopted severe repressive measures.

In Persia, Morgan Shuster, an American, undertook the financial administration of the new constitutional government.

Corea was formally annexed by Japan.

China began establishing representative assemblies in each province, also a National Senate, in preparation for an elective government. Tumultuous demands made for a Constitution.

1911. Widespread use of automobiles seemed to establish an Automobile Age; unprecedented records of speed made. See "MAN'S FASTEST MILE," XXI, 73.

The Woman Suffrage movement gained a most important step by its victory in California. See "WOMAN SUFFRAGE," XXI, 156.

A Canadian movement for trade reciprocity with the United States led to suggestions of annexation and was then vehemently rejected.

Renewed persecution of the Jews in Russia led the United States to abrogate her long-standing Russian treaties.

In Mexico President Diaz was overthrown by a revolution headed by
Francisco Madero. See "THE FALL OF DIAZ," XXI, 96.

In England the Liberals took almost all power from the House of Lords.
See "FALL OF THE ENGLISH HOUSE OF LORDS," XXI, 113.

Germany made Alsace-Lorraine a State of the Empire, partly self-governing.

A French protectorate was established over Morocco; Germany objected and war came very close. See "MILITARISM," XXI, 186.

Spain faced a naval mutiny and proclaimed universal martial law.

In Italy a noted Camorrist trial was held at Viterbo, breaking the criminal power. Italy attacked Turkey and snatched away her last African province. See "THE TURKISH-ITALIAN WAR," XXI, 140.

The Russian prime minister Stolypin was assassinated by revolutionists.

In Persia the exiled Shah invaded the country and was again defeated and expelled; Russia demanded the expulsion of Mr. Shuster. The Persian parliament refused submission, and Russia invaded Persia, overthrew the government, and compelled submission to all her demands. See "PERSIA'S LOSS OF LIBERTY," XXI, 199.

In Japan a widespread anarchistic murder plot was discovered and suppressed.

In China a revolt for a republic began at Wuchang in October; the
Manchu court made Yuan Shi-kai dictator; he summoned a National
Assembly. All southern China joined the republic movement under Sun Yat
Sen; Nanking captured and made capital of the Republic. See "THE
CHINESE REVOLUTION," XXI, 238.

1912. Surgeons established the possibility of keeping human tissues and organs alive outside the body, and even transferring them from one body to another. See "OUR PROGRESSING KNOWLEDGE OF LIFE SURGERY," XXI, 273.

England and France made arbitration treaties with the United States.
See "A STEP TOWARD WORLD PEACE," XXI, 259.

New Mexico and Arizona were admitted to United States statehood; the close of the old territorial system within the mainland of the United States.

The United States presidential election resulted in almost a political revolution. Woodrow Wilson was elected to power by the "Progressive Democrats." See "THE NEW DEMOCRACY," XXI, 323.

In Canada the French of Ontario province made vigorous protest against efforts to Anglicize them.

"TRAGEDY OF THE 'TITANIC,'" XXI, 265.

In England there were extensive coal strikes; the Liberals prepared a
Home Rule bill and Ulster threatened rebellion.

German Socialists made such gains in the German election that they became the strongest political party in the Empire.

The suffrage was extended in Italy, so as to include almost all adult males.

In Spain, prime minister Canalejas was assassinated by anarchists.

The Balkan States formed a league against Turkey, and Montenegro precipitated a war in which Bulgaria, Greece, and Servia joined her. See "THE OVERTHROW OF TURKEY," XXI, 282.

Turkey made peace with Italy so as to meet her new foes. Turks everywhere defeated by the Balkan League; Bulgarians defeated Turks in chief battle of Lule-Burgas, and besieged Adrianople.

The European Powers intervened for peace. In India England transferred the official capital to Delhi, the ancient Mogul capital.

In China, the north and south came to an agreement; the Manchu emperor abdicated and Yuan Shi-kai was made temporary president. Peking was made the capital of the new republic. See "THE CHINESE REVOLUTION," XXI, 238.

The great Japanese Emperor Mutsuhito died.

1913. Two amendments were made to the United States Constitution. See "THE INCOME TAX IN AMERICA," XXI, 338.

The progressive Democrats under President Wilson passed a Low-Tariff bill, an Income-Tax, law and a Currency-Revision law. Several arbitration treaties were made with smaller nations.

In Mexico a revolution overthrew President Madero, and Huerta became dictator. See "MEXICO PLUNGED INTO ANARCHY," XXI, 300.

A political strike of half a million laborers in Belgium forced the government to abandon the "plural voting" system.

The "Liberals" ousted the Labor party from control of the government of
Australia.

Peace negotiations between the Balkan League and Turkey broke down; the
Bulgarians and Servians captured Adrianople and beleaguered
Constantinople; the Greeks captured Janina and their fleet captured
Turkish islands; peace left Turkey expelled from all Europe except
Constantinople. See "THE OVERTHROW OF TURKEY," XXI, 282.

The European Powers refused to let the Balkan States take all the conquered territory, and established the new state of Albania with a German king; Servia especially aggrieved at Austrian interference.

The Balkan States quarreled; Bulgaria attacked Greece and Servia; Roumania joined them, and the three allies crushed Bulgaria. Turkey regained a portion of her territory from Bulgaria. General peace followed. See "THE SECOND BALKAN WAR," XXI, 350.

King George of Greece assassinated; Greece became the chief state of the eastern Mediterranean.

The Arabs took advantage of the Turkish defeat to reassert complete independence.

In China Yuan Shi-kai was elected as the first regular president of the republic; he had much trouble with his parliament.

1914. "OPENING OF THE PANAMA CANAL," XXI, 374.

The United States was forced to intervene in Mexico, and seized Vera
Cruz.

Renewed racial bitterness in Japan against the United States because of persistent exclusion of emigrants.

The Canadian steamship Empress of Ireland sank with loss of a thousand lives.

In Peru, a revolt overthrew the president and established a new and more liberal government.

Irish Home Rule bill passed by the English Parliament despite violent opposition.

Woman Suffrage voted in the Denmark parliament.

Severe labor riots in Italy.

The Albanians revolted against the foreign king imposed on them by the
Powers.

The Archduke of Austria and his wife were assassinated in Bosnia by a revengeful Serb.

Turkey began reconstructing her navy under British guidance; and Greece purchased warships from the United States.

The Chinese president dissolved his parliament and assumed dictatorial power, promising to resign it when the people were trained in political knowledge.

The long-threatened European War broke out at last.

END OF VOL. XXI