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"The kinship of blood between nations may grow weaker, but the
kinship of ideals and purposes constitutes a permanent bond of
union." John Lewis Griffiths
The net proceeds of the sale of this book will be used in aiding
the needy families of the men of the Naval Militia who have been
called to the defense of liberty.
To our sailors, soldiers, and nurses in appreciation of their
heroism and sacrifice in the cause of Liberty and Democracy.
"Oh, land of ours be glad of such as these." Theodosia Garrison.
"To such a task we can dedicate our lives and our fortunes, everything
that we are, and everything that we have, with the pride of those
who know that the day has come when America is privileged to spend
her blood and her might for the principles that gave her birth and
happiness, and the peace which she has treasured. God helping her,
she can do no other." Woodrow Wilson.
A Message From Vice Admiral William Sowden Sims, U.S.N., Commanding
the American Naval Forces Operating in European Waters
In such an hour as that with which we are now confronted, when so
much depends upon the individual efforts, our hearts swell with
pride as we learn of the thousands of America's best, staunch and
true men who are so willingly forgetting their own personal welfare
and linking their lives and all that they are with the cause of
liberty and justice, which is so dear to the hears of the American
people. All honor to those who are giving themselves as such willing
sacrifices, and may God grant that their efforts may be speedily
rewarded by a world condition which will make them realize that
their efforts have accomplished the desired result, and that the
world is better and happier because of them.
[signed] Wm. S. Sims
American Expeditionary Force Office of the Commanding General
August 4th, 1917
I am very pleased to have an opportunity to say a word in praise
of the Militia of Mercy.
Unless our women are imbued with Patriotic sentiments, there will
be little to hope for in our life. A nation is only as great as
its womanhood; and, as are the women, so are the sons. All praise
to the women of America!
Please accept my very best wishes for the success of your organization.
[signed] John J. Pershing.
I have seldom yielded so willingly to a request for my written
views as I do in this instance, when my valued friend, the master
journalist, Melville E. Stone, has asked me, on behalf of the Book
Committee, to write an introduction for "The Defenders of Democracy."
Needless to say, I comply all the more readily in view of the fact
that the book in which these words will appear is planned by the
ladies of the Militia of Mercy as a means of increasing the Fund
the Society is raising for the benefit of the families of "their
own men" on the battle-line.
And what a theme! It demands a volume from any pen capable of doing
it justice. For the present purposes, however, I approve strongly
of a compilation which shall express the reasoned opinions of writers
representing the allied nations, while it is a real pleasure to
turn for a few minutes from the day's anxieties and consider the
one great force which supplies the leaven to a war-sodden world.
Are men to live in freedom or as slaves to a soulless system?--that
is the question which is now being solved in blood and agony and
tears on the battlefields of the Old World. The answer given by
the New World has never been in doubt, but its clarion note was
necessarily withheld in all its magnificent rhythm until President
Wilson delivered his Message to Congress last April. I have
no hesitation in saying that Mr. Wilson's utterance will become
immortal. It is a new declaration of the Rights of Man, but
a finer, broader one, based on the sure principles of Christian
ethics. Yet, mark how this same nobility of thought and purpose
runs like a vein of gold through the rock of valiant little Belgium's
defiance of the Hun, of President Poincare's firm stand, and of Mr.
Lloyd George's unflinching labors in the Sisyphean task of stemming
the Teutonic avalanche. Prussia's challenge to the world came with
the shock of some mighty eruption undreamed of by chroniclers of
earthquakes. It stunned humanity. Nowhere was its benumbing effect
more perceptible than in these United state, whose traditional
policy of non-interference in European disputes was submitted so
unexpectedly to the fierce test of Right versus Expediency. And
how splendidly did President, Senator, Congress and the People
respond to the test! Never for one instant did America's clear
judgment falter. The Hun was guilty, and must be punished. The
only issue to be solved was whether France, Britain, Italy and
Russia should convict and brand the felon unaided, or the mighty
power of the Western World should join hands with the avengers of
outraged law. Well, a purblind Germany settled that uncertainty
by a series of misdeeds which no nation of high ideals could allow
to pass unchallenged. I do believe most firmly that President
Wilson gave the criminal such chances of reform as no court of law
in the world would grant. But, at last, his patience was exhausted.
Whether the enslavers of Germany thought, in that crass ignorance
of other men's minds they have so often displayed, that America
meant to keep out of the war at all costs, or were merely careless
of consequences so long as the immediate end was attained, is now
immaterial. From the welter of Teutonic misdeeds and lies arises
the vital, the soul-inspiring spectacle of a union of all democracies
against the common foe.
And right here, as the direct speech of New York has it, I want to
pay tribute to the sagacity, the clarity of vision, the sure divination
of the truth amidst a fog of deceit, which has characterized almost
the whole Press of the United States since those feverish days at
the end of July, 1914, when the nightmare of war was so quickly
succeeded by its dread reality. Efforts which might fairly be
described as stupendous were put forth by the advocates of Kultur
to win, if not the approval, at least the strict neutrality of
America. That the program of calculated misrepresentation failed
utterly was due in great part to the leading newspapers of New York,
Chicago, Philadelphia and the other main centers of industry and
population. Never has the value of a free Press been demonstrated
so thoroughly. The American editor is accustomed to weigh the gravest
problems of life on his own account without let or hindrance from
tradition, and it can be affirmed most positively that, excepting
the few instances of a suborned pro-German Press, the newspapers
of the United States condemned the Hun and his methods as roundly
and fearlessly as the "Independence Belge" itself whose staff had
actually witnessed the horrors of Vise and Louvain. These men
educated and guided public opinion. Republican or Democrat it
mattered not--they set out to determine from the material before
them what was Right and what was Wrong. Once convinced that the
Hun was a menace they made their readers understand beyond cavil
just what that menace meant. So I claim that the editors of the
United States are entitled to high rank among the Defenders of
Democracy. When the history of the war, or rather a just analysis
of its causes and effects, comes to be written I shall be much
mistaken if the critical historian does not give close heed and
honorable mention to the men who wrote the articles which kept the
millions of America thoroughly and honestly informed. Think what
it would have meant had their influence been thrown into the scale
against the Allies! By that awesome imagining alone can the extent
of their service by measured.
If I have wandered a little from my theme, since our veritable
"Defenders" are the men who are giving their life's blood at the
front, and the band of noble women who are tending them in hospital,
it will surely be understood that, if I name them last they are
first in my heart. I have seen much of the war. I know what your
soldiers, sailors and nurses are called on to endure. I rejoice
that in dedicating this book to them, you honor them while they
live. Never let their memory fade when they are dead. They gave
their lives for their friends, and greater love than that no man
"I wish all success to 'The Defenders of Democracy.' The men who
are in this war on the part of the United States are doing the one
vitally important work which it is possible for Americans to do at
this time. Nothing else counts now excepting that we fight this
war to a finish. Those men are thrice fortunate who are given
the chance to serve under arms at the front. They are not only
rendering the one essential service to this country and to mankind,
but they are also earning honor as it cannot otherwise be earned
by any men of our generation. As for the rest of us, our task is
to back them up in every way possible."
Kittery Point, Me., October 14, 1917
I am never good at messages or sentiments, but perhaps if Mr.
Rouland's portrait of me were literally a speaking likeness it
would entreat you to believe that I revere and honor in my heart
and soul, the noble ideals of the Militia of Mercy.
[signed]W. D. Howells.
[The following is written in long hand] How Can I Serve?
There are strange ways of serving God You sweep a room or turn a
sod, And suddenly to your surprise You hear the whirr of seraphim
And ?uid you're under God's own eyes And building palaces for
There are strange, unexpected ways Of going soldiering these days
It may be only census-blanks You're asked to conquer with a pen,
But suddenly you're in the ranks And fighting for the rights of
For the Militia of Mercy August 15, 1917.
The Editors gratefully acknowledge the rich contributions to this
book which it has been their privilege to arrange. The generous
spirit which has accompanied each gift permeates the pages, and
its genial glow will be felt by all of our readers.
The book is only a fire-side talk on the ideals and purposes held
in common by those who belong to the friendly circle of the Allies,
and is not intended to have diplomatic, economic or official
significance. The Editors, however, have been honored by the
approval of their plan, and have received invaluable assistance from
diplomatists, statesmen and men of affairs in securing contributions
otherwise inaccessible at the present time.
We wish to acknowledge (although we cannot adequately express our
appreciation) the gift from the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES of
his portrait, and his kind recognition of our desire to render an
We are especially indebted to VISCOUNT ISHII, Special Ambassador
from Japan to Washington, D. C., and to LORD NORTHCLIFFE, Chairman
of the British War Mission, for their thoughtful and sympathetic
articles written during days crowded with official duties.
We owe a debt of thanks to HIS EXCELLENCY, the ITALIAN AMBASSADOR,
for the privilege of publishing for the first time in America,
D'ANNUNZIO'S sonnet to GENERAL CADORNA; to THEIR EXCELLENCIES, the
PORTUGUESE, GREEK, and CHINESE MINISTERS, for helpful suggestions
and translations; to MR. WILLIAM PHILLIPS, ASSISTANT SECRETARY OF
STATE; to MR. JOHN HAYS HAMMOND; to MR. JOHN LANE, MR. W. J. LOCKE,
MRS. THEODORE McKENNA, all of London, England, who assembled our
rich English contributions for us; to MR. WILLIAM DE LEFTWICH DODGE
for the cover design, a rare and beautiful tribute to our defenders;
to MR. MELVILLE E. STONE, without whose personal influence we could
not have secured contributions from all of our Allies in so short
a time; to MR. J. JEFFERSON JONES and MR. WILLIAM DANA ORCUTT, who
have devoted time and thought without stint to the making of the
book, and have given the committee the advantage of their technical
knowledge and distinguished taste entirely as a patriotic service;
to MISS LILIAN ELLIOTT for her many translations from Portuguese
and Spanish writers; to MISS LA MONTAIGNE, CHAIRMAN of THE CARDINAL
MERCIER FUND; to MR. TALCOTT WILLIAMS, MR. ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON,
MR. DANIAL FROHMAN; to THE BRITISH WAR MISSION, THE FRIENDS OF
FRANCE AND HER ALLIES COMMITTEE, and to THE RUSSIAN AND SERBIAN
CIVIL RELIEF COMMITTEES. To ALL we give our heartfelt thanks.
This beautiful book is the expression of the eager desire of all
of the gifted men and women who have contributed to it and of the
members of the Militia of mercy to render homage to our sailors,
soldiers, nurses and physicians who offer the supreme sacrifice
to free the stricken people of other lands and to protect humanity
with their bodies from an enemy who has invented the name and created
the thing "welt-schmerz"--world anguish. But we want it do more
than extol their heroism and sacrifice, we want The Defenders of
Democracy to help them win the war. It has been the thought of
those who planned the book to meet three things needful, not only
to the army at the front, but to that vaster army at home who watch
and work and wait (and perhaps we need it more than they who have
the stimulus of action)--to strengthen the realization that our
soldiers of sea and land, though far away, are fighting for a cause
which is vitally near the heart of every man and every woman, and
the soul of every nation--human freedom; "to forge the weapon of
victory by fanning the flame of cheerfulness," and to be the means
of lifting the burden of anxiety from those who go, lest their loved
ones should suffer privation, bereft of their protecting care. So
truly is this an Age of Service, that the response to the scope
and spirit of our work was immediate and within four months from
the day we sent our first request for co-operation in carrying out
our plans, we had received the rich contributions contained in this
book from men and women of letters and other arts, not only from
our own generous country, but from our allies.
Perhaps the most difficult task fell to those who were asked not
to write of the war but to practice the gentle art of cheering us
all up--an art so easily lost in these days of sorrow, suspense
and anxiety--yet we have received many delightful contributions
in harmony with this request, and so the cheerful note, the finer
optimism, recurs again and again, and is sustained to the last
Such a book is historic. It is a consecration of the highest gifts
to the cause of human freedom and human fraternity. The Militia of
Mercy, in expressing its gratitude to the men and women so greatly
endowed who have made this book possible, trust they will find
a rich reward in the thought that it will give both spiritual and
material aid to those who are fighting in the great war.
The book will be sold for the benefit of the families of the men
of the Naval Militia now in the Federal Service and taking part in
sea warfare. John Lane Company have published the book at cost,
so that the publisher's profits, as well as our own, will be given
to the patriotic work of the Militia of Mercy.
It has been repeatedly said during the past year that America had
not begun to feel the war. If America has not, how many Americans
there are who have! We all know that the responsibilities and
inequalities of war were felt first by our sailors. The whole
outlook on life changed for many families of the Naval Militia the
day after diplomatic relations with Germany were severed. Husbands,
fathers and sons were called to service without any opportunity to
provide for current expenses or to arrange for the future welfare
of their loved ones. The burden of providing for the necessities
of life fell suddenly, without warning, upon the wives and mothers
of the civilian sailors. The world knew nothing of these cases,
but the members of the Militia of Mercy who have visited the needy
families, realize with what heroism, courage and self-sacrifice
the women have done and are doing their part.
For those of us who look on, to help them is not charity, but
opportunity for patriotic service to give a VERY LITTLE to those
who are giving ALL THEY CHERISH and ALL THEY HOLD DEAR for the sake
of human Liberty and Democracy.
Table of Contents
Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States. A Message. . . . vi
Vice Admiral William Sowden Sims, U.S.N. A Message . . . . . . . . vii
Commanding the American Naval Forces Operating in European Waters
General John J. Pershing, U.S.A. A Letter. . . . . . . . . . . . . viii
Commanding General American Expeditionary Force
Lord Northcliffe. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix
Chairman, British War Mission to the United States
Theodore Roosevelt. Essential Service. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii
Twenty-sixth President of the United States. Author and
William Dean Howells. A Letter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiv
American Author, New York, President of the American Academy of
Arts and Letters
Hermann Hagedorn. "How Can I Serve?" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv
American Writer, New York. President, Vigilantes, American
League of Artists and Authors for Patriotic Services
Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii
Contributions of Writers
Gaston De Leval. Belgium and America . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Belgian Advocate for Edith Cavell
Emile Cammaerts. Good Old Bernstorff! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Tsa Yuan-Pei. The War in Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Chancellor of the Government University of Peking
(Translation, Courtesy of the Chinese Minister)
George Sterling. Invocation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
American Poet, California
George A. Birmingham. The Test . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
(Canon James O. Hannay) Irish Clergyman and Man of Letters
John Galsworthy. The New Comradship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
William J. Locke. Questionings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Henry Van Dyke. Democracy in Peace and War . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
American Clergyman, Diplomat and Writer
Harriet Monroe. Sunrise over the Peristyle . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
American Poet, Chicago
Daniel Frohman. Reminiscences of Booth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Theatrical Manager and Writer, New York
J. Hartley Manners. God of My Faith: A One Act Play . . . . . . . 24
Dramatist, New York
Frederick Coudert. To France . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
American Lawyer and Publicist
Anatole France. Ce Que Disent Nos Morts . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
French Author. (Translation by Emma M. Pope)
Rupert Hughes. The Transports (Poetical Version of Sully
Prud'homme's "Les Berceaux") . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
American Writer, New York
Stephane Lauzanne. La Priere du Poilu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
French Writer, Editor Le Matin. (Translation by Madame Carlo
Honourable James M. Beck. A Tribute to England . . . . . . . . . 61
American Lawyer and Publicist
Lord Bryce. Unity and Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
English Statesman and Author
Robert Hichens. Our Common Heritage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Stephen McKenna. Poetic Justice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
English Statesman and Novelist
Lady Aberdeen. The Spell of the Kilties . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
(Wife of the Marquis of Aberdeen and Temair, K. T., Scotland)
Mrs. Belloc Lowndes. Sherston's Wedding Eve . . . . . . . . . . . 87
English Novelist, London
Ralph Connor. A Canadian Soldier's Dominion Day at Shorncliffe . 105
Stephen Leacock. Simple as Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
Canadian Writer, Professor McGill University, Montreal
May Sinclair. The Epic Standpoint in the War . . . . . . . . . . 118
English Writer, London
Eleutherios Venizelos. The Greek Spirit . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
(Translation, with notes, by Caroll N. Brown)
William Roscoe Thayer. Italy and Democracy. A Tribute to Italy . 127
American Historian and Poet
Gabriele D'Annunzio. Al Generale Cadorna . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
C.H. Grangent. Sonnet
(Poetical version in English of the above) . . . . . . . . . 132
Professor of Romance Languages, Harvard University
Amy Bernardy. The Voice of Italy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
Viscount K. Ishii. Japan's Ideals and Her Part in the Struggle . 137
Japanese Statesman, Special Ambassador to Washington, D.C., 1917
Salomon De La Selva. Tropical Interlude . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Lilian E. Elliott, F.R.G.S. Latin America and the War . . . . . . 145
Literary Editor, Pan American Magazine
Salomon De La Selva. Drill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
Henrique Lopes De Mendonca. The People's Struggle . . . . . . . . 161
Portuguese writer. Member of Academy of Science, Lisbon
Edgar Prestage. Portugal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
English Writer, A Friend of Portugal
Achmed Abdullah. Roumania--An Interpretation . . . . . . . . . . 166
Novelist. Of the Family of the Ameer of Afghanistan
Ivan Narodny. The Soul of Russia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
Russian Patriot and Writer. Member of the Russian Civilian
Relief Committee, New York
Ivan Narodny. The American Bride . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175
Sergey Makowsky. The Insane Priest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Russian Poet. (Translation by Constance Purdy)
M. Boich. Without a Country . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Serbian Poet. (Translation by Professor Miloche Trivonnatz)
United States of America
Indian Prayer. To the Mountain Spirit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
Interpreted by Mary Austin
Maurice Hewlett. To America, 4 July, 1776 . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
English Man of Letters
Charles W. Eliot. The Need of Force to Win and Maintain Peace . . 195
President Emeritus of Harvard University
James Cardinal Gibbons. Woman and Mercy . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197
Cardinal, Baltimore, Maryland
John Lewis Griffiths. Joan of Arc--Her Heritage . . . . . . . . . 199
From an address delivered in London, 1911
Dr. J.H. Jowett. Things Which Cannot Be Shaken . . . . . . . . . 201
English Clergyman, 5th Ave. Presbyterian Church, N.Y.
Owen Johnson. Somewhere in France . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
Melville E. Stone. The Associated Press . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
Journalist, General Manager of the Associated Press, N.Y.
Mary Austin. Pan and the Pot-Hunter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
American Writer, New York
Robert W. Chambers. Men of the Sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
American Author, New York
Arthur Guy Empey. Jim--A Soldier of the King . . . . . . . . . . 226
American. Volunteer Soldier in the British Army and Author,
"Over the Top"
Edna Ferber. Heel and Toe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
American Novelist, Chicago
Theodosia Garrison. Those Who Went First . . . . . . . . . . . . 243
American Poet, New Jersey
Louise Closser Hale. A Summer's Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
American Actress and Author, New York
Louis Untermeyer. Children of the War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
American Poet, New York
Fannie Hurst. Khaki-Boy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
American Novelist and Dramatist, New York
Robert Underwood Johnson. Hymn to America . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
American Editor and Author, New York
Amy Lowell. The Breaking Out of the Flags . . . . . . . . . . . . 270
American Poet, Cambridge, Mass.
Mrs. John Lane. Our Day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
American by Birth, Author, London, England
George Barr McCutcheon. Pour La Patrie . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275
American Novelist, Indiana and New York
Edna St. Vincent Millay. Sonnet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286
American Poet, Camden, Maine
Gouverneur Morris. The Idiot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287
American Author, New York
James Oppenheim. Memories of Whitman and Lincoln . . . . . . . . 299
American Poet, New York
James F. Pryor. Bred to the Sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 304
American Lawyer and Writer
Evaleen Stein. Our Defenders . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 306
American Poet and Story Teller, La Fayette, Indiana
Alice Woods. The Bomb . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308
American Story Writer
Myron T. Herrick. To Those Who Go . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 322
American Statesman, Diplomatist, Publicist, Cleveland, Ohio
Amelie Rives. The Hero's Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324
Princess Troubetzkoy, American Novelist and Poet, Virginia
We gratefully acknowledge the privilege of reproducing the following
"The Need of Force to Win and Maintain Peace," by Dr. C. W.
Elliot--"New York Times." "The Breaking Out of the Flags," by Amy
Lowell--"Independent." "The Bomb," by Alice Woods--"Century Magazine."
"Children of the War," by Louis Untermeyer--"Collier's Weekly."
All other contributions have been especially written for "The
Defenders of Democracy."
Childe Hassam. Allies' Day. From the Original Painting.
(Color) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece
American Artist, New York
Portrait. Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States . . . . vi
Portrait Photograph. His Eminence Cardinal Mercier . Facing page 4
Albert Sterner. Sympathy. From the Original Drawing . . . . . . 6
American Artist, New York
Photograph. "The Happy Warriors." (Marshal Joffre and General
Pershing.) Courtesy of L'Illustration, Paris . . . . . . . 14
Jules Guerin. Ballet by Moonlight. (Color) From the Original
Painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
American Artist, New York
Jacquier. Marshal Joffre. Drawn from life . . . . . . . . . . . 44
J. J. Van Ingen. Memory. From the Original Drawing . . . . . . . 52
American Artist, New York
Portrait Photograph. The Right Honourable Arthur James Balfour . 66
Charles Dana Gibson. Her Answer. From the Original Sketch . . . 126
American Artist, New York
Portrait Photograph. General Cadorna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
William De Leftwich Dodge. From the Original Paintings in Oils
(1) The Consecration of the Swords . . . . . . . . . . Cover Design
(2) Atlantic and Pacific. (Color) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
(3) Gateway of All Nations. (Color) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
American Artist, New York
O. E. Cesare. Russia's Struggle. From the Original Cartoon . . . 168
American Artist, New York
John S. Sargent. "Big Moon" (Black Foot Chief.) From the
Original Drawing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
American Painter, Boston, Mass.
John S. Sargent. A Profile. From the Original Drawing Sketch . . 194
George Barnard. Abraham Lincoln . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
American Sculptor, New York
Portrait in Oil. Theodore Roosevelt. By George Burroughs Torrey 204
In the Brooklyn Museum
Portrait Photograph. Melville E. Stone . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Penrhyn Stanlaws. Souvenir de Jeunesse. (Color) From the
Original Pastel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
Scotch Artist, New York
Portrait Photograph. Vice Admiral William Sowden Sims . . . . . . 224
Portrait Photograph. General John J. Pershing . . . . . . . . . . 234
Walter Hale. "Once the Giant Toy of a People who Frolicked."
From the Original Water Color . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
American Artist, New York
John T. McCutcheon. The Married Slacker. From the Original
Drawing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268
American Artist, Indiana
W. Orlando Rouland. Portrait of W. D. Howells. From the Original
Painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274
American Artist, New York
George Bellows. They Shipyard. (Color) From the Original Oil
Painting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 304
American Artist, New York
Joseph Pennell. Dawn. From the Original Drawing . . . . . . . . 324
American Artist, New York
We are grateful to
The Beck Engraving Co., of New York and Philadelphia, for furnishing
the black-and-white reproductions without charge, and the four-color
plates at cost.
The Plimpton Press, of Norwood, Mass., for its cooperative assistance.
The Walker Engraving Co., of New York, for supplying the color
plates for the cover at cost.
M. Knoedler & Co., of New York, for the privilege of reproducing
Jacquier's drawing from life of Marechal Joffre.
Frederick Keppel & Co., of New York, for Mr. Pennell's drawing.
Belgium and America
It would be a banality to speak about the gratitude of the Belgian
people toward America. Every one knows from the beginning of the
war that when the Belgians were faced with starvation, it was the
American Commission for Relief which saved the situation, forming
all over the country, in America and elsewhere, those Committees
who collected the funds raised to help the Belgians, and saw that
they reached the proper channel and were utilized to the best
advantage of the Belgian people.
But helping to feed the people was not enough. The Americans did
more. They gave their heart. Every one of them who came into
my country to act as a volunteer for the Commission for Relief,
brought with him the sympathy of all the people that were behind
him. Every one of these young Americans, who, under the leadership
of Mr. Hoover, came into my country to watch the distribution of the
foodstuffs imported by the Commission for Relief, became a sincere
friend of my countrymen. He stood between us and the Germans as a
vigilant sentry of the civilized world, and was able to tell when
he returned to America all the sufferings and all the courage of
the Belgian population.
I remember traveling in America some ten years ago, and being
asked, while I was reading a Belgian paper, where this paper came
from and when I answered "It came from Belgium, the next question
was: "Belgium? It is a province of France, isn't it?" Now I
do not think that any person in America, nor in any other part of
the world, will not know where Belgium is.
The American Commission for Relief has to be credited with putting
in closer contact the suffering population of my country with all
persons the world over who were eager to assist it. It especially
brought the sufferings of our people nearer to the heart of the
American population. Every one knows that. But what every one does
not know is the silent and effective work performed in Belgium by
Mr. Brand Whitlock, the American Minister. He was the real man at
the right place and at the right hour. No one could have better
than he, with his deep humanitarian feeling, been able to understand
the moral side of the sufferings of the Belgians under the German
occupation. No one could better than he find, at the very moment
when they were needed, the words appropriate to meet the circumstances,
and to convey to the people of this stricken country the feelings
which Mr. Whitlock knew were beating in the hearts of all Americans.
When the German authorities forbade the display of the Belgian Flag,
and the Tri-Color so dear to our hearts had to be hauled down, the
American Flag everywhere took its place. Washington's birthday and
Independence Day were almost as solemn festivities to the Brussels
people as the fete nationale, and thousands of persons called
at the legation on those days; deputations were sent by the town
and official authorities to show how deep was the Belgian feeling
for the United States. America was for the Belgians "une second
Patrie," because they felt that, although America was at the time
remaining neutral, her sympathy was entirely on our side, and when
the time would come she would even prove it on the battlefields.
It may therefore be said that although the war has had for my country
the most cruel consequences, there is one consolation to it. It
has shown that humility is better than the pessimist had said it
was, and that money is not the only god before which the nations
bow. It has revealed that all over the world, and especially in
America, there is a respect for right and for duty; it has proved
that the moral beauty of an action is fully appreciated. The war
has revealed Belgium to America, and America to Belgium. The tie
between our two countries is stronger than any tie has ever been
between two far distant people, and nothing will be able to break
it, as it rests not on some political interest or some selfish
reason, but because it has been interwoven with the very fibers of
the hearts of the people.
[signed]G. de Leval Avocat la cour d'Appel de Bruxelles, Legal
advisor to the American and British Legations in Belgium.
Good Old Bernstorff!
Then entrance of America in the war has been nothing short of a
miracle--perhaps, with the Marne, the most wonderful miracle, among
many others, which we have witnessed since August, 1914.
I do not wish to be misunderstood. I am not necessarily referring
to supernatural influences. This will remain a matter of opinion--or
rather of belief. I am merely speaking from the ordinary point
of view of the main in the street concerning what is likely or not
likely to happen in the world.
People have very generously admired Belgium's attitude, but anybody
knowing the Belgians and their King might have prophesied Liege,
and the Yser battle. Others have praised the timely interference
of England and the self-sacrifice of the many thousand British
volunteers who rushed to arms, during the early days of the war,
to avenge the wrong done to a small people whose only crime was
to stand in the way of a blind and ruthless military machine. But
such an attitude was too much in the tradition of British fair
play to come as a surprise to those who knew intimately the country
and the people. Besides, from the Government's point of view,
non-intervention would have been a political mistake for which the
whole nation would have had to pay dearly in the near future, as
subsequent events have conclusively shown.
But America? What had America to do in the conflict? She had not
signed the treaties guaranteeing Belgium's neutrality. She was
not directly threatened by German Imperialism. She had never taken
any part in European politics. Her moral responsibility was not
engaged and her immediate interest was to preserve to the end all
the advantages of neutrality and to benefit, after the war, by the
exhaustion of Europe...
I had the opportunity of seeing, a few days ago, the second contingent
of American troops marching through London on their way to France.
The Belgian flag flew from our window and, as we cheered the men,
some of them, recognizing the colors, waved their hand towards
us. And as I watched their bright smile and remembered the eager
interest shown by so many citizens of the States to Belgian's fate,
and the deep indignation provoked beyond the Atlantic by the German
atrocities and by the more recent deportations, I was inclined
to think, for one moment, that I had solved the problem, and that
their sympathy for Belgium had brought these soldiers to the rescue.
We are so easily inclined to exaggerate the part which one country
But as I looked at the men again, I was struck by the grim expression
on their faces, the almost threatening determination of their light
swinging step. And I soon realized that neither their sympathy
for England, France or Belgium had brought them here. They had not
come merely to fight for other peoples, they had their own personal
grievance. they were not there only to help their friends, but
also to punish their enemies.
As I turned in to resume my work, I heard a friend of mine who
whispered, rubbing his hands: "Good old Bernstorff! Kind old von
Paepen! Blessed old Ludendorf!"
And I understood that Germany had been our best champion, and that
her plots, her intrigues, and her U boats had done more to convert
America than our most eloquent denunciations. There is no neutrality
possible in the face of lawlessness and Germanism. Sooner or later
we feel that "he how is not with Him is against Him." And there
is no compromise, no conciliation which might prevail against such
[signed] Em. Cammaerts
The War in Europe
Translation of a part of an address by Mr. Tsa Yuan-Pei, Chancellor
of the Government University of Peking and formerly Minister of
Education in the first Republican Cabinet, delivered on March 3rd,
1917, at Peking before the "Wai Chiao Hou Yuan Hui," or a "Society
for the Support of Diplomacy."
I am a scholar and not a practical politician. Therefore I can
only give you my views as a man of letters. As I see it, the War
in Europe is really one between Right and Might, or in other words,
between Morality and Savagery. Our proverbs run to this effect:
"Every one should sweep the snow in front of his door and leave
alone the frost on the roof of his neighbor," and that "when the
neighbors are fighting, close your door." These proverbs have been
used by the anti-war party in China as arguments against China's
entrance into the War. The War in Europe, however, is not the "frost
on the roof of our neighbor," but rather the "snow right in front
of our door." It is not a "fight between neighbors," but rather a
quarrel within the family--the family of Nations. China therefore
cannot remain indifferent. For, if Germany should eventually win
the War, it would mean the triumph of Might over Right, and the
world would be without moral principles. Should this occur, it
would endanger the future of China. It is therefore necessary for
China to cast her lot with the Right.
Courtesy of CHINESE MINISTER.
Because of the decision of a few,-- Because in half a score
of haughty minds The night lay black and terrible, thy winds, O
Europe! are a stench on heaven's blue. Thy scars abide, and here
is nothing new: Still from the throne goes forth the dark that
blinds, And still the satiated morning finds The unending thunder
and the bloody dew.
Shall night be lord forever, and not light? Look forth, tormented
nations! Let your eyes Behold this horror that the few have
done! Then turn, strike hands, and in your burning might Impel
the fog of murder from the skies, And sow the hearts of Europe
with the sun!
Bohemian Club, San Francisco 1915
It has been my fortune to see something of the war with the army
in France, and something also of what war means for those at home
who, having sent out sons and brothers, are themselves compelled
to wait and watch. I have seen suffering beyond imagination, pain,
hardship and misery. I have seen anxiety and sorrow which I should
have guessed beforehand men could not have borne without going mad.
But I have also seen the human spirit rise to wonderful heights.
Men and women have shown themselves greater, nobler, stronger than
in the old days of peace I thought they could be.
It would not be very astonishing if the strain of war had called
forth a fresh greatness in those whose lives were already seen to
be in some way great; in our leaders, our teachers, our thinkers.
Or if an added nobility had appeared in our aristocracies of birth,
intellect, education, wealth, or whatever other accidents set men
above the mass of their fellows. Of such we expect a great response
to a great demand. And we have not been disappointed. The old
rule of life, NOBLESSE OBLIGE, has proved that it still possesses
driving force with the most of those to whom it applies. The thing
which has amazed me is the greatness of the common man.
This I in no way expected or looked for. I confess that, before
the war, I was no believer in the great qualities of those who are
called "the people." They seemed to me to be living lives either
selfish, sometimes brutal, always sordid; or else mean, narrow, and
circumscribed by senseless conventions. I believed that society,
if it progressed at all, would be forced forward by the few, that
the many had not in them the qualities necessary for advance, were
incapable of the far visions which make advance desirable. I know
now that I was wrong, and I have come to the faith that the hoe of
the future is in the common people who have shown themselves great.
So, I suppose, I may contribute to a book with such a title as
"The Defenders of Democracy." For now I am sure that democracy
has promise and hope in it. Only I am not sure that democracy has
even begun to understand itself. The common people have displayed
virtues so great that those who have seen them unite in a chorus
of praise. Their leaders, elected persons, guides chosen by votes
and popular acclamation, have shown in a hundred ways that they
will not, dare not, trust the people. Our silly censorships, our
concealments of unpleasant truths, our suppression of criticism,
our galling infringements of personal liberty, witness to the fact
that authority distrusts the source from which it sprang; that the
leaders of our democracy reckon the common people unfit to know, to
think or to act. If we are defending democracy we are sacrificing
liberty. Will you, in America, do better in this respect than we
have done? you believed in the common people before England did.
You believe in them, if we may trust your words, more completely
than England does. Do you believe in them sufficiently to trust
them? Or do you think that democracy can be defended only after
it has been blindfolded, hand-cuffed and gagged? This is what you
have got to show the world. No one doubts that you can fight. No
one doubts that you will fight, with all your strength, as England
is fighting. What we wonder is whether your great principle of
government, by the people and for the people, will stand the test
of a war like this.
[signed]James O. Hannay
The New Comradeship
Democracy is the outward and visible sign that a nation recognizes
its own needs and aspirations. Democracy wells up from the very
pit of things. Its value is its foundation in actuality, its
concordance with the slow unending process of man's evolution from
the animal he was. Democracy, for one with any comic and cosmic
animal sense, is the only natural form of government, because
alone it recognizes States as organisms, with spontaneous growth,
and a free will of their own. Democracy is final; other forms of
government are but steps on the way to it. It is the big thing,
because it can and does embody and make use of Aristocracy. It
is the rule of the future, because all human progress gradually
tends to recognition of God in man, and not outside of him; to the
establishment of the humanistic creed, and the belief that we have
the future in our own hands.
In life at large, whom does one respect--the man who gropes and
stumbles upward to control of his instincts, and full development
of his powers, confronting each new darkness and obstacle as it
arises; or the man who shelters in a cloister, and lives by rote
and rules hung up for him by another in his cell? The first man
lives, the second does but exist. So it is with nations.
The American and the Englishman are fundamentally democratic because
they are fundamentally self-reliant. Each demands to know why he
should do a thing before he does it. This is, I think, the great
link between two peoples in many ways very different; and they who
ardently desire abiding friendship between our two countries will
do well never to lose sight of it. Any sapping of this quality
of self-reliance, or judging for oneself, in either country, any
undermining of the basis of democracy will imperil our new-found
comradeship. You in America have before all things to fear the
warping power of great Trusts; we in England to dread the paralyzing
influence of Press groups. We have both to beware of the force
which the pressure of a great war inevitably puts into the hands of
Military Directorates. We are for the time being hardly democracies,
even on the surface; the democratic machinery still exists, but is
so ungeared by Censorship and Universal Service, that probably it
could not work even if it wanted to. We are now in the nature of
business concerns, run by Directors safe in office till General
Meetings, which cannot be held till after the War. But I am not
greatly alarmed. When the War is over, the pendulum will swing
back; the individual conscience which is our guarantee for democracy
and friendship will come into its own again, and shape our destinies
in common towards freedom and humanity. The English-speaking
democracies, in firm union, can and ought to be the unshifting
ballast of a better world.
[signed] John Galsworthy
I have a brilliant idea which, without any parade of modesty, I
hereby commend to the notice of the American, French and British
Governments. Let them get together as soon as may be and give us an
authoritative definition of Democracy. Then we shall know where,
collectively, we are. Of course you may say that it has been
defined for all time by Abraham Lincoln. But thrilling in its
clear simplicity as his slogan epigram may be, a complex political
and social system cannot be fully dealt with in fifteen words. I
thought I knew what it was until a tidy few millions of friends
and myself were knocked silly by recent events in Russia. Here,
where the privates of a regiment hold a mass meeting and discuss for
hours an order to advance to the relief of sorely pressed comrades
and decide not to obey it, and eventually throw down their rifles
and with a meus conscia recti, proudly run away, we have Democracy
with a vengeance. Not one of the Defenders of Democracy who are
writing in this book would stand for it a second. Nor would they
stand for the slobbering maniacs who yearn to throw themselves into
the arms of the Germans, and, with the kiss of peace and universal
brotherhood, kiss away their brother's blood from their blood-smeared
faces. Nor would they stand entirely for those staunch democrats
who, inspired with a burning sense of human wrongs but with none
of proportion or humor, would sacrifice vital interests of humanity
in general for the transient amelioration of the lot of a particular
section of the community. For years these visionaries told us that
every penny spent on army or navy was a robbery of the working-man.
We yielded to him many pennies; but alas, they now have to be repaid
America has joined the civilized world in the struggle against the
surviving systems of medieval barbarism in Europe that have been
permitted to exist under the veneer of civilization. She sees clearly
what she has to destroy. So do we. No American and Englishman
can meet but that they grip hands and thank God together that they
are comrades in this Holy War. They are out, like Knights of Fable,
to rid the earth of a pestilential monster; and they will not rest
until their foot is on his slain monster's head.
Which is, by Heaven! a glorious and soul-uplifting enterprise. In
it the blood of the Martyrs, rising to God. But with this difference:
the Martyrs died for a constructive scheme--that of Christianity.
What is the constructive scheme for which we are dying? It is easy
to say the Democratization of Mankind. It is a matter of common
assent that this consummation is ardently desired by the Royal Family
of England, by enlightened Indian Princes, by the philanthropists
of America, by the French artist, by the Roumanian peasant, by the
howling syndicalist in South Wales, by the Belgian socialist, by
the eager soul in the frail body who is at the helm of storm-tossed
Russia to-day, by the Montenegrin mountaineer, by the Sydney Larrikin
yelling down conscription, by millions of units belonging to the
civilized nations of such social and racial divergence that the
mind is staggered by the conception of them all fighting under one
banner. But are we sure they are all fighting for the same thing?
If they're not, there will be the deuce to pay all over the
terrestrial globe, even with a crushed Central European militarism.
Therefore, with the same absence of modesty I cry for an authoritative
crystallization of the democratic aims of the civilized world.
England and France have groped their way through centuries towards
a vague ideal. America proudly began her existence by a proclamation
of the equal rights of man. She proudly proclaims them now; but the
world is involved in such a complicated muddle, that the utterances
of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln (to say nothing of their
intellectual and political ancestor Jean Jacques Rousseau) require
amplification. The political thought of the older nations of
Europe is tired out. It is for the fresher genius of America to
lead them towards the solution of the greatest problem which has
ever faced mankind:--the final, constructive and all-satisfying
definition of the myriadwise interpreted word Democracy.
[signed] W. J. Locke
Democracy in Peace and War
Democracy is by nature a lover of peace. That is the state which
it regards as the normal condition of human life, and in which
it seeks its best rewards and triumphs by the organization of the
common effort of all citizens for the common welfare.
But while democracy is pacific in its desires and aims, it is not
a "pacifist." It is willing and able, though not always at the
moment ready, to take up arms in self-defense. In its broadening
vision of a fraternity of mankind, which shall be in the good future
not only intranational but also international, it is willing also
to FIGHT for the safety of its principles everywhere, and for the
security of all the peoples in a true and orderly liberty. That
is the position of the democracy of the United States of America
As in peace, so in war, the success of the democratic effort
depends upon the fullness of the cooperation between all classes
and conditions of men and women. Those men who are fit for military
service on land or sea must render it willingly and to the utmost
of their strength. Those who by reason of age or weakness cannot
undertake that service without danger of becoming a burden to the
fighting forces, must work to sustain the army and the fleet of
freedom. "If any man will not work neither let him eat."
The women also must do their part, since they are citizens just as
much as the men. They must undertake those tasks of industry of
which they are capable and thus relieve the need of labor in all
fields. Above all they must give themselves to those tasks of mercy
for which they have a natural aptitude. And through all they must
give sympathy, inspiration, and courage to the men who fight for
Liberty and Democracy.
[signed] Henry van Dyke
Sunrise over the Peristyle
"Ye shall know the truth, and
the truth shall make you free."
Look! we shall know the truth--it is thy word;
The truth, O Lord--shining, invincible,
Unawed. And shall we love it, Lord, like this,
This half-dark flushing with the wondrous hope?
How can we love it more?
Sweet is the hush
Brimming the dim void world, soothing the beat
Of the great-hearted lake that lies unlit
Beyond that silver portal. Peace is here
In moony palaces that rose for her
Pale, lustrous--it is well with her to dwell.
The truth--will not these phantom fabrics fail
Under the fierce white fire--yes, float away
Like mists that wanly rise and choke the wind?
So merciless is truth--how shall we live
And bear the glare? Now rosily smiles the earth,
And bold young couriers climb the slope of heaven,
With gaudy flags aflare. The towered clouds,
Lofty, impregnable, are captured now--
Their turrets flame with banners. Who abides
Under the smooth wide rim of the worn world
That the high heavens should hail him like a king--
Even like a lover? If it be the Truth,
Ah, shall our souls wake with the triumph, Lord?
Shall we be free according to thy word,
Brave to yield all?
Look! will it come like this--
A vivid glory burning at the gate
Over the sudden verge of golden waves?
The tall white columns stand like seraphim
With high arms locked for song. The city lies
Pearled like the courts of heaven, waiting the tread
Of souls made wise with joy. Why should we fear?
The Truth--ah, let it come to test the dream;
Give us the Truth, O Lord, that in its light
The world may know thy will, and dare be free.
Reminiscences of Booth
Few of the younger people of the present generation know, by personal
experience, how nobly and incomparably Edwin Booth enriched the
modern stage with his vivid portraitures of Shakespearean characters.
The tragic fervor, the startling passion, and the impressive dignity
with which he invested his various roles, have not been equaled, I
daresay, by any actor on the English speaking stage since the days
of Garrick and Kean. He had a voice that vibrated with every mood,
and a mien, despite his short stature, that gave a lofty dignity
to every part that he played. But Booth as himself was a simple,
modest, amiable human being. Many of us younger men came to know
him in a personal way, when he established in New York City the
Players' Club, which he dedicated to the dramatic profession, and
which is now a splendid and permanent monument to his fame and
I saw him frequently and had many chats with him. When I undertook
the management of E. H. Southern, he was very much interested
because he knew young Sothern's father, the original Lord Dundrery;
so, when Mr. Sothern appeared in the first play under my management,
"The Highest Bidder," I invited Mr. Booth to witness the performance.
He expressed his delight at seeing his old friend's son doing such
delightful work, and the three of us afterwards met at a little
supper at the Players'. He told us that he came nearly being the
Godfather of young Sothern, and that he was to have been called
"Edwin" after himself; but the reason why his name was changed to
"Edward," he explained, was as follows: When young Sothern was
born in New Orleans, the elder Sothern telegraphed Booth, asking
him to stand as Godfather to his boy, but Booth did not wish to
take the responsibility, doubtless for reasons of his own, and so
his name was changed to "Edward"; but he confessed that it was a
matter he greatly regretted. He told us many stories of his early
career as an actor, one of which I remember as a very amusing experience
on the part of the elder actor when on his way to Australia. Mr.
Booth had an engagement to play in that distant section, and with
five members, the nucleus of a company, started from San Francisco.
They had occasion to stop at Honolulu en route. The stop there
being longer than originally anticipated, and the news of his
arrival having spread, King Kamehameha sent a request that he give
a performance of "Richard III" in the local theater. In spite of
managerial difficulties, Booth (being then a young man, ardent and
ambitious) sought to give a semblance with the scanty material at
hand, of a fair performance. He had to secure the cooperation of
members of the local amateur company. The best he was enabled to
do for the part of Queen Elizabeth was an actor, short in stature,
defective in speech and accent, but earnest in temperament, whom
he cast for this eminent role. The other parts were filled as
best he could, and the principals with him enabled Mr. Booth to
give some semblance of a decent performance. In order to properly
advertise the event, he secured the assistance of several Hawaiians,
and furnished them with a paste made out of their native product
called "poi." He discovered later, to his amazement, that not
a bill had been posted, and that the "poi," being a valuable food
article, had been appropriated by the two individuals, who decamped.
Mr. Booth, with his colleagues, then personally posted the town
with the bills of the impending performance. On the evening the
house was crowded. The King occupied a seat in the wings, there
being no place for him in the hall. When the throne scene was to
be set for the play, word was sent to His Majesty humbly asking
the loan of the throne chair, which he then occupied, for use in
the scene--a favor which His Royal Highness readily granted. At
the end of the performance, word was brought to Booth that the King
wished to see him. Booth, shy and modest as he was, and feeling
that he could not speak the language, or that His Royal Highness
could not speak his, approached His Majesty timidly. The latter
stepped forward, slapped the actor heartily on the back and said:
"Booth, this is as fine a performance as I saw your father give
twenty years ago."
The question as to whether an actor should feel his part or control
his emotions, has been an argument which has interested the dramatic
profession for many years, since it was first promulgated by the
French writer Diderot, and afterwards ably discussed by Henry Irving
and Coquelin. Of course, we all feel that no matter how violent
the actor's stress of emotion is, he must control his resources
with absolute restraint and poise. Sometimes, however, an actor
feels he is under the sway of his part in an unusual degree and
comes to the conviction, through his excitement, that he has given
a greater performance than usual. So Booth, one night at his own
theater, seeing his beloved daughter in a box, and desiring to
impress her with his work, played with, as he felt, a degree of
emotion that made him realize that he had given an unusually powerful
interpretation. At the end of the play, his daughter ran back to
him and said: "Why, dad, what is the matter with you?" And Booth,
awaiting her approval, said: "Matter?" "Why you gave the worst
performance I ever witnessed," she said. This control of one's
resources and the check upon one's feelings was indicated at another
time during a performance of Booth, of "Richelieu," as told to me
by the actor's friend, the late Laurence Hutton, the writer. Mr.
Hutton and Mr. Booth were sitting in the latter's dressing room at
Booth's Theater. Booth was, as usual, smoking his beloved pipe.
When he heard his cue, he arose, and walked with Hutton to the
prompter's entrance, where, giving his pipe to his friend, said:
"Larry, will you keep the pipe going until I come off?" Booth
entered on the scene; then came the big moment in the play when the
nobles and the weak King had assembled to defy the power of the
Cardinal; and Richelieu launches (as Booth always did with thrilling
effect) the terrifying curse of Rome--a superb bit of oratorical
eloquence. At the conclusion, the house shouted its wild and
demonstrative approval, and when the curtain dropped on this uproar
for the last time, Booth approached Hutton at the prompter's entrance
saying, in his usual quiet voice: "Is the pipe still going, Larry?"
No actor we have ever known has inspired so much genuine affection--I
may say almost idolatry--as the simple Edwin Booth aroused in the
hearts of his friends and his fellow-workers. In the beautiful
Players' Club House, which he bequeathed to the dramatic profession,
he presented also his own valuable theatrical library, numbering
several thousand memorable works on the stage; and no one event
greater than this gift to his fellow-players has ever occurred in
the dramatic profession.
God of My Faith
A Play for Pacifists in One Act
"If the God of my faith be a liar
Who is it that I shall trust?"
The People in the Play
The action passes in Dartrey's Chambers in the late Spring of
Nineteen Hundred and Fifteen.
(The lowering of the Curtain momentarily will denote the passing
of several days.)
God of My Faith
The curtain discloses a dark oak room
NELSON DARTREY is seated at a writing table studying maps. He is
a man in the early thirties, prematurely worn and old. His face
is burned a deep brick color and is sharpened by fatigue and loss
of blood. His hair is sparse, dry and turning gray. Around the
upper part of his head is a bandage covered largely by a black
skull-cap. Of over average height the man is spare and muscular.
The eye is keen and penetrating: his voice abrupt and authoritative.
An occasional flash of humor brings an old-time twinkle to the one
and heartiness to the other. He is wearing the undress uniform of
a major in the British army.
The door bell rings.
With an impatient ejaculation he goes into the passage and opens
the outer door. Standing outside cheerfully humming a tune is a
large, forceful, breezy young man of twenty-eight. He is DERMOD
GILRUTH. Splendid in physique, charming of manner, his slightly-marked
Dublin accent lends a piquancy to his conversation. He has all
the ease and poise of a traveled, polished young man of breeding.
Dartrey's face brightens as he holds out a welcoming hand.
(Saluting him as he laughs genially) May I come into officers'
I'm glad to have you. I'm quite alone with yours on my hands. (He
brings Gilruth into the room and wheels a comfortable leather arm
chair in front of him) Sit down.
Indeed I will not. Look at your desk there. I'll not interrupt
your geography for more than a minute.
(Forces him into the chair) I'm glad to get away from it. Why,
you look positively boyish.
And why not? I am a boy. (Chuckles)
What are you so pleased with yourself about?
The greatest thing in the world for youth and high-spirits. I'm
going to be married next week.
(Incredulously) You're not?
I tell you I am.
Don't be silly.
What's silly about it?
Oh, I don't know.
Of course you don't know. You've never tried it.
I should think not.
Well, I'm going to and I want you to father me. Stand up beside
me and see me through. Will you?
If you want me to.
Well, I do want you to.
You don't mind now?
My dear chap. It's charming of you to think of me.
I've known you longer than any one over here. And I like you
better. So there you are.
(Laughing) Poor old Dermod! Well, well!
There's nothing to laugh at, or "well, well" about.
Do I know the---?
(Shakes his head) She's never been over before. Everything will
be new to her. I tell you it's going to be wonderful. I've planned
out the most delightful trip through Ireland--she's Irish, too.
But, like me, born in America. She's crazy to see the old country.
She couldn't have a better guide.
(Enthusiastically) She's beautiful, she's brilliant: she's
good--she's everything a man could wish.
That's the spirit. Will you make your home over here?
No. We'll stay till the autumn. Then I must go back to America.
But some day when all this fighting is over and people talk
of something besides killing each other I want to have a home in
I suppose most of you Irishmen in America want to do that?
Indeed they do not. Once they get out to America and do well they
stay there and become citizens. My father did. Do you think he'd
live in Ireland now? Not he. He talks all the time about Ireland
and the hated Sassenachs--that's what he calls you English--and
he urges the fellows at home in the old country to fight for their
rights. But since he made his fortune and became an American
citizen the devil a foot has he ever put on Irish soil. He's always
going, but he hasn't go there yet. And as for living there? Oh,
no, America is good enough for him, because his interests are
there. I want to live in Ireland because my heart is there. So
was my poor mother's.
(Springing up) Now I'm off. You don't know how happy you make me
by promising to be my best man.
My dear fellow--
And just wait until you see her. Eyes you lose yourself in. A
voice soft as velvet. A brain so nimble that wit flows like music
from her tongue. Poetry too. She dances like thistledown and
sings like a thrush. And with all that she's in love with me.
I want her to meet you first. A snug little dinner before the
wedding. She's heard so much against the English I want her to
see the best specimen they've got.
(Dartrey laughs heartily) I tell you if you pass muster with her
you have the passport to Kingdom come. (Laughing as well as he
grips Dartrey's hand) Good-by.
(As they walk to the door) When will it be?
Next Tuesday. I'll ring you up and give you the full particulars.
Church! Cathedral! His Eminence will officiate.
Well, you see, we Irish only marry once. So we make an occasion
Splendid. I'll look forward to it.
(Looking at the bandage) Is your head getting all right?
Oh, dear, yes. It's quite healed up. I'll have this thing off
in a day or two. (Touching the bandage) I expect to be back in
a few weeks.
If ever a man had done his share, you have.
They need me. They need us all.
The third time.
There are many who have done the same.
(Shudders) How long will it last?
Until the Hun is beaten.
It looks like it. We've hardly begun yet. It will take a year to
really get the ball rolling. Then things will happen. Tell me.
How do they feel in America? Frankly.
All the people who matter are pro-Ally.
Are you sure?
Are you? Come, now.
Why, of course I am.
They may be pro-Ally, but they're not pro-English.
That's true. Many of them are not. But if ever the test comes,
they will be.
(Shakes his head doubtfully) I wonder. It seems a pity not to
bury all the Bunker-Hill and Boston-tea-chest prejudices.
You're right there.
Why your boys and girls are taught in their school-books to hate
In places they are. Now that I know the English a little I have
been agitating to revisit them. It all seems so damned cheap and
petty for a big country to belittle a great nation through the
mouth of children.
There's no hatred like family hatred. After all we're cousins,
speaking the same tongue and with pretty much the same outlook.
There's one race in America that holds back as strongly as it can
any better understanding between the two countries, and that's
my race--the Irish. And well I know it. I was brought up on it.
There are men to-day, men of position too, in our big cities who
have openly said they want to see England crushed in this war.
So I've heard. It would be a sorry day for the rest of civilization,
and particularly America, if we were.
You can't convince them of that. They carry on the prejudices
and hatred of generations. I have accused some of them of being
actively pro-German; of tinkering with German money to foster
revolution in Ireland.
Do you believe that?
I do. Thank God there are not many of them. I have accused them
of taking German money and then urging the poor unfortunate poets and
dreamers to do the revolting while they are safely three thousand
miles away. I don't know of many who are willing to cross the water
and do it themselves. Talking and writing seditious articles is
safe. Take my own father. He says frankly that he doesn't want
Germany to win because he hates Germans. Most Irishmen do. Besides
they've done my father some very dirty tricks. But all the same
he wants to see England lose. All the doubtful ones I know, who
don't dare come out in the open, speak highly of the French and are
silent when English is mentioned. I blame a great deal of that on
your Government. You take no pains to let the rest of the world
know what England is doing. You and I know that without the
British fleet America wouldn't rest as easy as she does to-day, and
without the little British army the Huns would have been in Paris
and Calais months ago. We know that, and so do many others. But
the great mass of people, particularly the Irish, cry all the time,
"What is England doing?" Your government should see to it that
they know what she's doing.
It's not headquarters' way.
I know it isn't. And the more's the pity. Another thing where
you went all wrong. Why not have let Asquith clear up the Irish
muddle? Why truckle to a handful of disloyal North of Ireland
traitors? If the Government had court martialed the ring-leaders,
tried the rest for treason and put the Irish Government in Dublin,
why, man, three-quarters of the male population of the South of
Ireland would be in the trenches now.
Don't let us get into that. I was one of the officers who mutinied.
I would rather resign my commission than shoot down loyal subjects.
(Hotly) Loyal? Loyal! When they refused to carry out their
Government's orders? When they deny justice to a long suffering
people? Loyal! Don't prostitute the word.
(Angrily) I don't want to---
(Going on vehemently) It's just that kind of pig-headed ignorance
that has kept the two countries from understanding each other. Why
shouldn't Ireland govern herself. South Africa does. Australia
does. And when you're in trouble they leap to your flag. Yet
there is a country a few miles from you that sends the best of her
people to your professions and they invariably get to the top of
them. Irishmen have commanded your armies and Ireland has given
you admirals for your fleet and at least one of us has been your
Lord Chief Justice. Yet, by God, they can't be trusted to govern
themselves. I tell you the English treatment of Ireland makes her
a laughing-stock of the world.
(Opens the door, then turns and looks straight at Gilruth) My head
bothers me. Will you kindly---
(All contrition) I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to blaze out. Do
forgive me like a good fellow. It's an old sore of mine and
sometimes it makes me wince. It did just now. Don't be mad with
(The sound of a boy's voice calling newspapers is heard faintly in
the distance; then the hoarse tones of a man shouting indistinctly;
then a chorus of men and boys comes nearer and nearer calling
of some calamity. Dartrey hurries out through the outer door.
Gilruth stands ashamed. He does not want to leave his friend in
bad blood. He would like to put things right before going. He
waits for Dartrey to come back.
In a few minutes Dartrey walks through the outer doorway and into
the room. He is very white, very agitated and his face is set and
determined. He is reading a special edition of an evening paper
with great "scare" head lines.
The sound of the voices crying the news in the street grows fainter
Dartrey stops in front of Gilruth and tries to speak; nothing
coherent comes from his lips. He thrusts the paper into Gilruth's
hands and watches his face as he reads.
Gilruth reads it once slowly, then rapidly. He stands immovable
staring at the news-sheet. It slips from his fingers and he cowers
down, stooping at the shoulders, glaring at the floor.)
(Almost frenzied) Now will your country come in? Now will they
fight for civilization? A hundred of her men, women and children
done to death. Is that war? Or is it murder? Already men are
reading in New York and Washington of the sinking of that ship and
the murder of their people. What are they going to do? What are
YOU going to do?
(Creeps unsteadily to the door; standing himself with a hand on the
lock; his back is to the room. He speaks in a strange, far-off,
She was on the LUSITANIA! Mona. She was on it. Mona was on it.
(Creeps out through the street door and disappears)
(Dartrey looks after him)
(The curtain falls and rises again in a few moments. Several days
have elapsed. Dartrey, in full uniform, is busily packing his
regimental kit. The bandage has been removed from his head. The
telephone bell rings. Dartrey answers it)
Yes. Yes. Who is it? Oh! Do. Yes. No. Not at all. Come up.
(Replaces the receiver and continues packing)
(In a few moments the door-bell rings. Dartrey opens the outer
door and brings Gilruth into the room. He is in deep mourning; is
very white and broken. He seems grievously ill. Dartrey looks at
him commiseratingly. He is sensitive about speaking)
(Faintly) Put up with me for a bit? Will you?
(Dartrey just puts his hand on the man's shoulder)
(Gilruth sinks wearily and lifelessly into a chair)
She is buried.
(Nods) She is buried. In Kensal Green. Half an hour ago.
(In a whisper) They found her?
(Nods again) Picked up by some fishermen.
A few miles outside. I went there that night and stayed there
until--until she--they found her.
(Covers his face. Dartrey puts his arm around him and presses his
I wandered round there for days. Wasn't so bad while it was light.
People to talk to. All of us on the same errand. Searching.
Searching. Hoping--some of them. I didn't. I knew from the first.
I KNEW. It was horrible at night alone. I had to try and sleep
sometimes. They'd wake me when the bodies were brought in. Hers
came toward dawn one morning. Three little babies, all twined in
each others arms, lying next to her. Three little babies. Cruel
that. Wasn't it?
(Waits as he thinks; then he goes on dully; evenly, with no emotion)
Fancy! She'd been out in the water for days and nights. All alone.
Tossed about. Days and nights. She! who'd never hurt a soul.
Couldn't. She was always laughing and happy. Drifting about. All
alone. Quite peaceful she looked. Except--except--
(Covers his eyes and groans. In a little while he looks up at
Dartrey and touches his left eye)
This. Gone. Gulls.
(Dartrey draws his breath in sharply and turns a little away)
In a few hours the cuts opened. The salt-water had kept them
(Nods) Her head. And her face. Cuts. Blood after all that time.
(He clenches and unclenches his hands nervously and furiously. He
gets up slowly, walks over to the fireplace, shivers, then braces
himself trying to shake off the horror of his thoughts. Then he
begins to speak brokenly and tremblingly endeavoring to moisten
his lips with a dry tongue)
Never saw anything to equal the kindness of those poor peasants.
They gave the clothes from their bodies; the blankets from their