The Contributors' Column
FROM three sources — from far-and-wide travels in the East, from an intimate friendship with Colonel Lawrence of Arabia, and from his reading of the latter’s rare book, Seven Pillars of Wisdom — Edmund Candler has drawn the materials of a fascinating record. Colonel Lawrence — now at his own wish a private in the Royal Air Force — is an Irishman of that line of Lawrences who saved India for the Empire in the days of the Mutiny. About him more mythology has gathered than about any man of our times. Through a friend’s eyes we see the slim young genius as scholar, soldier, and visionary laboring in the cause of the Empire and the freedom of the Arabian tribes. ¶Penetrating as ever, Agnes Repplier has questioned the value of the recent Americanism, ‘our moral support,’ which, so often on the lips of publicists, at once betrays our hypocrisy and angers our friends. ¶English poet and missionary, chaplain to the South African Forces in France, Robert Keable in 1920 resigned his orders, turned schoolmaster, and wrote a first and highly successful novel. Recently Mr. Keable was invalided to California. ¶Professor of English at Johns Hopkins University, George Boas has taught for ten years and learned for thirty-three. His advice has a crisp and salty flavor. ¶Former times had not been dimmed when Amy Lowell wrote these present verses, nor shall the remembrance of her vivid art and personality soon fade from our minds.
By day Manuel Komroff is in charge of the design and manufacture of Boni and Liveright’s publications; by night and holiday he is the writer of short stories which have won him recognition here and in England. Frederick J. E. Woodbridge is Dean of the Faculties of Arts, Science, and Philosophy at Columbia, and editor of the Journal of Philosophy. ¶If, as the Frenchman said, ‘the world is small but Chicago is enormous,’ then Mrs. Louise de Koven Bowen has enjoyed a wider experience than most. The third generation of a settler’s family and now a grandmother, Mrs. Bowen has grown up with her beloved city. Of all its ways she prizes best those simple days before and after the fire. Harvey Wickham, a traveling essayist last heard from in Rome, was a young friend and schoolmate of Stephen Crane’s. E. Barrington, whose kinship — identity, rather — with L. Adams Beck has finally been disclosed, is a versatile writer who for a decade has been sending us manuscripts delightfully characteristic of her manycolored mind. ¶For nearly a score of years Fannie Stearns Gifford has charmed our audience with her graceful verse as with her sprightly essays.
Editor and author whose chief concern is with the world of business, Arthur Pound is preparing for us a series of papers on modern enterprise and industry. His last article, ‘The Land of Dignified Credit,’ a survey of the present proportions of the Installment Plan, was printed in the February Atlantic. ¶Professor of English at the University of Kansas, Margaret Lynn, on a leave of absence, is just finishing a book composed as she roved over the moors and along the coast of England. Reverend Bernard Iddings Bell is President of Saint Stephen’s College, Annandale-onHudson. ¶Editor of the Nation, a journalist and historian of large experience, Oswald Garrison Villard has accepted our invitation to do some plain speaking on a public outrage.
Retired from a long and important career in the diplomatic service, Abel Chevalley was at one time head of the American section of the Foreign Office and later Minister to Norway for France. M. Chevalley is now mayor of Vouvray and proprietor of a famous vineyard on the Loire. Both qualifications propose him as a man likely to represent the broad and particular views of a thoughtful Frenchman. Ralston Hayden is Professor of Political Science at the University of Michigan. Eighteen months’ residence and journeying in the Philippines as an exchange professor enabled Dr. Hayden to gather some sound observations and conclusions. ¶Formerly foreign editor of the Morning Post,Neil Forbes Grant is an English dramatist, one of whose plays has been scheduled for an early New York production.
We are glad to present this kind and candid letter to our forum. The Italian situation to-day, with its suppression and propaganda, presents many difficulties to an inquiring editor. We regard Mr. Murphy’s paper as one-sided in that it does not picture the very great benefits which the nation has derived from Mussolini’s rule, but valuable in that it affords a corrective for what it is fair to call Italian propaganda. After all, a government which suppresses by force all criticism, both public and private, can hardly be permanent.
VILLA SENNI, ROME
EDITOR OF THE ATLANTIC
DEAR SIR: —
Apart from my own copy of the Atlantic Monthly (I am an old reader), two others have been sent to me from New York with the article of James Murphy on ‘Italian Tyranny,’ one marked ‘preposterous’ and the other decorated simply with exclamation points. It really merits them; one hardly knows which part of the article is most deserving of ridicule — the account of the ‘march on Rome,’ or the ‘Cheka,’ or ‘the court party.’
Anyone living in Italy under this ‘tyranny’ can smile, but it is rather hard upon American readers of such an intelligent review as the Atlantic to have such bosh served to them. I am not a Fascista. I have a strong dislike for many of its leaders and for the fire-eating eloquence of Farinassi, the secretary (or chairman) of the party, and a certain theoretical distaste for censorship and press restrictions, although practically many of these measures have done much good. But no one who loves Italy and has lived here all these momentous years can have anything but intense gratitude to Mussolini and to all the new and better spirit in Fascism which has set us free from the tyranny of ‘parliamentarism.’
Why does the Atlantic Monthly, before giving such an article an honored place, not ask itself the question, ‘Why has the opposition to Mussolini’s government never succeeded in rallying to itself any measure of public support?’ It started with plenty of means, — most of the great political names and all the widely diffused newspapers at its disposal, — but never once won the response and help of public opinion, and for that reason has disintegrated into tiny quarreling factions, although Mr. Murphy would probably think it had been throttled by the ‘ Cheka ‘!
To the thousands of plain people like us, who belong to no political party and ask only for order and peace and freedom from molestation in our daily lives, Fascism has brought this, and we feel ourselves infinitely freer than in the days of our ‘Liberal’ governments, when strikes followed each other in bewildering rapidity, and there was no such thing as liberty in daily life. We pay terrific taxes, but we do so gladly to a government which thinks of Italy and not of its own profit, and which has set an example of good management in reducing its staff, balancing its budget, and making taxation fall equitably upon the shoulders which can support it. There is a new breath in government offices; a man who was lately at a luncheon with some of the Cabinet ministers told me that one really noticed a difference in their talk — more of the country and less of the party. Anyone who has occasion to go to government offices or public officials notices this new atmosphere — the greater alertness, rigor, and honesty. One can no longer give bribes where one could four years ago.
No ‘terror’ could do this; it is the sane instinct of a strong and healthy race which has at last been saved from the lingering death of political corruption and incompetence to which its ‘Liberal’ and ‘Parliamentary’ governments were forcing it. Mussolini’s personal examples of patriotism, disinterestedness, high-mindedness, and honesty have infused a new blood into all the members of the body politic.
There are, of course, thousands of enemies: politicians out of a job, discharged employees, people of a bound and rigid mentality to whom ‘ revolution ‘ is anathema — and this is a revolution. But no one who lives among the people, in town and in the country, and travels up and down the land, has anything in his heart but gratitude and rejoicing for the new order.
That Mr. Murphy’s personal experience has rendered him acid and embittered is more than evident from his article, but it is scarcely ‘ playing the game’ to give it as a true picture of Italy to-day.
Yours truly,
AN OLD SUBSCRIBER
Here is startling proof that Mr. Anderson’s account of our ‘gentlemanly cracksmen’ was true to form.
LITTLE ROCK, ARK.
EDITOR, THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
DEAR SIR : —
Upon reading ‘Tramping with Yeggs,’ in the December Atlantic, I called it to the attention of several citizens. None remembered having seen any tramps with the keen, peering eyes of a railway engineer, but only those of the blear-eyed variety.
However, yesterday there occurred a robbery which makes me think that Mr. Anderson is right, after all, and that even now this species of gentlemanly cracksman is making its last stand in the wilds of Arkansas, just as he intimates.
The incident was this: At four o’clock in the morning five yeggs surrounded a bank in a little inland town, blew the safe, and fled with the loot. In addition to the fact that this was taken to a hiding-place which, so far, neither dog nor man has been able to trace, all particulars correspond in every important point to the details given by Mr. Anderson.
1. The noise of the explosion aroused the whole town (with the exception of a deaf old couple), just as Mr. Anderson said would be the infallible result.
2. The robbers held off the burghers with volley after volley of shot, until the cracksman appeared with the booty. However, he carried this, not in a ‘keister,’ or satchel, as he should have, but in an old bran-sack.
3. In spite of the fearful fusillade, not a single yokel was shot. Here again the robbery ran true to form, because these robbers either must have been of the gentle nature of Mr. Anderson’s tramps, or they must have been using the sawedoff rifles instead of the full-length ones, which would naturally impair their marksmanship.
4. In the absence of freights, the get-away was made in an old Ford. Note the absence of a highpowered car, which would stamp the cracksmen as belonging to the new school of younger men, who care only for science and speed.
One of the robbers now languishes in the local jail, and I intend to suggest to the sheriff that he at once ascertain whether or not the prisoner is a ‘tramp kid,’ and if so to treat him with all respect, lest his bastile be blown up some night by the enraged master tramps.
PAUL H. MILLAR
We, and not Mr. Chew, must stand corrected for this misinterpretation. Mr. Chew’s diagnosis — as that of S. P. L.’s hospital steward — is applicable to one of agriculture’s ailments, but cannot, of course, cure the whole disease.
EVANSTON, ILL.
DEAR ATLANTIC, —
In your November Column you state that you are sympathetic with Arthur Chew’s article, ‘Our Embattled Farmers,’ and you observe editorially that ‘Mr. Chew has diagnosed the trouble.’ When you say that, I believe you take a position not in accord with that of the farm economists of the country, and not supported by the findings of such authoritative research bodies as the National Industrial Conference Board. I should like to point out two or three things that may lead you to recognize that there are some important factors in the existing agricultural situation which Mr. Chew failed to take into account.
Can we agree that the central thought which Mr. Chew inter ded to leave with your readers is that, while farmers think the trouble is that prices of their products are too low, in reality the difficulty is that the prices of them farms are too high?
The first point I want to make is that the number of farmers whose annual balance is materially altered by the increase in land values that took place during the war and early postwar inflation is relatively small. Very few young men have been embarking in the farm business in recent years; an overwhelming majority of operators who hold title to their land were farming in pre-war years. Obviously the increase in land capitalization has not affected them except through taxation.
With the Iowa tenant farmers, approximately nine tenths of the rent contracts are payable in shares. The share farmer does not have to pay a larger share of his crop when its price is down than he does when it is high. Neither has there been any appreciable increase of the landlord’s share of crop rent during the period fixed by Mr. Chew’s comparison between Iowa and North Dakota.
The reason why the centre of farm depression shifted from the wheat states to Iowa is simple. In 1924 there was a world crop failure of such extent that wheat not only in the United States but elsewhere had approximately its pre-war purchasing power — and North Dakota had a good crop. Prices for hogs and beef cattle did not show a similar trend, and while the corn price was fairly good, the yield was poor. In 1925, wheat again benefited from an accidental combination of circumstances, while the price of corn, due to excess production, has been far below production costs. It was the favorable price relationship of wheat in 1924 and 1925 that stilled the voice of discontent in North Dakota to a greater degree than was the case in Iowa.
Every student of the farm situation recognizes that the overcapitalization of land is one factor that has figured in the post-war depression, but not the chief factor.
The National Industrial Conference Board in an earlier study, covering the period 1920 to 1923 inclusive, says that the farm products had during those years an exchange value or purchasing power only 53 per cent as large as they had in pre-war years. Land capitalization had nothing whatever to do with that. Secretary Jardine in his report to the President on December 8, 1925, stresses that the exchange value or purchasing power of farm products was still only 87 per cent of pre-war, notwithstanding the favorable but accidental improvement in wheat prices. Land capitalization had nothing to do with that.
Is agriculture overcapitalized? Read this paragraph from the January, 1925, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, p. 27: —
‘During the past quarter of a century our national wealth, as estimated by the Bureau of the Census, increased from 88.5 billion dollars in 1900 to 186.3 billion in 1912, and to 320.8 billion in 1922 (December 31). In these intervals the value of all agricultural property increased from 22.1 billion dollars in 1900 to 49.8 billion in 1912, and to 64.3 billion in 1922. Expressed as percentages of total national wealth these estimates for agriculture are respectively 25 per cent, 26.7 per cent, and 20 per cent. The decline in the relative position of agriculture from 26.7 per cent of the total wealth in 1912 to 20 per cent in 1922 is due almost entirely to the deflation in the values of agricultural real estate and equipment.’
Mr. Chew’s article would be all right as dealing with one phase of the agricultural situation, if it appeared in connection with others that would round out the picture as a whole. As a ‘ diagnosis’ of the farm situation, it is far worse that nothing at all.
CHESTER C. DAVIS
SHIRLEY CENTER, MASS.
DEAR ATLANTIC, —
In the Contributors’ Column of the November Atlantic, commenting on Mr. Arthur P. Chew’s ‘Our Embattled Farmers,’ you say, among other things, ' Mr. Chew has diagnosed the trouble which has at times caused our most conservative farmers to see and be “red.” ‘
This explanation of Mr. Chew’s article reminds me, for reasons I will not attempt to define, of the diagnosis a colored hospital-steward made on a soldier of my company, at a remote station in Luzon, in the early Philippine days.
This soldier had been run down and trampled by a thirst-crazed carabao. His body was covered with contusions; he complained of pains in the chest and groin; and he had one superficial cut of considerable length on the top of his head.
The steward ‘examined’ the injured man for at least an hour, consulting from time to time his little medical manual, and then reported about in these words: —
‘Sir Captain, that man Jones is certainly mighty poorly. Ah looked him up and down and crisscross ways. Ah ain’t sine just what all’s the matter with him, but Ah knows he’s got a awful bad headache, and Ah think Ah ‘ll give him what this yer manual says is good for that.’
S. P. L.
Who will say that adventure calls for more courage than to be ‘shut-in’?
CLEVELAND, OHIO
DEAR ATLANTIC, —
An anonymous article entitled ‘Good-Night, All,’ which appeared in the November issue of the Atlantic, was of great interest and help to me.
Eight years ago, after an attack of influenza, I developed a spinal difficulty from which I have suffered ever since. This particular kind of spinal trouble is of a slowly progressive nature. At first only Some difficulty in walking was noticed. I still was able to get about and take part in the activities of life. I am very social by nature, and greatly enjoy the companionship of people. I also delight in being out of doors, and in taking part with the rest of the world in all that life has to offer.
At the present time I am cut off from all of these pleasures. As the disease has progressed, one activity after another has had to be given up. At the present time I cannot walk, and my sight is badly affected. I can get about somewhat in a wheel-chair, but I no longer see to read or write. I have seen many doctors, including specialists in nerve troubles: but they can hold out no hope for recovery. As I understand it, this disease does not of itself kill, but slowly cripples and destroys; and in time complete helplessness may come.
Now how can one best meet a situation like this? I shall venture to put down a few things I have found to be helpful.
I agree with the writer of ‘Good-Night, All’ that clear thinking will help in any situation. Half our fears come from meeting the unknown. We do not at any time have to meet the whole of life; it is gradually unfolded to us, and the unknown becomes the known.
The writer tells us that, as he had to face circumstances, the valuations of life changed for him. I believe this to be the experience of everyone who has tried honestly to face not only death but life. There are wonderful compensations that have come to me. I understand people and the things that go to make up life in a way I once could not do, for I was too much a part of that tangle myself. Now that I must step aside, I can see the picture from a different angle; and sometimes I am sure I am now passing the best years of my life. I find the world and all its people kindly and loving. I never have had more friends, nor have derived more true pleasure from their companionship than I do to-day. There are many things I still can do, and the deepest desire of my heart is to be of some service to others who are meeting life with a heavy handicap. If one step of the way I have traveled has broken a path for another, it has been worth the price. I know what it is to go down the hill of discouragement and find despair at the bottom. I also know what it is to retrace my steps, and start the upward climb. One need never go down this hill; a little clear thinking and adjustment would save that suffering.
Our unknown friend speaks in his article of finding a new authority in his voice. I believe he has touched Reality; and when we have once done this we no longer think that something may be possible — we know it is. If I seem to feel sure of what I am saying it is because I feel it to be the truth. I believe the soul is immortal. What I am passing through now is merely an instant in my existence. I shall have further opportunities for action and development. I believe we can become so conscious of God that prayer becomes a real communion with the Father; an outpouring of the soul and an intake of Spirit. In this union we can draw soul courage and strength to meet life — or death.
E. E. C.
Anonymity again.
DEAR ATLANTIC, —
In a somewhat similar physical state as the writer of ‘Good-Night, All’ in the November Atlantic, I feel impelled, too, to self-expression, and like him can give no name.
The thing I must discuss, with no chance of getting the other side of the discussion, is the one which he has faced and apparently conquered. Perhaps I am not so experienced in suffering, or not so strong in character, or not so clear in vision as he, for I cannot face my rather short future with the stern equanimity he shows.
It is not fear of pain that bothers me; I think I am strong enough not to act the baby. It is not the future life I worry about; so far as that is concerned, ‘I’ld jump the life to come,’if in a somewhat different sense than the words originally intended. My concern is not even for my death, but for this time before death, which I must learn to manage before I can dare to spend any time on my soul.
First of all, with me there is the question of money. I know that I must live and work as long as I possibly can, to earn at least once more my three-thousand-a-year salary before leaving my family — a woman of sixty-five and a small boy — with a life insurance of only two thousand dollars, which now, of course, I cannot increase.
A teacher — this one, at any rate — has little time outside of school for any other type of work; besides, I am not equipped to earn money in any other way, for my eyes are not good enough to permit sewing after school hours, and any urge I may have felt for writing has long been realized as vain. So now the sole hope I have for tranquillity as to money matters is that some oil stock that I bought before I knew about myself will turn out to be worth something, or that I can fool the doctors and earn my salary a little longer. Then, in the second place, my mind is bothered by the lies that are all about me — not that they bother my conscience, but that they are so much trouble and will soon be so futile. The lies I tell to the members of my family when I have to go away to the hospital; the lies I tell my school board and principal to account for these occasional absences; and not only the lies I tell, but all the lies I act, for so far I am apparently deceiving my little world of school and friends and family.
And behind these phases of the problem is the constant pondering on why these things should be; of course one can get used to anything, even cancer, but whether I can ever be willing to accept it as right is a question I can answer only in the negative at present.
The other day in one of my classes someone quoted, ‘ I am the captain of my soul!’ The boy who used the phrase had caught the spirit of the poem and its indomitable writer, and he thrilled with imaginative response to its challenge. But as he glowed I could not help wondering about it all — wondering if even Henley with all his courage would have been able to look up clearly out of his black pit if he had been a woman.
Perhaps — no — just now all I can do is to try to go on without pitying myself, and to try to keep from thinking of anything except this immediate present. (Perhaps writing it down here in black and white and sending it far away will help me.) And maybe, after all, the miracle may happen and make me, too, see in what way lies peace.
An old gentleman remarks, so one of our subscribers tells us, ‘The Atlantic is the only magazine I read which I do not have to spread open in the middle of the floor and jump upon before I can handle it. I really do it,’ he adds seriously.