Idling in Italy Part 10

CHAPTER XIV BANQUETS AND PERSONALITIES

I marvel how men in public life stand banquets, especially Italians, who take to them like babes to mothers' milk. I fancy they often long for a succulent chop and a baked potato, with a tray for mahogany and a book for company! But the banchetto gives them an alluring arena for oratory, and my deliberate conviction is that the Italian has more pleasure in speaking than in any other voluntary act. Not only does he like to talk, but he likes to be talked to. The Italian language lends itself to sonorous oratory, and one can become more impa.s.sioned while delivering himself of simple thought and plain sentiment in it than in any other tongue. Rome has always been the city of pilgrims. Formerly they came in pursuit of the salvation of their souls; now they come to help make the world safe for liberty. Missions, delegations, committees, distinguished personages with their trains come nearly every day from all parts of the world, and to each is given a banquet, to some many banquets.

A diverting one was a luncheon given to a delegation of the j.a.panese Red Cross headed by Prince Tokugawa. There were many distinguished personages present, including the Premier Orlando, the minister of war, the minister of the navy, Duke Torlonia, the directors-general of public health and of military health, and other exalted or celebrated personages "too numerous to mention." It was a pleasant party. The j.a.ps interested me very much. They looked less Oriental, if that means anything, than their fellows with whom I have come in contact. I fancy this is due partly to the fact that they were in uniform not unlike that of American officers, and also they seemed bigger, that is-of greater stature-and more deliberate and suave than many that I had previously met. I talked to the Prince and found him intelligent and communicative, without sign or display of royal prerogative. Professor Seigami Sawamura, who sat on my left at lunch, is a lawyer who seemed to have about the same point of view on ordinary topics that a well-educated, cultured man of his profession in America might have. The man on my right was--, who spoke English perfectly, and whom I discovered, after a small attempt to draw him out on the political situation, to be an adherent of Sonnino, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and of his entourage. He seemed to be as devoid of capacity for constructive thought as any educated Italian of thirty-five or forty in political life that I have ever met, or perhaps it was that he had a wonderful facility for concealing it. His small talk, however, was quite perfect, and I can imagine that he might have radiated considerable luminosity in a properly selected salon.

The speeches of the visitors and of the j.a.panese Amba.s.sador to Italy were most diverting. I have never been so entertained and instructed by oratory of which I didn't understand a word. After the speeches were delivered they were put into excellent Italian by a young attache of the Italian emba.s.sy who must have spent many years away from his native sunny Italy in order to get the mastery of the Oriental language that he displayed. Banquet speeches are, as a rule, a series of plat.i.tudes in ornate dress, interspersed with sentiment and expressions of appreciation and praise phrased diplomatically. These speeches had those qualities-all save that of the j.a.panese Amba.s.sador. His remarks had been carefully prepared and were read. Undoubtedly they had been submitted to the Mikado or his advisers before they were put before us, for they stated the position of his government relative to the war, narrated their reason for partic.i.p.ation in its activities, and made statement of their determination to have the efforts of the Allies crowned with success.

The Italian premier, Orlando, replied. He is a real orator. Even below the stature of the average Italian of the South, the large, shapely, and well-poised head, surmounted with thick, closely cropped gray hair brushed pompadour, the sparkling eyes, ruddy face, and genial expression give you at once the feeling that you are in the presence of a man of power, of resourcefulness, and of facility. No one could mistake that he is a man of the people. There is no trace of arrogance or of self-exaltation, and when he speaks you feel that his words are fountained from sincerity. His remarks gave evidence of research and careful preparation. After having pointed out the pleasant relations that had always existed between Italy and j.a.pan and the present intimate solidarity, he cited some historic instances which bind the nations in amity. It was a forebear of the Prince Tokugawa, the Shogun Yasu Tokugawa, who in 1613 permitted a Western s.h.i.+p to land in j.a.pan, and who facilitated the advent of the first j.a.panese amba.s.sador to Rome. The visitors were apparently very much pleased with his remarks, as he intended they should be. There was nothing said that seemed to indicate that there was any general adhesion to the belief that if the Allies won the war England would become the va.s.sal of America, or of the yellow people of the extreme Orient, such as the Frankfurter Zeitung has recently said would probably be the case.

All of the visitors with whom I spoke were loud, and seemingly sincere, in praise of the treatment they had had at the hands of the Americans during their visit there, and I gathered that there exists at the present time between America and j.a.pan a more generalized sentiment of trustfulness than existed before the war. At least, it may be said that the j.a.p loses no opportunity to say "nice things" of our country.

A benefit that flows from such a gathering is the opportunity it gives to see, in their hour of semi-relaxation and at short range, some of those who are helping to make history in this country and whose names one sees every day in the newspapers. The first impression that one gets is that they are substantial, serious, intelligent, earnest, alert in their appearance, manner, and conduct, sincere in their efforts, and unalterable in their determination. I fancy that they compare favorably with a similar group of any nationality. Though perhaps you are disappointed in finding that none of them bears any particular outward manifestations of genius, if there be such thing, yet you have no misgivings that they are individuals capable of constructive thought and mature deliberation, self-reliant, and confident.

The next day I went to a midday banquet tendered by Melville E. Stone, the general manager of the a.s.sociated Press, by the newspaper men of Rome. It was a very different gathering. Newspaper men have a make-up, a physiognomy, a general appearance, more or less founded in what may be called personal neglect, that is, an insensitiveness to personal aesthetics, which is quite characteristic. One can't pick a newspaper man from a crowd with the same readiness and accuracy that he picks a monk or an actor, but the majority of journalists become hall-marked after they have plied their vocation for any considerable length of time. I was impressed with the appearance of intelligence and seriousness of the men of the Italian press. Few of them bore the somatic signs of intimacy with Mr. Barleycorn. The company had a fair sprinkling of ministers, including Nitti and Gallenga, deputies, and ex-ministers, but as far as I could see there were no dukes or princes. The latter are ornamental and not infrequently pleasing to look upon, but a gathering of newspaper men is redolent of democracy, which is antipathic to princely presence. We lunched at the restaurant in the Borghese Gardens. It was a much simpler affair than the banquet tendered the j.a.ps at the Grand Hotel, but it was an ample, edible lunch, and you had the feeling that we had foregathered to honor one who was deserving.

When one attempts to describe Mr. Stone he is tempted at once to say he is a typical American. But what is a typical American? There are so many types. William Jennings Bryan is a typical American. So is Henry Cabot Lodge. Benjamin Franklin was a typical American, yet he fraternized with dukes and flirted with d.u.c.h.esses, the sheer embodiment of suaviter in modo and fort.i.ter in re. While successfully putting America on the map and advancing the humanities generally, he immortalized himself and affectioned the French people. Abraham Lincoln, we like to think, was a typical American, but were one to encounter him incog. in ceremonial circles, political or social, in Europe to-day, ninety-nine Americans out of a hundred would deny him. Uncle Sam is supposed to depict the somatic make-up of the typical Yankee, and at the same time to convey the idea that he is a man to be reckoned with emotionally and intellectually at all times, in his moments of relaxation and in his hours of activity. Nevertheless the average person has something fairly specific in mind when he says, "He is a typical American." He means a man who displays and who often can't conceal a determination to put through that which he has planned; who is self-confident, opinionated, a stranger to ceremony and oftentimes unfamiliar with ordinary social amenities; who is fully appreciative of the accomplishments and potentialities of his country and its inst.i.tutions, and who doesn't hesitate to contrast them with those of other countries, often to their disparagement; who speaks only one language, American, and that not always either grammatically or elegantly; who is often a stranger to culture and the last person in the world to find it out; whose dress is that of a farmer or a fas.h.i.+on-plate, and who has bizarre tastes for food and drink-c.o.c.ktails and ice-water bulk large in his necessities, and he despises Continental breakfasts; who is attracted by the treasures of art and moved by the beauties of nature, but the immediate result of the emotion is to enhance the value of something similar in his own country, yet when he treads his native heath he is often a disparager of it, its possessions, and its inst.i.tutions.

Melville E. Stone is not that sort of typical American. His record is not unlike that of thousands of his countrymen. He is temperamentally and emotionally an Irishman, and intellectually and physically an American. The son of an itinerant Methodist preacher who forsook the cloth for commerce during the Civil War, and was thus able to provide for the maintenance and education of his children, he gives you the impression of a man who has made his way in the world, and made his own way. Although he is now past the age allotted to man by the Psalmist, he has the appearance and conduct of a man easily ten years younger. I had opportunity of observing him at short range for three or four days, for he was our guest, and as all the other members of our household were away I saw more of him than I otherwise might. He is a man of vast information, which he is not averse to sharing with others, and, unlike many who have such possessions, his information is accurate. This, in a measure, is due to the fact that it is largely personal. As the general manager and general motivator of the greatest news-collecting bureau in the world, he is constantly coming in contact with men who are making history, and his personality is so ingratiating that they allow him a personal contact which in many instances apparently reaches intimacy. Although he is a man who talks freely, my impression is that he is not indiscreet. In addition to this, he has been a studious reader. It was interesting to find that he is a bed reader, for my belief is that the man who reads attentively in bed has an impression of what he reads made upon the memory cells of his brain cortex which sleep then stamps with permanency.

I gather Mr. Stone had very little schooling; that is, he did not go to college. As a boy he went to school in the winter and worked in the summer and during other vacations, and apparently the work that he did most willingly was newspaper work. He became editor of the Chicago Daily News while still a very young man, and continued in that important post for a quarter of a century. He acquired the art of going easily and successfully to men in political life and other avenues of constructive activity while in Chicago, Was.h.i.+ngton, and the capitals of Europe. The thing that has made him a man of culture, however, is an inherent desire for knowledge, which, he early realized, is the only means that man can successfully employ to add to his stature. He is a true Celt, emotional, sensitive, tenacious of his opinions, reliant in his judgments, a hater of his enemies, and an admirer of his friends. If I were asked to enumerate his most distinctive possession, after a short intimacy with him I should say it was a quality which we speak of as justice. When he brings a question up to the threshold of his consciousness for solution, or a problem for decision, the first thing that he considers is "Is it just?" After that its feasibility and advisability are discussed.

The representative gathering of Italians which greeted him at lunch were prejudiced in his favor. In addition to that, they were saturated with the belief that America was the young Lochinvar who came out of the West to deliver them from threatened bondage. I doubt very much whether any one in America to-day realizes the feeling that Italians had for America, and it is one of great interest. Until the advent of America into the war Italians practically knew nothing of the United States of America, save that it was a place to which large numbers of their poorest and most ignorant inhabitants emigrated, and where they made money which enabled them to return to their native land, or to maintain their families or dependents during their exile. Of the history of America, of the men who made that history and who are making it, of its inst.i.tutions, its traditions, its accomplishments, its potentialities they knew practically nothing. Undoubtedly there are many who would not accept this statement as true, but I am convinced that it is. Naturally there are men of culture, men of studious habits, men with inclination for historic reading who are exceptions to this blanket accusation. I was very much amused last winter, when dining with an admiral of the navy on duty at Spezia, by the inquiry whether I came from North America or from South America. There are many Italians who claim to be educated who make very little differentiation between the two continents, and I have never yet met an Italian, unless he was a bookish man, who knew anything about our literature. In my own profession I doubt that there are a half-dozen men in America whose fame has reached Italy, and those whose names are familiar are known because of some eponymic a.s.sociation.

I could cite many examples to show not only the indifference which Italians have to the history and literature of our country but also the absence of any desire to know about them. Then, their conceptions or ideas of Americans are quite extraordinary. They got them from tourists whom they saw overrunning their country en prince or en Cook, and made up their minds that they were a type of uncivilized Crsus or of unaesthetic barbarian. They saw the effete, the effeminate and decadent, or the semi-invalided business man surrounded by a bevy of overdressed females whose chief interest seemed to be their luggage and the sights; and they saw the weary and wearisome gapers const.i.tuting the "personally conducted." Then again, the Italian is no great traveller. He likes his country, he is content with it, and, although he rails against his government, he would feel that a large part of the pleasure of life was taken from him if he were not permitted to discuss critically, and often disparagingly, what are commonly called politics. I don't mean to say that the Italian "fancies" himself, but neither the spirit of admiration nor of emulation distinguishes him. He is like the Roman in miniature. The Roman still thinks he is the last cry of G.o.d's handiwork in the human line.

When America declared war on Germany, and particularly when she declared war on Austria, Italians quickly got interested in America; and when they learned that America came so generously to Italy's aid, first, in supplying the money for the conduct of the war, and then in supplying the material needs of her people, Italians manifested a tremendous interest in us and in our country, and they began to look upon us as their guide and their savior. I never heard a disparaging word of our country or of him who was directing our s.h.i.+p of state until after the Peace Conference. They looked upon Woodrow Wilson as a man inspired. There were times during the war when they would have been very glad if America had acquiesced more readily and more whole-heartedly in their requests, such as in July, 1918, when they believed that it was imperative to have large numbers of American troops in Italy. But at the same time, when their wishes were not met and their requests not granted, they did not sit in adverse judgment upon him who made the decision. In fact, they believed he could not err.

It is natural that they should have been concerned about the situation that existed in the early summer of 1918. There were two millions of American troops in Europe, with more constantly coming, and there were only a very small number in Italy. The Italians saw themselves pitted more or less alone against a country, Austria-Hungary, which had an army nearly twice as large as theirs and which was more rapacious than a hungry wolf goaded into renewed ferocity by recent defeat. They sincerely believed that if they had received help at that time they could have overcome their hereditary and acquired enemy promptly, and it is likely that they could. That might have been a reason for sending American troops to Italy, but it was not an adequate reason. The one task in hand was to win the war, to win it expeditiously and to win it in such a manner that would put Germany, as she was const.i.tuted and as she had been const.i.tuted for the past twenty-five years, out of existence; that is, to exterminate the war lords, to destroy them and their influence. The man or men who were permitted to look at the question from all angles were far better able to plan how this should be done than the councillors of one nation who naturally saw the question only from one side, that is, their own point of view.

It is likely also that the Italians constantly reminded themselves that if they had received help from the Allies early in 1916 the war might have been ended. I have heard many an Italian say that they were in a position then to overcome the Austrian army had they received such help and that with the simultaneous activity of the Russians on the eastern front they would have carried the Allied arms into Vienna. But you do not grind your grist more satisfactorily by regretting that the waters that have gone over the mill were not used more efficaciously.

I have wandered far afield from the testimonial lunch to Mr. Stone, but my reflections are apropos of the remarks which the Honorable Nitti, a wizard with figures and a magician with men, made. Many of his countrymen profess to distrust him and to say that Giolitti made him and still controls him. Nothing could be more absurd. Nitti is the type of man who is made by his endowment and by his environment. It would be easier to think of any other public man in Italy as the tool of a dictator, dethroned or enthroned, than it would be of Nitti. The son of poor parents who sacrificed everything for his education, he has been journalist, author, teacher, economist, professor, advocate, and statesman. When he first went in the House he sat on the extreme left, and gradually he moved up toward the centre, although he is always inscribed in the radical party. He is unquestionably of formidable brain and combines a will of iron with an audacity that has the appearance at least of transcending all temerity.

In appearance he is the typical middle-cla.s.s South Italian, short, rotund, with thick neck and ma.s.sive face adorned with a smile that rarely comes off. He is a polished orator and his political papers read like literary doc.u.ments. He is reputed to be a master of political stage-setting. Realizing that the most potent factor in shaping men's judgment is the press, and realizing that the man who has his fingers on the keyboard of the organ that makes the music was the honored guest of the occasion, he embraced the opportunity to put before Mr. Stone and his colleagues his convictions of the needs of Italy and his hopes that they might be gratified. I am sure that he did not say publicly anything that Mr. Stone had not already heard in private audience, for the doors leading to the council chambers of the men of influence in this country swing open welcomingly to Mr. Stone, but to say them in his presence to the representative press of Italy convinced us that his hopes and aspirations in this matter were the expression of the government, and he was willing and wished to communicate them to the public.

The other speakers were entertaining but scarcely instructive. One doesn't expect inspired sentiment or statement at testimonial banquets, but I felt that the speakers missed an opportunity to herald the democratization of the world through education and enlightenment via the press. Many nice things were said about Mr. Stone, but I confess frankly that I was disappointed that no one took it upon himself to interpret his accomplishments or to dwell upon and elaborate his activities and accomplishments symbolically. If they would stop telling us Germany's motives in precipitating the Great War and give us instead a credo for the present and the future, it would be a relief. I am firmly convinced that Germany thrust the war upon the world because she couldn't inhibit her latent and active cruelty which possesses and has possessed her for generations, as l.u.s.t possesses the satyric man who, when he becomes intoxicated or unbalanced, throws prudence, precedent, precept, and principles to the wind and gives himself and his possessions to the orgy. The Central Powers will have to pay the full penalty for their crimes, even though they deny their guilt, just as the wilful murderer is electrocuted, even though he goes to the chair protesting his innocence.

The guest's speech was felicitous. He dwelt briefly on Italy's justification for entering the war when she did; he justly evaluated her work and he paid a deserving tribute to her resourcefulness in having extricated herself from the horns of the bull after the Caporetto disaster. He brought Columbus, Mazzini, and Garibaldi, our debt to them and their inspiration for us, into his remarks in such a way as to convince his auditors that they const.i.tute for us a revered Italian trinity, and he adequately depicted the tenderness and affection that his countrymen have for Italy.

It takes a big man, using that word in one of its conventional senses, to conduct a successful publicity campaign. In the first place, he has to understand the people with whom he works, and the first successful step in understanding them is to want to understand them. If he has preconceived ideas not founded in reliable information or experience, if he is bia.s.sed and hypercritical, if he doesn't know how to elicit testimony and evaluate evidence, if he hasn't habituated himself to look at events, heralded or transpired, from different points of view, if he isn't animated by the spirit of service-that is, to do his work for the good of the cause-he is doomed to failure, or at least he can be only partially successful. Then again, he must be a man who worthily represents his government and his people. He should know his way about. He should be familiar with ordinary social amenities, so that he may go easily amongst his superiors and excite their approbation, and he must have the capacity to bear true witness while constantly keeping the burnished side of his s.h.i.+eld before the people he is aiming to succor and orient. There are few ways in which one can be of more service to his country than by making proper propaganda in an allied country. The narrow-minded, bia.s.sed, obsessed man has the worst possible equipment for such position.

Propaganda is the priceless privilege of the press.

CHAPTER XV SENTIMENTALITY AND THE MALE

It is a long time now that the belief has been generally accepted that G.o.d made man, and, contemplating his work, realized that it was a failure for the purpose for which man was created. He then made woman. The way in which this was accomplished is full of interest to the artificer, but it does not concern me, whose lifelong study has been of the finished species; nor does the object of the creation of man, alluring as it is, tempt me to digress from the subject of his sentimental endowment. Soon after his organism was endowed with sentient possession, man was made aware that he had imperious desires which not only demanded satisfaction but which insisted upon being satisfied. It pleased the Christian church to enshroud the most vital of these G.o.d-given desires in the mantle of sin, save when its appeas.e.m.e.nt was done in conformity with the restrictions laid upon it by the church. It may quite well be that such restrictions were founded in wisdom. For a long time England maintained that it was right to restrict the franchise to owners of property of a certain value, and for many centuries the world accepted slavery without a thought that it was wrong. Ruskin spoke truly when he said: "The basest thought about man is that he has no spiritual nature, and the foolishest that he has no animal nature."

The facts around which these remarks are spun are first: G.o.d reproduced his image, and, finding that the image was incomplete and useless for the purposes for which he was created, he made him whole, as it were, by creating the female; and second: that he endowed man and woman with mental and emotional qualities which were to aid them in living their lives happily for themselves, usefully for others, and acceptably to him. The moment this endowment was made known to them the fat was in the fire. "She tempted me and I fell" has been the subject of picture and poem, story and sermon, excuse or extenuation, since time immemorial. Learned tomes and ponderous volumes have set forth specifically the difference of the s.e.xes, more or less uselessly too, for no one needs to be convinced that there are anatomical and physiological differences. The obvious is never interesting; the pleasurable quest is pursuit of the elusive, the intangible. There are differences between the s.e.xes that defy specific designation, for I do not admit that specificity is given to these distinctions by saying that men differ from women emotionally, morally, spiritually, ethically, or that they react differently to the same stimulus under the same circ.u.mstances, or that there are soul differences of kind and degree. We do not have to decide whether these distinctions are inherent or acquired. We have only to admit that they exist. The plain fact is that tradition and experience teach us that both the male and the female of the genus h.o.m.o have certain spiritual endowments, both on the emotional and the intellectual side, which have come to be looked upon as characteristic. Courage, valor, secrecy are universally considered to be characteristics of the male. On the other hand, patience, sentiment, vanity, and fickleness have become traditionally linked up with the opposite s.e.x. Women are often braver than men, more continent, less vain, but to admit this does not diminish the acceptability of the general proposition. No one is likely to contend that either s.e.x has a monopoly of any of these qualities, but I fancy it will readily be admitted that sentimentality, in its most flagrant display, is a more characteristic ancilla of woman than of man. Bulwer Lytton was a shrewd observer when he wrote: "There is sentiment in all women and sentiment gives delicacy to thought and tact to manner." But sentiment with men is generally acquired, an offspring of the intellectual quality, not as with the other s.e.x, of the moral. A man considers it a term of reproach to be called sentimental; on the other hand, such designation in no way detracts from a woman's estimate of herself, nor does it derogate her in the esteem of others so long as she confines it within certain limits and so long as it does not condition her conduct. Many a man on reviewing his past recognizes that his s.h.i.+p of celibacy foundered upon the sandy shoals called "tender-minded." The tender-minded girl is one with a mind somewhat underdeveloped, saturated in sentimentality usually a.s.sociated with a streak of obstinacy which is beyond parental influence.

With nubility there comes to every girl a wealth of emotional endowment which is often most bewildering-indeed, it upsets some unstable organizations, while to others it is merely an intoxication. It disturbs their equilibrium, it tends to break down their inhibitions and to befog the perspectives that have been so carefully developed for them, and it not infrequently roils the water of life in which they have been floating and swimming without effort to such a degree that they const.i.tute a problem for parent and teacher. The average girl gradually throws off these disequilibrilizing effects; and the moonlight walks in the garden, or the romantic plans to spend an idyllic life in a tiny cottage covered by a rambler rose-bush far from the madding crowd, companioned by an Adonis and the poetry of Tennyson, her extravagant protestations of love for another girl, her exuberant interest in some mystic or fantastic cult, and other concomitants of this period, are given proper valuation.

She emerges into womanhood with a "head" for the intoxicating libation that wells up in her tissues, and is poured through her soul as sap wells up in a tree, even to the smallest branches preparatory to its bloom and fructification. The knowledge is borne in upon her that she can manage the new possession conformably to the canons of church, state, and society, and that the total of what has come to her at this period may be split up into qualities or possessions to which are given specific names, such as sentiment. Soon she realizes that these qualities become important a.s.sets in her display of the ars amoris and they prepare the road that leads pleasantly and propitiously to the goal which shall be the fulfilment of her physiological destiny, namely, maternity via matrimony. When that gratifying stage has been reached and fulfilled she understands that sentimentality, modestly displayed, contributes largely to her success, not only in her family but in the world.

How different with the opposite s.e.x! He likewise feels the obscuring mists of s.e.x potency and of sentimentality settling over him as p.u.b.erty approaches. He is also bewildered, but it is early made clear to him by his fellows who have gone through the experience that the slightest manifestation of it will be the signal for loosing on him the floodgates of their contempt and for opening for him the sluiceways of their scorn. To be called a mollycoddle is worse than being called a sneak, a cad, or a liar, and he is made to appreciate that if he merits such designation his companions will give him the kind of reception the wedding guests gave the ancient mariner. It is borne in upon him that display of sentiment in any form whatsoever is not "manly"; so he not only suppresses sentimentality, but in order to conceal it he goes much farther and no longer treats his sisters with the same kindness and consideration as before; he withdraws his intimacies and his confidences from his mother, professes a contempt for the society of girls, and embraces every opportunity to display a furious antagonism toward sentimentality.

This period is oftentimes a trying one for the parent, and, as every one knows, it is fraught with danger to the individual, particularly if he is a weak character, because it is during these times that sinister a.s.sociations and injurious habits are formed which are prejudicial to physical development and mental evolution. This is the period of life which has furnished the fertile soil in which the modern English novelist successfully sows his seed.

The average boy emerges from this period with a vision so adjusted to his immediate environment and the world that he senses things as they really are. He begins to get some idea of the purposes and value of life, its obligations and its privileges, and as the result of intuition or tuition, that happiness and usefulness, the chief aims and objects of life, stand in direct and measurable relations.h.i.+p to the possession and display of certain qualities which are commonly spoken of as virtues. As his mind unfolds and he is able to give relativity to these qualities, he becomes aware that sentiment in a man is not a deforming but a meritorious possession, which, when used properly, is a great a.s.set, but that it is one of the qualities of his make-up that should not be displayed to the vulgar gaze, and is a possession which he should rarely use save to blend with other qualities to give them savor. He appreciates that sentiment gives momentum to his designs and tone to his accomplishments, while furnis.h.i.+ng appropriate and fitting setting for their display, and with discernment he is able to distinguish clearly between sentiment and sentimentality and knows that the word sentiment is used synonymously with feeling or conviction. Sentiment is a composite of many of the virtues and is a subjective possession which, when revealed in words, action, or conduct may become sentimentality, providing the origin of these words, acts, and deeds is founded in sentiment.

The possession of sentiment, that is, of feeling, is a most desirable one so long as it does not warp the judgment, interfere with the mission, or prevent a man from doing his duty. The man or woman who is devoid of feeling is a species of monster, but the man or woman whose plan of life is based upon sentiment and whose conduct conforms to sentiment is mentally and morally unhealthy. As Lowell says: "Every man feels instinctively that all the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action." Decisions, plans of action, conduct conditioned by or founded in sentiment can be followed safely only if they are submitted to the acid test of reason before acceptation or subscription. Sentiment as a possession may be compared to a ferocious dog. He may be invaluable as a watch-dog, which adequately chained gives you a feeling of security, and at appropriate times can be unleashed to signal advantage, and accomplishes under guidance that which merits full approval; but let loose at all times he is an intolerable nuisance and may get you into one trouble after another.

The sentimentalist is a person who, in decisions, judgments, plans of action, and conduct of them, point of view in dealing with persons individually and collectively, has his conduct so colored by sentiment that his plan of action and ability and methods of its execution seem illogical and incapable of being subjected to the test of reason. Carlyle put it tersely when he said: "The barrenest of mortals is the sentimentalist."

The agonal struggle of the Great War was not necessary to convince us that very little is to be accomplished in the world single-handed. The individual can give birth to the idea, the plan, or possess the initiative which may revolutionize some phase of the activities of the world, but to carry out the idea he must have the co-operation of many. It is in securing such co-operation that he has a great opportunity to make a proper use of sentiment. There is nothing that an organizer or an administrator finds out earlier or surer than that loyalty is the cement that keeps his organization together, and the more it sets the more firm and invulnerable becomes his organization.

How to engender such loyalty is a problem that each person confronted with it must solve for himself. Some do it by meriting the respect and admiration of their coworkers and subordinates by display of such qualities as kindliness, justice, generosity, consideration of the welfare of their fellows, while others encompa.s.s it by the whole-hearted and unselfish way in which they give themselves to the work. Some do it quite impersonally and may possibly not be on terms of intimacy with any member of their organization. This does not necessarily mean that they hold themselves aloof from those with whom they come in contact; on the contrary, there may exist a genial comrades.h.i.+p from which mutual respect, admiration, and possibly even affection are developed. Some few develop loyalty from personal contact on the basis of sentimentality. They proceed upon the plan that if they cannot secure the personal admiration and affection of those a.s.sociated with them, impelling them to do their best because of this relations.h.i.+p rather than for the good of the cause, they have not been completely successful in their accomplishment. To this end they not infrequently resort to a display of sentimentality which is distressing to the impartial onlooker. That great dissector of the morals and motives of men, Thackeray, said: "One tires of a sentimentalist who is always pumping the tears from his eyes or your own." They lavish praise upon those who have not merited it, subst.i.tuting adulation for admonition; they profess a confidence that is not justified by results; they claim to see only virtues in every individual who is drawn into the sacred circle of their employment or a.s.sociation. Should they have suspicions that some in their circle are not deserving of confidence or do not have the qualities from which loyal, useful a.s.sociates can be made, they delude themselves with the belief that they can engender a sufficient desire in the inadequate one to compel him to be loyal and efficient in order that the confidence and admiration of the chief may be requited.

People who work together should respect each other, and by it employer and employee should be linked together. If a more intimate relation flows naturally from this respect, well and good, but there should not be the slightest attempt made to engender it on a sentimental basis. The rugged mind of Carlyle eschewed the sentimental. He stated: "The sentimental by and by will have to give place to the practical."

Most men if they strive sufficiently to make others like them can succeed in their endeavor, but a man should be liked for the inherent virtues or laudable qualities that he possesses and not for the semblance of them which he a.s.sumes for a special purpose. We like a man because he is trustworthy, loyal, efficient, reliable, truthful, co-operative, sympathetic, understanding, but we do not necessarily like him because some one else tells us that we ought to like him, particularly if we have found that he does not possess any of the qualities we desire and which would have made him acceptable. The sentimentalist is often guided in his decisions and in his conduct relative to others by the fear that, if he apprises the individual of the reason why he no longer wishes to keep up business or professional relations with him, the individual thus treated will devote some time afterward to tarnis.h.i.+ng the l.u.s.tre of his halo.

The sentimentalist fears especially the criticism, disparagement, and possibly one might say the malignity of those from whom he chooses to separate after they have been weighed and found wanting. It is not that he fears that injury will be done him, because not infrequently his career is so successful that it can withstand an enormous amount of disparagement and criticism without detrimental impression. The disparagement of such individuals can do him no harm save in the humiliation to his pride when it is brought home to him that he has not been able to make the leopard change his spots. Self-interest is the subconscious motive that often leads to a display of sentimentality. The sentimentalist realizes that allegations of merit and of capacity are "things that are graceful in a friend's mouth but blus.h.i.+ng in a man's own," and as such praise is the breath of his nostrils he will go to great lengths to achieve its accomplishment. But, though he may be deceived by flattery, there are others who know that "on ne trouve jamais l'expression d'un sentiment qui l'on n'a pas; l'esprit grimace et le style aussi." He is the easy prey for those who appeal to his vanity or to his susceptibility to flattery, to advance their own or others' projects and interests, and he may be led into doing things which his sober judgment tells him are not desirable, because he feels that he must not run the risk of lowering himself in the estimate of the individual from whom he has accepted adulation, reverence, or adoration.

When the male sentimentalist habituates himself to this wors.h.i.+pful att.i.tude from the other s.e.x he becomes covered with points which Achilles had only immediately above the heel. The s.e.x which has long been popularly known as the weaker has an inherited or acquired code of morality which permits them to make demands of the sentimental man which a mere man, unless base, would scorn, and now that the s.e.x has been emanc.i.p.ated we begin to feel that they should come out in the open and play fair. If they want to rely for their successes upon the weapons that have been vouchsafed them heretofore, they should not have the privileges which they are asking for and receiving to-day. Heaven knows no one is more desirous that they should have what they ask for in that direction than I am, but they should not use their s.e.x quality to take an unfair advantage. Thus oftentimes one who merits the designation of "pillar of strength and tower of fire" becomes a reed in the emotional wind that blows from the designing woman. She may not be designing in a malignant sense; she may merely enjoy the display of power. It is remarkable what a sentimentalist will put up with in the shape of indignity and inefficiency rather than run the risk of being impaired in the esteem of one who has this kind of influence over him. Emerson, one of our deepest thinkers, said: "Man is the will and woman is the sentiment. In this s.h.i.+p of humanity will is the rudder and sentiment the sail; when woman affects to steer, the rudder is only the masked sail."

There is nothing more Jove-like than virility and continency, but a man saturated with sentimentality produces a sensation akin to that which the child experiences when she finds her doll is stuffed with sawdust.

Sentiment in a man is like scent in a rose. It is the finis.h.i.+ng touch to perfection; when it is deficient it thrills one no more than the painted flower; when it is excessive the heaviness of its enervating odor is oppressive.

CHAPTER XVI THE PLAY INSTINCT IN CHILDREN

Italy's greatest recent patriot is Cesare Battisti, who suffered martyrdom for love of his native land. He was an Austrian subject, professor of biology and geography in the University of Trent and a deputy in the Austrian House of Parliament. In the beginning of the war he returned to Italy to fight against the country of his adoption and to favor the fortunes of his native land, and his efforts were crowned with great success. He entered the Italian Army as a lieutenant of the Alpini, and in 1916 fell into the hands of the Austrians, who quickly and cruelly despatched him by the most barbarous methods that they could conceive. Streets and piazzas have been named for him, hospitals and monuments have been raised in his honor, and his name is known to every man, woman, and child in the kingdom.

But it is not of Battisti that I would write, but to record a train of thought that was initiated by the sight of the orphans who were occupying the building which Italy's most distinguished physician, Ettore Marchiafava, aided by generous friends of the sick poor, has taken over for a tuberculosis hospital, and which will be called after Cesare Battisti. There were about two hundred girls, ranging in age from six to fourteen, in the charge of an order of nuns. The building is situated on a hill in the outskirts of Rome known as Monte Verde, which is the southern continuation of the Janiculum. In former days it was a palatial villa belonging to some dignitary of the church and latterly church property. It commands a magnificent view of Rome, of the Tiber, of the Campagna, the Castelli Romani, and the Alban Hills. When I arrived the children were in the grounds about the house and more or less segregated in a broad walk or alley lined by trees which led from the street to the villa. They were walking up and down in twos or threes or singly, apparently without other objective or display of desire than to walk. They looked like children of many nationalities, healthy and clean; but, more than that, they looked happy, contented, satisfied. As I pa.s.sed amongst them, nearly every one greeted me with a smile and "Buon giorno." There was no show of embarra.s.sment, shyness, bashfulness, or artificiality.

I looked over the grounds of the place, several acres, and saw not the slightest sign of games, swings, playgrounds, sand-piles, or other feature with which children divert themselves or are diverted in other lands. I went through the house from cellar to garret, and rarely have I seen an inhabited building with fewer signs of habitation. The dormitories contained long rows of beds with no sign of tables, chairs, stands, comfort-bags-nothing save the beds. The refectory was equally barren. The schoolroom was desolation itself-benches, long desks, and a solitary blackboard. The only indication that anything was taught save that which could be imparted by word of mouth was a typewriting machine. Examine as carefully as I might, I wasn't able to detect the smallest object for the diversion, entertainment, distraction, occupation of the little ones that the place was utilized to harbor, to nurture, to develop, and to instruct. When I returned to terra firma, there they were, walking up and down the alley as they were when I went in. A gentle-eyed sister was among the groups of the smaller ones, but they seemed not to need care. They were self-sufficient.

For the first time I felt the sensation of oppression in the presence of a crowd of joyous children. I felt they were in a prison-house narrower and more restricting than that which closes in upon the budding man, and I went away without thought of Cesare Battisti, but big with solicitude for these l.u.s.ty young beings whose best and most potential quality, the play instinct, was being stultified, or at least not cultivated.

I marvelled that the country which made the most constructive contribution to child pedagogy of the nineteenth century fails to see or to realize that the most potent, directly G.o.d-sent possession of a child is its imagery or fancy, which externalizes itself in every child in the desire to play-to play parent, construction, warfare, games, or ape the activities of their elders. The explanation cannot be that Italy is ignorant of the cultivation of the child's instinct for play in other countries or of the immense provision that is made to enhance it both in public and in private life. I can readily understand that there might be wilful opposition to it in church inst.i.tutions, as its elaborate display is considered inimical to that humility which is the essence of the Christian religion. Punish the flesh, have a contempt and a disdain for any of its clamorings, treat it as if it were a vessel unworthy of its sacred cargo the soul, scourge it and humiliate it, and you will find favor in His sight. It is extraordinary and inexplicable that man should feel himself free to suggest to himself and to others that a suppression, even abnegation, of G.o.d-given instincts which are as much an integral part of the genus h.o.m.o as his speech capacity, is necessary in order that the individual should find favor in G.o.d's eyes and be worthy of reward when he is called to join Him. It seems so much more consistent with reason that the species were provided with instincts that they might be utilized, and therefore that the duty of the teacher and the guide is to foster these instincts, to develop them, and to direct them toward the channels where they may be utilized to the advantage of the individual, the community, and the state. If it were only the church that displayed an opposition to the development of the play instinct in children I should not concern myself particularly with it, as I am not inclined to take issue with the church, either in its propaganda or in its teachings. I consider that it takes an unfair advantage of infants and children, but I solace my indignation with the thought that when the child comes to man's estate mentally he is free to liberate himself from its enthralments and inhibitions. It may be said that it has shaped his mental processes, activities, and inclinations to such purpose that he does not see straight, and that accusation is true, providing they have sterilized his mind to such a degree that he is no longer capable of constructive thought. There is no doubt that they often bring about such mental eunuchoidismus, but it is probable that the great majority of those thus sterilized would have been dead-wood in the stream of evolutionary progress had they been left intact. But insensitiveness to the child's needs is not confined to parochial schools and other church inst.i.tutions where children are harbored and taught. In Italy it is displayed in nearly every public and private inst.i.tution where the young are segregated for purposes of instruction and maintenance.

I would not be understood to say that there are not playgrounds of any kind connected with Italian schools, but the few that exist are scarcely worthy of the name. The plain truth of the matter is that the play instinct has been thwarted so long in the Italian that it doesn't seem to exist any more. One of the things that strikes the stranger who penetrates far enough into family life to permit him the opportunity of observation is that the parent doesn't play with his children as does the Anglo-Saxon, and children do not play with each other. I cannot conceive that the child, left to itself, does not

"Hold unconscious intercourse with beauty Old as creation,"

and give evidence of it and of the activity of its developing mind which reveals itself constructively in that which we call play. But the observation and experience of children in Italy lead me to believe that when they grow up and recall

"Those recollected hours that have the charm Of visionary things, those lovely forms And sweet sensations that throw back their life, And almost make remotest infancy A visible scene, on which the sun is s.h.i.+ning,"

they do not expose a treasure-house in which are stored the recollections of the most envied times of their lives.