literary art an Englishman--a colonist, it is true, and so a little
nearer allied to us in democratic sentiment--has more clearly and
forcibly than any one else expressed the spirit of the best
Americanism--of the best world-temper of to-day. I refer to Rudyard
Kipling. Human society has been fascinated by the virility and
uncompromising force of his writings, but it has found an equal
fascination in the deep, simple, sham-detesting sympathy with common
humanity which permeates them. He has been the first to adopt and
exalt the idea of the brotherhood of man without either condescension
or depressing materialistic realism. He has interpreted the poetry of
"the trivial round and common task" without suggesting impending soup,
blankets, and coals on earth and reward in heaven on the one hand, or
without emphasizing the dirtiness of the workman's blouse on the
other. His imagery, his symbols and his point of view are essentially
alien to those of social convention and caste. Yet his heroes of the
engine-room, the telegraph-station, the Newfoundland Banks, and the
dreary ends of the earth, democratic though they are to the core,
appeal to the imagination by their stimulating human qualities no less
than the bearers of titles and the aristocratic monopolists of culture
and aspiration who have been the leading figures in the poetry and
fiction of the past. Strength, courage, truth, simplicity and
loving-kindness are still their salient qualities--the qualities of
noble manhood; he expounds them to us by the force of his sympathy,
which clothes them with no impossible virtues, yet shows them, in the
white light of performance, men no less entitled to our admiration
than the Knights of King Arthur or any of the other superhuman figures
of traditional aesthetic culture. He recognizes the artistic value of
the workaday life in law courts and hospitals and libraries and mines
and factories and camps and lighthouses and ocean steamers and
railroad trains, as a stimulus to and rectifier of poetic imagination,
negativing the theory that men and women are to seek inspiration
solely from what is dainty, exclusive, elegantly romantic, or
rhapsodically star-gazing in human conditions and thought. This is of
the essence of the American idea, which has been, however, slow to
subdue imagination, which is the very electric current of art, to its
use by reason chiefly of the seeming discord between it and common
life, and partly from the reluctance of the world to renounce its diet
of highly colored court, heaven and fairy-land imagery; partly, too,
because so many of the best poets and writers of America have adopted
traditional symbols. The great New England writers, who have just
passed away, were, however, the exponents of the simple life, of high
religious and intellectual thought amid common circumstance. They
stood for noble ideals as the privilege of all. Yet their mental
attitude, though scornful of pomp and materialism, was almost
aristocratic; at least it was exclusive in that it was not wholly
human, savoring rather of the ascetic star-gazer than the full-blooded
appreciator of the boon of life. Their passion was pure as snow, but
it was thin. Yet the central tenet of their philosophy, independent
naturalness of soul, is the necessary complement to the broad human
sympathy which is of the essence of modern art. The difficulty which
imagination finds in expressing itself in the new terms is natural
enough, for the poet and painter and musician are seemingly deprived
of color, the color which we associate with mystic elegance and
aristocratic prestige. Yet only seemingly. Externals may have lost the
dignity and lustre of prerogative; but the essentials for color
remain--the human soul in all its fervor--the striving world in all
its joy and suffering. There is no fear that the tide of existence
will be less intense or that the mind of man will degenerate in
aesthetic appreciation, but it must be on new lines which only a master
imbued with the value and the pathos of the highest life in the common
life as a source for heroism can fitly indicate. There lies the future
field for the poet, the novelist, and the painter--the idealization of
the real world as it is in its highest terms of love and passion,
struggle, joy, and sorrow, free from the condescension of superior
castes and the mystification of the star-reaching introspective
culture which seeks only personal exaltation, and excludes sympathy
with the every-day beings and things of earth from its so-called
spiritual outlook.
To _A Political Optimist_. I.
I approve of you, for I am an optimist myself in regard to human
affairs, and can conscientiously agree with many of the patriotic
statements concerning the greatness of the American people contained
in your letter. Your letter interested me because it differed so
signally in its point of view from the others which I received at the
same time--the time when I ran for Congress as a Democrat in a
hopelessly Republican district and was defeated. The other letters
were gloomy in tone. They deplored the degeneracy of our political
institutions, and argued from the circumstance that the voters of my
district preferred "a hack politician" and "blatant demagogue" to "an
educated philosopher" (the epithets are not mine) that we were going
to the dogs as a nation. The prophecy was flattering to me in my
individual capacity, but it has not served to soil the limpid, sunny
flow of my philosophy. I was gratified, but not convinced. I behold
the flag of my country still with moistened eyes--the eyes of pride,
and I continue to bow affably to my successful rival.
Your suggestion was much nearer the truth. You indicated with
pardonable levity that I was not elected because the other man
received more votes. I smiled at that as an apt statement. You went on
to take me to task for having given the impression in my published
account of the political canvass not merely that I ought to have been
elected, but that the failure to elect me was the sign of a lack of
moral and intellectual fibre in the American people. If I mistake not,
you referred to me farther on in the style of airy persiflage as a
"holier than thou," a journalistic, scriptural phrase in current use
among so-called patriotic Americans. And then you began to argue: You
requested me to give us time, and called attention to the fact that
the English system of rotten boroughs in vogue fifty years ago was
worse than anything we have to-day. "We are a young and impetuous
people," you wrote, "but there is noble blood in our veins--the blood
which inspired the greatness of Washington and Hamilton and Franklin
and Jefferson and Webster and Abraham Lincoln. Water does not run up
hill. Neither do the American people move backward. Their destiny is
to progress and to grow mightier and mightier. And those who seek to
retard our national march by cynical insinuations and sneers, by
scholastic sophistries and philosophical wimwams, will find themselves
inevitably under the wheels of Juggernaut, the car of republican
institutions."
Philosophical wimwams! You sought to wound me in a tender spot. I
forgive you for that, and I like your fervor. Those rotten boroughs
have done yeoman service. They are on the tongue of every American
citizen seeking for excuses for our national shortcomings. But for my
dread of a mixed metaphor I would add that they are moth-eaten and
threadbare.
Your letter becomes then a miscellaneous catalogue of our national
prowess. You instance the cotton-gin, the telegraph, the
sewing-machine, and the telephone, and ask me to bear witness that
they are the inventions of free-born Americans. You refer to the
heroism and vigor of the nation during the Civil War, and its mighty
growth in prosperity and population since; to the colleges and
academies of learning, to the hospitals and other monuments of
intelligent philanthropy, to the huge railroad systems, public works,
and private plants which have come into being with mushroom-like
growth over the country. You recall the energy, independence, and
conscientious desire for Christian progress among our citizens, young
and old, and, as a new proof of their disinterested readiness to
sacrifice comfort for the sake of principle, you cite the recent
emancipation of Cuba. Your letter closes with a Fourth of July
panegyric on the heroes on land and sea of the war with Spain,
followed by an exclamation point which seems to say, "Mr. Philosopher,
put that in your pipe and smoke it."
I have done so, and admit that there is a great deal to be proud of in
the Olla Podrida of exploits and virtues which you have set before me.
Far be it from me to question the greatness and capacity of your and
my countrymen. But while my heart throbs agreeably from the thrill of
sincere patriotism, I venture to remind you that cotton-gins,
academies of learning, and first-class battle-ships have little to do
with the matter in question. Your mode of procedure reminds me of the
plea I have heard used to obtain partners for a homely girl--that she
is good to her mother. I notice that you include our political
sanctity by a few sonorous phrases in the dazzling compendium of
national success, but I also notice that you do not condescend to
details. That is what I intend to do, philosophically yet firmly.
To begin with, I am not willing to admit that I was piqued by my
failure to be elected to Congress. I did not expect to succeed, and my
tone was, it seems to me, blandly resigned and even rather grateful
than otherwise that such a serious honor had not been thrust upon me.
Success would have postponed indefinitely the trip to Japan on which
my wife, Josephine, had set her heart. In short, I supposed that I had
concealed alike grief and jubilation, and taken the result in a purely
philosophic spirit. It seems though that you were able to read between
the lines--that is what you state--and to discern my condescending
tone and lack of faith in the desire and intention of the plain people
of these United States to select competent political representatives.
I can assure you that I have arrived at no such dire state of mind,
and I should be sorry to come to that conclusion; but, though a
philosopher, and hence, politically speaking, a worm, I have a proper
spirit of my own and beg to inform you that the desire and intention
of our fellow-countrymen, whether plain or otherwise, so to do is,
judging by their behavior, open to grave question. So you see I stand
at bay almost where you supposed, and there is a definite issue
between us. Judging by their behavior, remember. Judging by their
words, butter would not melt in their mouths. I merely wish to call
your attention to a few notorious facts in defence of my attitude of
suspicion.
[_Note._--"Josephine," said I to my wife at this point, "please
enumerate the prominent elective offices in the gift of the American
people."
My wife rose and after a courtesy, which was mock deferential,
proceeded to recite with the glib fluency of a school-girl the
following list--"Please, sir,
President.
Senators of the United States (elected by the State legislatures).
Representatives of the United States.
State Senators.
State Assemblymen or Representatives.
Aldermen.
Members of the City Council.
Members of the School Committee."
"Correct, Josephine. I pride myself that, thanks to my prodding, you
are beginning to acquire some rudimentary knowledge concerning the
institutions of your country. Thanks to me and Professor Bryce. Before
Professor Bryce wrote 'The American Commonwealth,' American women
seemed to care little to know anything about our political system.
They studied more or less about the systems of other countries, but
displayed a profound ignorance concerning our own form of government.
But after an Englishman had published a book on the subject, and made
manifest to them that our institutions were reasonably worthy of
attention, considerable improvement has been noticeable. But I will
say that few women are as well posted as you, Josephine."
She made another mock deferential courtesy. "Thank you, my lord and
master; and lest you have not made it sufficiently clear that my
superiority in this respect is due to your--your nagging, I mention
again that you are chiefly responsible for it. It bores me, but I
submit to it."
"Continue then your docility so far as to write the names which you
have just recited on separate slips of paper and put them in a proper
receptacle. Then I will draw one as a preliminary step in the
political drama which I intend to present for the edification of our
correspondent."
Josephine did as she was bid, and in the process, by way of showing
that she was not such a martyr as she would have the world believe,
remarked, "If you had really been elected, Fred, I think I might have
made a valuable political ally. What I find tedious about politics is
that they're not practical--that is for me. If you were in Congress
now, I should make a point of having everything political at the tip
of my tongue."
"Curiously enough, my dear, I am just going to give an object lesson
in practical politics, and you as well as our young friend may be able
to learn wisdom from it. Now for a blind choice!" I added, putting my
hand into the work-bag which she held out.
"Aldermen!" I announced after scrutinizing the slip which I had drawn.
Josephine's nose went up a trifle.
"A very fortunate and comprehensive selection," I asserted. "The
Alderman and the influences which operate upon and around him lie at
the root of American practical politics. And from a careful study of
the root you will be able to decide how genuinely healthy and free
from taint must be the tree--the tree which bears such ornamental
flowers as Presidents and United States Senators, gorgeous blooms of
apparent dignity and perfume."]
This being a drama, my young patriot, I wish to introduce you to the
stage and the principal characters. The stage is any city in the
United States of three hundred thousand or more inhabitants. It would
be invidious for me to mention names where any one would answer to the
requirements. Some may be worse than others, but all are bad enough. A
bold and pessimistic beginning, is it not, my optimistic friend?
And now for the company. This drama differs from most dramatic
productions in that it makes demands upon a large number of actors. To
produce it properly on the theatrical stage would bankrupt any manager
unless he were subsidized heavily from the revenues of the twenty
leading villains. The cast includes besides twenty leading villains,
twelve low comedians, no hero, no heroine (except, incidentally,
Josephine); eight newspaper editors; ten thousand easy-going
second-class villains; ten thousand patriotic, conscientious, and
enlightened citizens, including a sprinkling of ardent reformers;
twenty-five thousand zealous, hide-bound partisans; fifty thousand
respectable, well-intentioned, tolerably ignorant citizens who vote
but are too busy with their own affairs to pay attention to politics,
and as a consequence generally vote the party ticket, or vote to
please a "friend"; ten thousand superior, self-centred souls who
neglect to vote and despise politics anyway, among them poets,
artists, scientists, some men of leisure, and travellers; ten thousand
enemies of social order such as gamblers, thieves, keepers of dives,
drunkards, and toughs; and your philosopher.
A very large stock company. I will leave the precise arithmetic to
you. I wish merely to indicate the variegated composition of the
average political constituency, and to let you perceive that the piece
which is being performed is no parlor comedy. It is written in dead
earnest, and it seems to me that the twenty leading villains, though
smooth and in some instances aristocratic appearing individuals, are
among the most dangerous characters in the history of this or any
other stage. But before I refer to them more particularly I will make
you acquainted with our twelve low comedians--the Board of Aldermen.
It is probably a surprise to you and to Josephine that the Aldermen
are not the villains. Everything is comparative in this world, and,
though I might have made them villains without injustice to such
virtues as they possess, I should have been at a loss how to
stigmatize the real promoters of the villainy. And after all there is
an element of grotesque comedy about the character of Aldermen in a
large American city. The indecency of the situation is so unblushing,
and the public is so helpless, that the performers remind one in their
good-natured antics of the thieves in Fra Diavolo; they get bolder and
bolder and now barely take the trouble to wear the mask of
respectability.
Have I written "thieves?" Patriotic Americans look askance at such
full-blooded expressions. They prefer ambiguity, and a less harsh
phraseology--"slight irregularities," "business misfortunes,"
"commercial usages," "professional services," "campaign expenses,"
"lack of fine sensibilities," "unauthenticated rumors." There are
fifty ways of letting one's fellow-citizens down easily in the public
prints and in private conversation. This is a charitable age, and the
word thief has become unfamiliar except as applied to rogues who enter
houses as a trade. The community and the newspapers are chary of
applying it to folk who steal covertly but steadily and largely as an
increment of municipal office. It is inconvenient to hurt the feelings
of public servants, especially when one may have voted for them from
carelessness or ignorance.
Here is a list of the twelve low comedians for your inspection:
Peter Lynch, no occupation.
James Griffin, stevedore.
William H. Bird, real-estate.
John S. Maloney, saloon-keeper.
David H. Barker, carpenter.
Jeremiah Dolan, no occupation.
Patrick K. Higgins, junk dealer.
Joseph Heffernan, liquors.
William T. Moore, apothecary.
James O. Frost, paints and oils.
Michael O'Rourke, tailor.
John P. Driscoll, lawyer.
You will be surprised by my first statement regarding them, I dare
say. Four of them, Peter Lynch, James Griffin, Jeremiah Dolan, and
Michael O'Rourke neither drink nor smoke. Jeremiah Dolan chews, but
the three others do not use tobacco in any form. They are patterns of
Sunday-school virtue in these respects. This was a very surprising
discovery to one of the minor characters in our drama--to two of them
in fact--Mr. Arthur Langdon Waterhouse and his father, James Langdon
Waterhouse, Esq. The young man, who had just returned from Europe with
the idea of becoming United States Senator and who expressed a
willingness to serve as a Reform Alderman while waiting, announced the
discovery to his parent shortly before election with a mystified air.
"Do you know," said he to the old gentleman, who, by the way, though
he has denounced every person and every measure in connection with our
politics for forty years, was secretly pleased at his son's senatorial
aspirations, "do you know that some one told me to-day that four of
the very worst of those fellows have never drunk a drop of liquor, nor
smoked a pipe of tobacco in their lives. Isn't it a curious
circumstance? I supposed they were intoxicated most of the time."
You will notice also that Peter Lynch and Jeremiah Dolan have no
occupation. Each of them has been connected in some capacity with the
City Government for nearly twenty years, and they are persons of great
experience. They have more than once near election time been amiably
referred to in the press as "valuable public servants," and it must be
admitted that they are efficient in their way. Certainly, they know
the red tape of City Hall from A to Z, and understand how to block or
forward any measure. The salary of Alderman is not large--certainly
not large enough to satisfy indefinitely such capable men as they, and
yet they continue to appear year after year at the same old stand.
Moreover, they resist vigorously every effort to dislodge them,
whether proceeding from political opponents or envious rivals of their
own party. A philosopher like myself, who is, politically speaking, a
worm, is expected to believe that valuable public servants retain
office for the honor of the thing; but even a philosopher becomes
suspicious of a patriot who has no occupation.
Next in importance are Hon. William H. Bird and Hon. John P. Driscoll.
It is a well-known axiom of popular government that citizens are
called from the plough or counting-room to public office by the urgent
request of their friends and neighbors. As a fact, this takes place
two or three times in a century. Most aspirants for office go through
the form of having a letter from their friends and neighbors published
in the newspapers, but only the very guileless portion of the public
do not understand that the candidates in these cases suggest
themselves. It is sometimes done delicately, as, for instance, in the
case of young Arthur Langdon Waterhouse of whom I was writing just
now. He let a close friend intimate to the ward committee that he
would like to run for Alderman, and that in consideration thereof his
father would be willing to subscribe two thousand dollars to the party
campaign fund. It seems to a philosopher that a patriotic people
should either re-edit its political axioms or live up to them.
Now Hon. William H. Bird and Hon. John P. Driscoll never go through
the ceremony of being called from the plough--in their case the ward
bar-room. They announce six months in advance that they wish
something, and they state clearly what. They are perpetual candidates
for, or incumbents of, office, and to be elected or defeated annually
costs each of them from two to four thousand dollars according to
circumstances. One of them has been in the Assembly, the Governor's
Council, and in both branches of the City Government; the other a
member of the Assembly, a State Senator, and an Alderman, and both of
them are now glad to be Alderman once more after a desperate Kilkenny
contest for the nomination. They are called Honorable by the
reporters; and philosophers and other students of newspapers are
constantly informed that Hon. William H. Bird has done this, and Hon.
John P. Driscoll said that.
These four are the big men of the Board. The others are smaller fry;
ambitious and imitative, but less experienced and smooth and
audacious. Yet the four have their virtues, too. It is safe to state
that no one of them would take anything beyond his reach. Moreover, if
you, a patriot, or I, a philosopher, were to find himself alone in a
room with one of them and had five thousand dollars in bills in a
pocket-book and the fact were known to him, he would make no effort to
possess himself of the money. We should be absolutely safe from
assault or sleight of hand. Whoever would maintain the opposite does
not appreciate the honesty of the American people. If, on the other
hand, under similar circumstances, the right man were to place an
envelope containing one thousand dollars in bills on the table and
saunter to the window to admire the view, the packet would disappear
before he returned to his seat and neither party would be able to
remember that it ever was there. I do not intend to intimate that this
is the precise method of procedure; I am merely explaining that our
comedians have not the harsh habits of old-fashioned highwaymen.
Then again, there are people so fatuous as to believe that Aldermen
are accustomed to help themselves out of the city treasury. That is a
foolish fiction, for no Alderman could. The City Hall is too bulky to
remove, and all appropriations of the public money are made by draft
and have to be accounted for. If any member of the Board were to make
a descent on the funds in the safe, he would be arrested as a lunatic
and sent to an insane asylum.