expedition, for he loves the sea, as he says, with all the strength of
his soul. He was born on a yacht at sea and has written much about
ships and the ocean. He has taken as his motto three Latin words,
"Memento audere semper," which mean, "Remember always to dare."
As they steam away from the Italian shores, D'Annunzio talks to his
brave companions. He says, "Sailors, companions, what we are about to
do is a task for silent men. Silence is our trusty helmsman. For that
reason I need not urge you with many words to be brave, for I know you
are already eager to match your courage against the unknown danger. If
I were to tell you where we are bound, you would hardly be able to keep
from dancing for joy. We are only a handful of men on three small
ships, but our hearts are stronger than the motors, and our wills can
go further than the torpedoes.
"We carry with us, to leave for a souvenir for the enemy, three bottles
sealed and crowned with the flaming tricolor of Italy. We will leave
them to-night floating on the smooth surface of the bay amid the
wreckage of the vessels we have struck."
Then D'Annunzio reads to them the letter which he has written and
inclosed in each bottle, ridiculing the Austrians because they have
hidden their ships safely behind the guns of the forts, and do not have
courage to come out in the open sea. He says the Italians are always
ready "to dare the undarable," and that they have come to make the
enemy whom they hate most of all, the laughingstock of the world.
He goes on speaking to the sailors: "Because this thing that we attempt
is so dangerous, we have already conquered Fate. To-morrow your names
will be honored in all Italy, and will shine as golden as the torpedo.
Therefore, every one to-day must give all of himself and more than all
of himself, all of his strength and courage, and even more. Do you
swear it? Answer me."
The sailors cry, "We swear it! Viva l'Italia!"
And D'Annunzio answers, "Memento audere semper."
They have been steaming for twenty-four hours and are now very near the
enemy's guns guarding the entrance to the bay. The very audacity of the
Italians seems to save them, for they steam on unchallenged, and when
near enough, discharge a torpedo at the giant Austrian dreadnought. The
ship is struck and all is excitement and confusion. Rockets are sent up
to alarm and inform the forts. The Italian torpedo boats turn for home.
D'Annunzio says, "The sky is starry, the sea is starry, and our hearts
are starry, too."
One of their three ships is soon disabled and falls behind. The other
two turn back to help her, and this is what probably saves them all;
for the Austrian forts, seeing them sailing into the harbor, think they
are Austrian vessels and do not fire upon them. When they steam out of
the harbor, the forts think they are Austrian torpedo boats in pursuit
of the Italians who must have escaped in the darkness. As D'Annunzio
says, "Our very audacity has conquered Fate."
They sank one of the largest of the Austrian dreadnoughts, and then
returned in safety to Italy.
It remained, however, for another Italian naval officer to outdo those
who "dared the undarable" at Buccari. Lieutenant Luigi Rizzo, with two
small motor patrol boats, succeeded in sinking two huge dreadnoughts
protected by an escort of fast destroyers. His story of the encounter
is as follows:
We were returning to our base just before dawn on July 10, 1918,
after a night of dull, monotonous work along the enemy's coast,
when I saw smoke coming from ships nearly two miles away. I
thought we had been discovered and were being pursued. The only
way I could know what we had to contend with was to get nearer
the enemy, so I turned the two boats in my command toward the
distant smoke.
Soon I discovered that it was two of Austria's largest
dreadnoughts protected by a great convoy of destroyers.
Evidently because we were so small, we had not been seen in the
darkness; and although we were poorly armed, with only two large
torpedoes for each of our two boats and eight smaller ones to
throw by hand, we crept ahead until we were inside the line of
the destroyers, and slowly and quietly approaching the
dreadnoughts. I headed for one of them which proved to be the
_St. Stephen_, and Lieutenant Aonzo, in charge of the other
boat, made for the other, the _Prince Eugene_.
Then the watch on the dreadnoughts discovered us and began to
fire at us with their small guns. How we escaped destruction is
a miracle. Lieutenant Aonzo sent his first torpedo, and missed;
but the second struck the giant fairly. Both of my torpedoes
struck the _St. Stephen_.
After that all was confusion and excitement. We were fired upon
and encircled by a muddled crowd of destroyers. I turned my boat
to escape. A destroyer stood directly in my way and I veered off
and almost touched the bow of the sinking _St. Stephen_ in
passing. The destroyers gave their attention to me and this
allowed Lieutenant Aonzo to escape.
I saw that I would soon be overtaken, so I sent two torpedoes at
the nearest destroyer. The first missed, but the second hit the
mark. There was a tremendous explosion. The destroyer wobbled
and began to turn over. I put on all power and escaped in the
darkness.
The whole thing did not take over fifteen minutes. When we were
sure of our escape, the five boys of my crew went nearly mad
with joy, hugging, cheering, kissing, and crying in their
excitement at what we had done. They hoisted our largest flag
and trimmed our boat with bunting. A short way from us we could
see that Lieutenant Aonzo was doing the same.
We knew the reception we would have when those at home learned
the story, but we did not expect so much. The King decorated and
honored us, the Admiralty gave us prize money, and the people
added their contributions to it, for they declared we doubtless
saved the city of Ancona from bombardment.
Lieutenant Rizzo was promoted to the rank of Commandant although not
yet thirty years of age.
The _St. Stephen_ sank where she was torpedoed. The _Prince Eugene_ was
able to make for home, but sank before she reached there, a short way
from the Austrian coast. At the beginning of 1918, Austria had four of
these giant dreadnoughts; on July 11, she had but one still floating.
KILLING THE SOUL
As the centuries pass, the greatest glory of any nation, its highest
satisfaction and pride, is in the works of art which it possesses. In
each country there are works of art which have been preserved through
many generations. They are the great inheritance of all the past ages.
Every nation prizes this inheritance and wishes to hold it in
safekeeping for still another generation; for into these creations of
genius, men have put their souls.
If a famous inventor of machinery dies and the particular machine which
he made is destroyed, there are yet other machines left, which have
been made after his pattern, usually much better than the first one
which he constructed.
While steamboats, railways, telegraphs, and automobiles are very
useful, they are not so mysterious and individual but that they may be
exactly copied and many, many duplicates be made and used by every
country under the sun.
If all the music of the great composer Beethoven should be destroyed so
that no copy remained in the world, there perhaps would be some master
musicians of to-day who could remember and write down the notes, and so
reproduce the wonderful compositions once more.
But there have been artists who have seen visions and dreamed dreams of
God and heaven and the best and happiest things they had found in life.
Such a one, with the power of his great genius, has made the dream into
a picture, a painting, a statue, or a wonderful building, which no
other person in the world is able to copy exactly. Indeed, there are
many half-finished works which no artist, however great, has been able
to complete. The creator has put into the work his soul, the best of
all he thought and knew. So when many artists with their many dreams
brought their finest works together into one place, it was certain that
forever that place would be cherished and the wonder of it would belong
to all people everywhere. While the artists have died long ago, their
spirits, their very souls, seem alive to-day in the beautiful art works
which they have left. It is for this reason that we speak of great
artists who lived eight or nine hundred years ago, as if they were
still living to-day, for their souls are alive in what they so
wonderfully made. Those who look upon these works are mysteriously
inspired to live better and happier lives themselves.
[Illustration: RHEIMS CATHEDRAL]
The loveliest art works in France are its Gothic cathedrals, and of
them all, the Cathedral at Rheims was probably the most wonderful. No
monument of ancient or modern times is more widely known to the world.
It was built in the Middle Ages and expressed all the aspiration and
faith of the people of that time. For seven hundred years it has been
cherished for its great beauty, for the memory of the men who made it
so beautiful, and for the sacred services which have been held in it.
All the kings of France, except six, were crowned in it. One of the
most striking services was the coronation of Charles VII, while Joan of
Arc stood beside him with the sacred banner in her hands.
The cathedral held the works of many ancient artists. It was especially
famous for its rose window, in which the figures of prophets and
martyrs were glorified by the afternoon sun. Beneath the window was a
magnificent gallery. Statues of angels, a beautiful statue of Christ,
and one of the Madonna were to be found in this wonderful building. The
stained glass windows were all very beautiful. Even the bells in the
tower were famous.
With the excuse that the French were using the great towers of the old
cathedral as observation posts, the Germans bombarded and destroyed the
church. The roof was battered in and burned, the stained glass windows
broken, the famous bells pounded into a shapeless mass of metal, and
the wonderful statues and decorations hopelessly destroyed. Only the
statue of Joan of Arc, in front of the cathedral, remained uninjured,
as though to say, "I am the soul of France. You cannot injure or kill
me." Afterwards the Germans bombarded the church a second time,
attempting to tear down even the walls that were still standing.
Even savages in war respect sacred places, but the Germans deliberately
aimed their guns at them. No excuse can ever be accepted by the
civilized world for this deliberate destruction, and certainly the
excuse cannot be accepted by military men that the act was due to bad
marksmanship.
Other ancient churches were horribly damaged. The Germans stabled their
horses in them, broke down the candelabra and statues, and carried away
many valuable relics.
The burning of the University buildings at Louvain completely destroyed
the treasures that had been preserved for centuries. Priceless
manuscripts, paintings that can never be replaced, and valuable books
in rare bindings were lost to the world.
The Germans scornfully but ignorantly declared, "Why should we care if
every monument in the world is destroyed? We can build better ones."
But the German idea of beauty is great strength and huge size. Their
own public buildings and statues are often horrible in color, immense
and awkward in appearance. They give people the impression of a
fearsome brute spreading himself out before them. With few exceptions,
there are no dainty figures and designs, nor any beautiful thoughts and
feelings, as shown in the work of real artists.
The old cathedral at Rheims can never be restored. No one can ever
bring back the old beauty and color; no one can revive those statues
and paintings so that ever again they will seem to breathe forth the
soul of the artists who fashioned them seven hundred years ago. The
walls may be rebuilt, and artists of tomorrow may beautify them, but
the spirit of the great men of the Middle Ages is gone--it has fled
from the place forever. Thus the Germans, not content with killing the
bodies of men, have in this way killed the souls of some of the
greatest of the geniuses of the past. How can she pay the damage, or
meet a fitting punishment?
* * * * *
What a peerless jewel was this cathedral, more beautiful even than
Notre Dame in Paris, more open to the light, more ethereal, more
soaringly uplifted with its columns like long reeds surprisingly
fragile considering the weight they bear, a miracle of the religious
art of France, a masterpiece which the faith of our ancestors had
called into being in all its mystic purity.
PIERRE LOTI.
THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION
The controller, as he is called on the Siberian railroad, was passing
through the cars to see that every passenger had a ticket. He did not
notice the _mooshik_, which is what the Russian peasant is called in
his own language, hiding under one of the car seats with a large bundle
in front of him; or if he saw him, he passed on without seeming to have
done so.
The _mooshik_ had given the brakeman a small sum of money, about fifty
cents in our currency, to let him hide there whenever the controller
came around, and in this way ride from Petrograd, or Petersburg as the
Bolsheviki renamed it after the revolution, to Vladivostok, a distance
of about four thousand miles.
Now this _mooshik_ did not need to go to Vladivostok; but his Russian
nature made him _go_, go somewhere, it made little difference where. He
had been the year before to Jerusalem, but this was for religious
reasons, and now he must go again for no reason except that from within
came the impulse to travel, an impulse too strong to be denied. The
Russian government did not attempt to discourage the people from
traveling, but actually made it easier by fixing fares for long
distances at very small amounts. This traveler did not have even that
small amount, but he found it easy with a smaller one to bribe his way
in Russia.
There is a society in Russia, whose members pledge themselves never to
remain more than three days in any one place; and it is said that
wealthy Russians, after their children have grown up, will often divide
their property and with staff in hand spend the remainder of their
lives in traveling from one holy place to another.
A dream, a vision, leads the wealthy man to do this, and perhaps this
is true also of the _mooshik_; but it is as likely that he goes because
of the reality, the real people, the real village, the real home that
he leaves behind. He is uneducated, for only seven out of every hundred
can read and write in Russia. He lives in a shed as filthy and bad
smelling as a pig-pen, or rather he starves there, starves both for
food and for comfort. Black bread, potatoes, and sometimes cabbage,
make up his "balanced diet." He cannot afford money for meat, eggs,
milk, butter, sugar, or any of the many other ordinary foods of the
American home, nor for the light of lamp or candle.
It is not strange that such _mooshiki_ constantly move on and have no
love for their native place, and have never established an "Old Home
Day." It is not so strange that their former Tsar, Peter the Great,
said, "One can treat other European people as human beings, but I have
to do with cattle." Are they not treated like cattle?
But it is strange that a Russian writer can say of these people, and
say it with truth, "A Russian may steal and drink and cheat until it is
almost impossible to live with him; and yet, in spite of it all, you
feel a charm in him that draws you to him, and that there is something
more in him, some good or promise of good, that raises him above the
level of all other races you have ever met." It is strange that he is
so religious, so pitying of others, and so critical of himself; that he
has so many noble visions and dreams for which he is ready and willing
to die.
Uneducated, with little or no respect for truth or honesty in their own
dealings, with no experience in government, having always been robbed
by the aristocracy, and now eager and willing in turn to rob them, but
with dreams of a society of men where all crime and hardship and
unnecessary suffering are abolished, where there are no grafters, no
self-seekers, no wrong-doers, no conflict, no robbery, no war--these
Russian _mooshiki_, workmen, soldiers, and sailors, as a result of a
revolution, found themselves attempting to govern a nation nearly twice
as large in population as the United States. There are indeed two
problems before the world, to make the world safe for democracy, and to
make democracy safe for the world.
History tells the story of many revolutions. The story of the American
Revolution, which was an uprising of the American colonies against the
mother country, and that of the French Revolution, in which the
laborers and peasants and some others rose against the extravagant and
autocratic rulers of France, are well known to Americans.
When the real character and aims of the German autocracy were made
plain to the world, all free people hoped for and expected the World
War to end in a revolution of the German people. But the mass of the
German people are kept ignorant of what the rest of the world feels and
thinks about them, and have so long been trained to unquestioning
obedience that a German revolution can come, if ever, only after some
unexpected and appalling German defeat.
It has been said that if, at the time the Russian revolution broke out,
a few regiments of trained veteran soldiers had been in Petrograd, the
revolution would have been put down by these soldiers, to whom
obedience to commands of superiors had become second nature. Those on
guard in the city were newly-formed regiments recently trained and
taken into the service.
The Russian revolution of March 9-13, 1917, overthrew Tsar Nicholas and
the Romanoff dynasty. The Tsar has since been shot, and his son and
heir has died--from exposure, it was reported. When Tsar Nicholas
succeeded his father on the throne of Russia, the Russian people
rejoiced and felt certain better days were at hand, and that they
should love and loyally support the new Tsar. He had his opportunity
and he threw it aside. Instead of granting larger liberty and a greater
part in the government to the common people when they petitioned for
it, he replied, "Let it be known that I shall guard the autocracy as
firmly as did my father." His father was as autocratic as the German
Kaiser.
Tsar Nicholas was weak and fickle. He made promises when in trouble and
refused to keep his promises when trouble seemed avoided. The Russian
people were much disappointed in him, and every year their
disappointment grew. Some dreadful massacres of workers at Jaroslav, of
peasants in Kharkov, and of miners on the Lena changed their
disappointment to hatred.
As the Tsar grew older he drew away from touch with the people, and
lived in his palaces, leaving affairs of state to his ministers who
were chosen from a small and selfish clique. They brought on the war
with Japan, and its failure was due to them. When Russia was defeated,
the people were on the brink of a revolution; but the Tsar promised
them a constitution, and trouble was put off for a while. When the
people were quiet again, he broke his word and did not give them a
constitution. Instead, in every way possible, he lessened the power
and freedom of the people, and took revenge upon those who had caused
the trouble by having them arrested and exiled, or executed.
He was very much under the influence of his wife. She was even weaker
in many ways than he was and seemed to be in the power of an ignorant
and wicked peasant who claimed to be a monk and was called Rasputin,
the Black Monk. His influence over the weak Tsar and the weaker Tsarina
so angered and disgusted some of the young Russian leaders that finally
they had him secretly put to death--but not until he had helped to set
every one against Tsar Nicholas and his wife.
For a while after the World War broke out, matters seemed to be going
better. The people wanted the influence of Germany destroyed, and they
expected the Russian army would soon be in Berlin. But when defeat and
disaster overwhelmed the armies through the treachery of government
officials, the people began to turn and to condemn Rasputin, the
Tsarina, and the Tsar. It is said that Rasputin had one of his friends
serving as physician to the Tsar and that he kept Nicholas drugged. It
hardly seems possible that this can be true, but at any rate, the Tsar
seemed to show no sense in his dealing with the situation. Instead of
appointing better ministers, he appointed worse ones, suggested by
Rasputin. Every one became disgusted and felt that only a revolution
would save Russia. If it had not come from the people, it would have
come from the nobles. It was looked forward to by all, but not until
after the war.
There was suffering everywhere in the capital, Petrograd. Living was
very high. It was difficult to get enough to eat or to get carried from
place to place. Steam trains and trolleys were few and irregular.
Though there was plenty of food in Russia, the railroads were in such
bad shape that it did not reach the capital. But the Russians were
fighting Germany, and no one expected or seemed to desire a revolution
until after the war. When it did come, it was not planned, but seemed
to come as if by accident.
Trouble began in the factory districts, in connection with bread riots.
Stones were thrown, and some damage was done to property. Then crowds
gathered and marched up and down the streets crying for bread, singing
revolutionary songs, and carrying red flags.
The police were not able to handle the situation alone, and the
soldiers were called upon. These were Cossacks and recently trained.
There was bad feeling between the police and the Cossacks, and so the
Cossacks were inclined to listen to the people and to become friendly
with them.
On Sunday, March 11, the factory hands planned to make a great
demonstration. The Tsar, learning of it, ordered notices to be posted
warning the people that if they gathered, the soldiers were ordered to
fire upon them. A few people did gather, and they were fired upon by
machine guns and several were killed. The next morning, the officers
who had ordered the soldiers to fire upon the people were killed by
their own men. Then notices were posted by the government saying that
unless the rioters went to work, they would immediately be sent to the
front.
Other regiments revolted, and there was a battle between these and the
few who remained loyal to the government. It was not a serious battle;
but some were killed and the loyal regiments were defeated. Then
soldiers and people ran through the streets crying, "Down with the
Government."
The Tsar was at the front. Had he been in Petrograd, he might have
saved the government by making some new promises; but, as it was, it
soon fell.
As soon as the government was overthrown and the Tsar taken prisoner,
those who had long sought for a revolution and had been forced to flee
from Russia, came rushing back from Switzerland, Greece, France, and
the United States. They were the real leaders after they arrived.
An American who was in Petrograd at the time gives the following
account of the revolution:
Their first demand was that all prison doors should be opened
and that the oppressed the world over should be freed.
The revolution was picturesque and full of color. Nearly every
morning one could see regiment after regiment, soldiers,
Cossacks, and sailors, with their regimental colors, and bands,
and revolutionary flags, marching to the Duma to take the new
oath of allegiance. They were cheered; they were blessed;
handkerchiefs were waved; hats were raised, as marks of
appreciation and gratitude to these men, without whose help
there would have been no revolution. The enthusiasm became so
contagious that men and women, young and old, high and low, fell
in alongside, or behind, joined in the singing of the
Marseillaise, and walked to the Duma to take the oath of
allegiance, and having taken it, they felt as purified as if
they had partaken of the communion.