July, attributed France's implacable hostility to Bolshevism to Bolshevism's having partitioned and ruined Russia. In his addresses on the Rhine, he likewise clearly defined his points of difference with England, whose indirect support of Bolshevism is fully understood in France. More recently, the policy of the Republic toward Russia was summarized in one sentence of the statement issued by Giolitti and Millerand at Aix, where the wish was expressed that a condition might develop in Russia which would permit this great country to enter again the peaceful concert of nations and do its share in the labor of economic reconstruction essential for itself and for the whole world. France's hostility to Bolshevism rests, as this sentence clearly states, upon a perception that Bolshevism has ruined Russian industry, and by stopping production in that country has shaken the very foundations of Europe's economic system.

The recognition which France gave General Wrangel, at the very moment when the Bolsheviki seemed about to crush Poland, and when it was evident that Lloyd George was helping the latter, reveals the same unshakable line of policy. The purpose was not to support a counter-revolution, as we are constantly told. A political reformer like Millerand would certainly not support Wrangel as a reactionary. Wrangel's political ideas are a matter of indifference to him. He is supporting that officer merely in order to disavow England's policy, and to show that France was not deluded by the alleged military strength of Bolshevism.

Another error to be punctured is the widely advertised contention that France fights Bolshevism for domestic reasons, because it is a Capitalist state and must destroy Socialism wherever the latter raises its head. If this is

the object of France it need not bother about the Bolsheviki; for they are the very ones who have destroyed Socialism in Russia. The common assumption in Western Europe, that Bolshevism and Communism are interchangeable terms, and that a Soviet system survives in Russia, merely proves how difficult it is to kill a lie.

Imperial Germany tried to use Bolshevism at Brest-Litovsk to destroy Russia. It is needless to point out to-day that this policy served England's purpose and not that of Germany. Bolshevism is favored by some short-sighted people in Germany today, who hope to employ it for our national advantage. The existence of that sentiment in our country creates the sole truly political motive which France now has to fight the Bolsheviki. We could quote an abundance of material from French newspapers of every party color, showing how consistently French policy is pursuing a definite object in Russia; how it is endeavoring to reconcile the differences among the new border states, to remove the enmities which threaten to poison their relations with each other and with future Russia, and to create a new political unit of the former members of the Russian Empire. France had an opportunity to pursue this design during the peace negotiations between Russia and Poland. Its press, particularly the authoritative Temps, reveals the deeper understanding which French statesmen possess of internal conditions in Russia, as compared with the understanding exhibited in Germany. These papers were practically a unit in admonishing the Poles to be moderate in their demands. Their attitude was not due to fear of Russia's developing unexpected strength, or solely to a humanitarian wish to see peace established at

the earliest possible moment, but like wise by comprehension of the conditions necessary for the existence of a future Russian commonwealth. In its issue of August 23, Temps argued that the Ukraine could not be permanently detached from Russia. The two territories are dependent on each other. They are not divided by a natural frontier. Poland would merely make two enemies for itself by insisting on their separation. The Journal des Débats of September 8 insists that the Poles must keep their hands off in the negotiations between the Ukraine and Russia. The French press has insisted that Poland be kept within its true ethnic boundaries. It adhered consistently to this attitude, even when the Poles were most intoxicated with the prospect of victory, and most exorbitant in their territorial ambitions. On August 27, Temps opposed the occupation of Vilna by the Poles after the Bolsheviki withdrew, because this would play into the hands of Moscow by causing a conflict between Poland and Lithuania.

We should constantly emphasize that, with the exception of a few outright advocates of Bolshevism in France, men of all parties are a unit in their desire to see the various nationalities of the old Russian Empire reconciled with each other. An all too successful effort has been made in Germany to spread the belief that French workers are utterly opposed to their government in this policy, and that we are betraying our fellow proletarians in France by supporting that government's policy toward Russia. The very opposite is true. Our French comrades may oppose their Cabinet's Russian measures as a domestic party

issue, in which case they will not be helped by German sympathy. But the French government has the solid support of the working classes in its efforts to prevent a revival or prolon gation of war in the East. Both want immediate peace, in order that the Russian people may have a respite, and that Bolshevism may no longer be artificially reënforced by the nation's patriotism. The only real support which a pro-Bolshevist policy will receive in France will come from those Radicals who still hope for a world revolution. That party is losing ground as the growing strength of the French Trade Unionists shows. The hold of the Bolshevist hypnosis upon France is rapidly weakening, since the true conditions in Russia are becoming known through commissions sent there by the working people. Even such Bolshevist enthusiasts as Cachin and Frossard could not conceal the facts in their accounts of what they saw in Russia.

We already know, of course, that the workingmen of France are resolutely opposed to a military adventure in Eastern Europe. They would welcome the self-liberation of Russia from the bonds of Bolshevism; the cessation of foreign efforts to coerce the Russian people; any action which may promote an all-Russian federation of free nations, a reuniting of the tribes and races of the former Empire. But these are objects which the French government also seeks. The reconstruction of Russia must be the work of the Russian people. Any assistance rendered by Russia's neighbors must not be inspired by greed for capitalist profits, but by a fraternal recognition of Europe's economic solidarity.

[Moscow Gudki (Literary Weekly Magazine, devoted to Questions of Proletarian Culture), May 1, 1919]

THEY WERE FOUR: A STORY

BY GREGORY SANNIKOFF

THEY were four, and they were marching toward the public square. In front of them, in a plain wagon, were soldiers with rifles. The wheels of the wagon, old and unoiled, squeaked and rattled on the cobble-stones. They walked slowly behind the wagon, pale and pitiful. To each one's forehead was tied a piece of paper on which it was written that they were thieves and were sentenced to be shot for stealing forty pairs of boots. Around them were armed soldiers, marching along out of step, while behind the whole group was a constantly increasing crowd, that shrieked and howled, indifferent to everything, hungry for spectacles.

It was noon. The sun was ruthlessly hot. The air was stuffy, hard to breathe. Only at times a light breeze brought along a current of fresh, clear air, full of the fragrance of spring. And they drank deeply, greedily of each waft of it, as if they were inhaling life's current itself; for they felt that they were breathing of it during their last ebbing minutes, that soon something would rob them of this ability to breathe, and something terrible and fearful would befall them.

With a slow step they were trudging along the main street of a dirty provincial town. Without looking to the right or to the left, for on both sides they felt glances full of contempt directed against them; without looking ahead, for the fatal square was there, they walked along, their heads bowed low, thinking of something, recalling something, each of them, his own.

One of them sees before him in his imagination the little poverty-stricken

village on the shores of a lake, over which on summer evenings silverwinged gulls flit and shriek; the old, thatch-roofed hut which he had called his home; his bent, gray-haired, wrinkled old father, for some reason always finding fault with his little old wife; his own wife, young, but grown prematurely thin and sickly as if aged by her constant worries about him, who had gone to the city to earn some money; and his children, unwashed, clothed in rags, going from house to house and begging for charity. And he, who was the hope of the whole family, is now marching toward that public square. There it is in his vision that fatal plot of ground, swarming with the noisy crowd. The rifles are pointed against him, their cold barrels stare at him from their little openings. Something has flashed and boomed, and he feels a burning sensation at his breast. His strength is gone. He feels himself falling into a bottomless abyss. He wants to shout something, to say something, but instead, a long-drawn groan escapes from his chest, his last farewell for all whom he loved. . . .

Slow and silent, with a measured step, they marched on. Up in heaven, the sun shone, care-free and glad. Clouds of dust rose from the road, beaten by the tread of many feet.

Did they deserve the cruel fate which is being meted out to them for stealing forty pairs of boots in order to sell them and satisfy pangs of hunger and poverty? The care-free sun gave them no reply; as if laughing at something, it gazed down on the earth, and its shimmering light seemed to twinkle with joy.

The fatal square was creeping

toward them. At times it seemed not that they were walking toward it, but that it was coming closer and closer to them, ready to enfold them in its embrace. The crowd was hooting and

howling wildly, and dogs barked from the yards as the strange procession moved on.

At last the wagon came to halt. The soldiers got out. The culprits were placed against the wall, and the rifles were leveled at them. The silence of death suddenly fell on the place. Only the sun, as though knowing nothing and seeing nothing, burned the earth with its hot rays, and birds chirped in the trees.

They were four. Kneeling in a row, there they were, pale, frightened, their unbandaged eyes peering wildly at the ends of the rifles that were about to send them death. Mechanically, hastily, they were making the sign of the cross, their trembling fingers flying from forehead to chest, and then to the shoulders.

echo answered and died again. The crowd began to move, as grass in the field sways in a sudden wind. Was it the volley that broke its erstwhile stillness, or the inhuman, heart-piercing cry of one of the victims who was only wounded by the first shots?

Crumpled and blood-stained, they were placed in the wagon and covered with rags. The wheels squeaked and began again their rattling progress over the cobble-stones. As if crushed to the earth, the crowd now stood motionless, gazing in silence after the disappearing wagon.

Did that crowd suddenly realize that the dead men were the brothers of each man who now remained standing on that square, brothers who had, perhaps, lost their way in life, which constantly seethes and moves like the

AT Limpias, an enchanting little village of Santander, there is an image of Christ which perspires and moves its eyes! Hardly had these natural functions of the image become known through the talk of the faithful, before the effect of the miracle began to make itself felt in unanticipated ways.

It has not yet caused a great religious awakening or cured any afflicted person; but it has opened a half dozen inns and restaurants, and caused a railway to be proposed for connecting Limpias with the rest of Spain.

A little later, in the footsteps of that

promoter of civilization, will come other needful institutions to add to the prosperity of the village; a movie theater, a bull ring, a casino, and a football field. But even these will be only precursors of further improve

ments.

Later, when this image of the Saviour has got beyond merely winking and perspiring, and begins to perform more remarkable miracles, Limpias will derive still greater benefit from its pres ence. By that time the village will have become a town, and in order to keep with its new station, it will have to

up

build a high school, a theater, a bank; to organize a Chamber of Commerce and a Central Grange. It will have to secure a barracks with a garrison of a regiment of infantry, and its appropriate contingent of artillery, engineers, staff officers, and military surgeons.

By this date we may assume that the image will have performed several miraculous cures, to commemorate which the grateful recipients will have founded various charitable institutions on the site. Limpias will then have increased still further in population, and will have entered into a new and interesting period of its existence, which may make it a rival of Lourdes. It is to be regretted, however, that there is not some stream or fountain in the immediate vicinity of this image; for water has been throughout all history the most effective vehicle for miracles.

The people of Limpias will regret this omission, and it is rather late to repair it. The divine fluid would be more profitable if it were associated with some mineral substance. In that case, visitors instead of departing as soon as they had seen the statue of Jesus move its eyes and perspire, would remain to take treatment at the baths. This would force them to stay in the town for a considerable period, and would add bountifully to the revenues of local hotel-keepers and merchants. How does it happen that this important fact has been overlooked?

The history of this image is short and simple. A gentleman inherited it from his ancestors, and kept it carelessly in a corner of his home, little thinking that it possessed supernatural faculties. However, one day he chanced to look at the image and saw to his astonishment that it was perspiring and moving its eyes. This occurred in Cadiz, where the owner of the image was then living. Unable to believe his senses, he called in other witnesses.

The people of Andalusia are temperamentally jokers and unbelievers. At the same time, without having the instinctive cunning of the Gallegos, or the underhand trickery of the Castilians, they are the superiors of both in sharpness and shrewdness. To see the image and confirm the fact that it did really perspire and move its eyes was for them the work of a moment. Did they really believe it? Were they simply joking at the alleged miracle? We do not know. Although the tree of superstition does not shoot forth with the same vigor everywhere, in most localities it easily attains a healthy growth. The love of miracles, after all, is not bounded by geographies.

In Andalusia, as well as in Galicia and other parts of Spain, there are people who believe that the dead walk, that the witches gather for conventicles, and that a sacred image is a sort of fetish, able to cure the sick, shape our destiny, and avert misfortunes.

The superstition of the Spanish people is unfathomable. But why 'should we be surprised that this belief in miracles should take possession of the country people, when the government itself maintains the fiction that one particular Madonna watches over the infantry, another over the artillery, and a third over the navy? What right have we to be indignant at the mental simplicity of a poor villager, when serious historians of Spain record the apparition of Saint James the Apostle in the battle of Clavijo? Considering these things, we have no reason to criticize the Gallego peasant for believing in the awesome gatherings of ghosts, which he has seen when night overtook him in the mountains; or the villagers of other provinces for accepting as articles of faith apparitions of the dead, miraculous legends, and beliefs and superstitions which gratify the universal thirst for the marvelous.