But beyond all this--and here I think I touch on the real
story--there is the peculiar temper and tendency of Pittsburg.
Pittsburg is an artistic center; fortunes have been lavished in
endowing schools and universities and palaces for art, on
symphonies and oratorios. All the expressions of a new, ruling
plutocracy are easily discernible here, as in all such epochs of
society recorded in history; just, for instance, as Ferrero
describes them in the last phases of the Roman Republic. And when
Carnegie returns, he sheds tears and wrings his hands because of
the corruption that has been exposed, and he fails, as many in
Pittsburg seem to fail, to note the necessary, if subtle,
relation that must exist between all this corruption and
debauchery between all this art and music, and--shall I say?--the
tariff on steel.
This, however, isn't all; though this is part. Pittsburg is a
moral town; the most moral, in the conventional sense, in all
America. She won't even allow the kids to play baseball on a back
lot on Sunday. A woman, an old friend of mine who lives in
Pittsburg, said: "I think it very unfortunate that the Survey was
published. It overlooks Pittsburg's good points. For instance,
Pittsburg has more churches than any city of its size in America.
More people of our class go to church than in any place I ever
saw; more money is given to charity. People just pour out of
their houses and into the churches on Sunday morning." She was
quite serious--and she expressed Pittsburg, or the ruling class
of Pittsburg, exactly.
Now I don't mean to say that Pittsburg is especially
hypocritical; but she does seem to be pharisaical. The article
about Pittsburg should find its beginnings, perhaps, away back in
the days of scholasticism, and come down through the moss hags of
Scotland; and its title should be "Pious Pittsburg," or something
like that. Written properly--if I am right--it would be an
eloquent exposition of phariseeism at its apotheosis.