Some Men You Read About

WHO ARE THOSE OF REAL POWER IN THE WORLD TODAY? — WHAT THE WAR HAS DONE TO BRING THE JAPANESE COMMANDERS TO THE FRONT.

New York, Sept. 1. — The world has had to revise its list of men of real power several times of late. Some have dropped out because of advancing age and death. It is but a little while since Joseph Chamberlain, with a long and successful career behind him, and bent on revolutionizing Great Britain’s fiscal policy, was a figure of consequence before the world. Chamberlain is still alive, but physical infirmities have vanquished him. Only the other day John Hay, stronger in diplomacy than any of his contemporaries, was believed to have many years of useful life before him. Now John Hay rests with his fathers.

In September, 1904, despite the opinion whispered here and there that he was not equal to his fathers, Nicholas II, the Czar of all the Russias, was counted one of the most powerful men alive. Now, outside the reigning members of the Russian courtier set, there is none so mean as to do him reverence. On the breaking out of the war with Japan, the Russian naval and military chiefs were believed to be men of genuine fighting power. Today Makharoff is dead, Kuropatkin is disgraced, and so are Alexieff and Stoessel and the desperately wounded Rojestvensky.

Togo and Oyama and Kuroki and Nogi and Kamimura and others with the names — all short of stature and with stiff black hair and nut-brown skins — these are the men of proved fighting power today, almost the only men of their class now alive. It may be that there are officers in the armies and navies of Germany and France who might rise to the level of these Japs were they to have the chance to try. But no one would look for commanders of the Japanese calibre in the fighting forces of any other European nation, except, perhaps, Great Britain. She has Kitchener and Lord Roberts among her soldiers, and Admiral Lord Charles Beresford among her sailors, who have been tried and not found wanting. But, of the three, Lord Roberts is now so well along in years that he can no longer be included among the world’s most powerful fighters.

Beresford, the sailor, has had little chance to distinguish himself since the memorable day when, before Alexandria, his achievements were such that the admiral of the fleet who moved to signal, “Well done, Condor!” in recognition of what his ship had done. That was nearly a quarter of a century ago. Kitchener’s deeds have won for him the unqualified admiration of the whole world. In India, in Egypt, in South Africa — wherever he has been sent to lead the British land forces, there he has led them to victory. Like the Japanese, neither Beresford nor Kitchener has ever known defeat, but neither has ever had to meet a foe the equal even of the now despised Russian.

Great Britain is entitled, perhaps, to be termed the mistress of the seas, but her ships have not met the ships of another civilized nation for generations. It is generations since the armies of Great Britain were defeated, but in all that time they have made war upon none but savages, save when fighting the Boers, and the latter were finally overborne through sheer force of superior numbers and almost infinitely greater resources.

It is hard to name more than two or three living American fighting men who have proved the right to be considered alongside the Japanese generals and admirals, much as the patriotically inclined may regret the fact. Our army and our navy have never been defeated, our ships are the only ones afloat at this time, except those of the Japanese (the Russian ships being mostly at the bottom of the sea), that have ever seen fighting service, but defeating the Spanish would be a different thing from defeating the Japanese. Dewey, the hero of Manila, is at the head of the navy. His daring in entering the harbor of Manila, despite the presence of hidden mines and the batteries of the forts, has been surpassed by no naval hero, living or dead. But, brilliant though the achievement was, it hardly placed him on the same plane as those Japanese admirals. Bob Evans is alive and undoubtedly an able fighter; Clark, who brought the Oregon around the Horn from the Pacific Coast in time to take part in the Santiago fight, has just been retired; a few naval heroes of the Spanish War are still in active service, but they are not so young as they once were, and the brunt of the fighting would hardly fall upon them were we to have a long sea war now. Sampson of Santiago is dead, and Schley is retired. Chaffee, among our active generals, has never failed, but he has never commanded a big army fighting another one. Miles is on the retired list.

Nearly all the world’s men of known power as fighters today, then, are Orientals and Japanese at that. Yet how long is it since the Western world regarded the Mikado’s military forces as toy soldiers, and his entire people as too much devoted to beauty, too polite and too trivial, both mentally and bodily, to be really worth considering among the nations of the earth?

The President of the United States is not a ruler at all in the sense the German Emperor is, yet his name is included in every printed list of rulers, and, in those days, the world accords the American chief executive a higher degree of power than ever before. This is partly due to the increasing power of the nation he represents, whether he rules it or not. In the case of Theodore Roosevelt the undoubted power of the man has much to do with it, and this the world at large has generously recognized.

The self-assumption that he was a man of great native force by William, Emperor of Germany, in the early days of his reign, caused all the world to laugh. But the man has been justifying the assumption and today, despite some caviling, there are few among those who keep close watch upon men and affairs who do not recognize his power. Furthermore, his power is growing; it has been fostered by no Bismarck, as was that of Emperor William I, his grandfather, and unlike Roosevelt, it will not do to mention. By his act time. There is an impending imperial devotion in Germany for him to look forward to.

Whether the Emperor’s uncle, Edward, the British King and Emperor of India, will pass into history as a monarch of real power it is yet too early to say. There is no doubt that he has shown himself a man of much greater force than was expected when he was merely Prince of Wales, son of the great Queen Victoria. Edward differs essentially from his nephew, being as quiet as the latter is noisy. The ultimate rating of both may possibly depend upon the prowess of their fighting men. No one can foresee what national quarrels may arise under the new condition in the Orient.

Compared with William and Edward, no other European rulers are in sight as men of power. Of Asiatic rulers, the Shah of Persia has absolute power over his own subjects, but he has never proved his power to be more than local to his own country and probably never will.

The Turkish Sultan? Well, for years the Sultan’s power has been dependent mainly upon the inability of Europe’s Christian rulers to get together and throw him out. They might find it quite a task were they to try it now. It has been shown in every war with the Sultan’s forces that the rank and file of his army are made up of men who are hard to whip — men who, like the Japanese, live on little and endure much — men who count their lives as nothing in battle and know how to obey orders. Unlike the Japs, their excellent fighting is due to religious fanaticism and not to patriotism, but results are what count in war as in anything else.

Perhaps the Sultan’s power is more subtly menaced by a man who lives in a mid-African oasis than by any European power or combination of powers. The influence of this man may have been at the bottom of much of the trouble the Sultan has lately had among the wild tribes of Arabia, which has been sufficient to make the Constantinople government do much hard thinking within the last few months.

This man is known as the Senussi, and, though no white man is believed ever to have seen him, he is a personage of great and real power in the entire Mohammedan world. The Senussi’s headquarters is at Jarabub, on the southern edge of Sahara, about 700 miles south of Tripoli and about 500 miles west of the Nile. He is at the head of a mysterious secret society known as the Senussiyya, formed in 1830.

Its ultimate object is to drive all Christians out of Mohammedan lands. It is believed to have at least 10,000,000 members, and it has emissaries wherever the followers of Christ and the followers of the Prophet rub elbows. Over and over again, for years, every European power with African colonies has feared that the Senussiyya would start a jehad, or holy war. It is known that for three quarters of a century the mysterious society has been accumulating a vast war treasure and a great store of arms.

Such a war would bring together the English, the Germans and the French, with their African possessions, as nothing else could; once begun, it could never be brought to a close without enormous loss of life. When finished, the military power of the Senussi would be forever broken, or the Christian nations, so called, would be driven not only out of the Mohammedan parts of Africa, but probably out of every other country in the world where the Mohammedans swell.

The father and the grandfather of the present Senussi pursued a waiting game, growing stronger, ever stronger, as the years rolled by, and to date he has been doing the same thing. The help of the Senussi was asked by both the Mahdi and the Khalifa when they were fighting the British, but was not granted. Had it been, the results might have been different. During the Boer war the Senussiyya intelligence department kept close watch of the operations, and today it has agents constantly on duty at Cairo, Alexandria, Tunis, Tripoli, Algiers and other African cities occupied by Europeans.

The original Senussi, who was a great reformer — a sort of Mohammedan Martin Luther — and was driven into exile by the Sheik el Islam of Cairo, was as much opposed in his day to the men of his own religion in high places as to the Christians. All alike, he said, were corrupt; none made for true godliness, and against Turkish rule and practice his face was set as a flint. As with him so it was with his son, and so it is with his grandson. This is why it is possible that the present Arabian uprisings have been inspired by him, and if the power of the Senussi is ever really arrayed against the Sultan, then days of real trouble will begin for him.

Remembering the triumphs of Japan, it would be a mistake not to count the Mikado among the world’s most powerful rulers, even though it be true that Japan contains several men of more real native power than he.

But powerful though the Mikado may be, with his thousand generations of ancestry behind him and with the backing of a national patriotism that is as strong as the most fanatical religious sentiment, he is not to be mentioned in the same breath with a certain Mexican-Indian, Porfirio Diaz, by whose will, for three decades, has ruled over the republic to the south of us. It was of Diaz that a great thinker said, after considering his achievements, the material, moral, social, and intellectual, “It is simply marvelous what he has done.” In the whole world he has achieved that, all in all, he is the most powerful ruler in the world. Possibly that is so today. The republic over which Diaz rules, far more like a benevolent absolute despotism than an electoral autocracy, is made up of the most difficult human elements. Before he took the reins, Mexico, like every other Spanish-American state, was torn by revolutions, church-ridden, the prey of other nations, whipped by the Texans, seized by the French as an empire for Maximilian.

Diaz — himself, a real soldier in his youth, as no other ruler now living (not even Roosevelt) was — after years of fighting for lost causes, of defeat, of exile, of imprisonment, both in his own land and in the United States, became President in 1876. He seized the reins of power with a firmer hand than Mexico had hitherto known, and it was not long before his power was realized and respected. From that time the status of Mexico and the character of its people began to improve.

It soon became apparent that this would continue as long as Diaz remained at the head of the state. If he were many years in power the national character and the national government, probably, would have a chance to crystallize. But not otherwise. So it was decided that Diaz should be elected again and yet again — that he should win at every Presidential election; that while the laws, mostly created by him, should be kept strictly by everyone else, he should break them whenever it seemed best for the good of all that they should be broken.

Who made the decision? Why, Diaz himself, to be sure. For 30 years he has been dictator, constitutional ruler, advisory council and national legislature all rolled into one. Nominally other men have filled the various official places that make up the official posts of ordinary governments.

Diaz himself, grim, merciless to those who would themselves profit at the expense of his beloved Mexico, yet never forgetting a friend; exceptionally kindly in his private relations, ever ready to cut red tape, ever ready, if necessary, to reverse himself or anyone else. Diaz himself has been the whole thing, governmentally — a colossal Poo Bah, if you please. 

Yet under all his seeming harshness, his frequent overruling of the law and his high-handed way of correcting himself, he is a big, broad patriot; a strong man; a man whose loss — which may come soon, for he is now 80 — will be enormously felt both in Mexico and in every country whose people do business with the Mexicans.

It is impossible to mention power in diplomacy without referring to the lamented John Hay, whose career as Secretary of State deserves to rank in history alongside the careers of Hamilton and Marcy. It is doubtful whether, outside Japan, there is living today a diplomatist worthy to be classed with John Hay. The United States hopes that Elihu Root may rise to his level, but without discourtesy to Mr. Root, it may be said that there is yet no certainty about it. You may search Europe with a microscope today without finding a really great prime minister. There are no Gladstones, no Disraelis, no Bismarcks, no Delcassés now on any diplomatic stage across the water.

Till a very short time ago the world believed Delcassé, the Frenchman, entitled to their homage as a great statesman. But he has been eclipsed, through the Morocco business and the antagon ism of Emperor William. There is little probability that Delcassé will ever again play an important part, and to date France has brought no one forward whose calibre is what his was thought to be. Whether Delcassé’s downfall will tend to lower the prestige of King Edward, who was a party to many of the Frenchman’s moves, is yet by no means clear.

As for the other Englishmen now in high places, few or none of them possess genuine power. This is true of Balfour, Rosebery and half a dozen others who were on the road to succeed such men as Salisbury and Goschen and other shining lights of other days. There is no great Irishman like Parnell today. Laurier, the Canadian, and Watson, the Australian premier, are today greater than almost any high official in the home government of Great Britain.

Possibly the greatest European statesman today is a Russian, despite the circumstance that his nation has now no great fighters. He is Witte, strong, patient, patriotic and brave, selected by the vacillating Nicholas to come to America, accompanied by Rosen, and talk peace with Komura and Takahira.

But, with Witte out of the Russian Empire, it has no statesman of great native power within its boundaries, so far as yet shown. In this Russia is worse off than Japan, for Japan has the Marquis Ito, wise with the subtle wisdom of the Far East, progressive as the most progressive American; a remarkable and admirable combination of caution and boldness, of reserve and openness, of conservatism when he can be conservative, and of radicalism when he must be radical.

It can be no offense to anyone now bearing the proud title of United States senator to say that there are no Hoars or Conklings in the upper house of our national legislature today. Nor are there any more orators like Reed or any Uncle Joe Cannons, the speaker of the House, a place that only a strong man can fill. America probably has the strongest presiding legislative officer now in active service.

The change in the world’s sentiment concerning its great men in the last two years suggests harking back to May, 1903, when a Berlin publication invited ten thinking readers to name the world’s ten most distinguished men and awarded places among the ten according to the vote thus brought out. The resulting list was as follows, in the order of votes cast for each:

Tolstoi, Mommsen, Marconi, Ibsen, Edison, Naason, Rontgen, Menzel, Koch, Emperor William.

The intensely German cast of mind among the voters who made up this list is shown by the inclusion of the German historian Mommsen, the German historical painter Menzel and the German Emperor. Three of the ten, the first, second and fourth, were writers. No soldier, no sailor, no statesman, except the Emperor, was included. His name came last. Clearly, these voters believed the pen far mightier than the sword. In their minds, literature, the peaceful arts and the sciences took immense precedence over everything else, and the world as a whole acquiesced in their view two years ago.

Tolstoi, who heads the list, is undoubtedly the most powerful writer now living; his work is about completed, however, and in spite of its power is far from being regarded in some quarters with the reverence bestowed upon it by his disciples.

Ibsen, who comes fourth in the list, is also clearly entitled to a seat among the world’s most powerful writers; this was never so clearly recognized as now, when he is approaching the age beyond which men write no more.

No other dramatic writer approaches him in power, in spite of the bitter criticism his plays have evoked. The same often one writing plays in English is worth setting beside the names of either Tolstoi or Ibsen, if power be the quality required, and no other novelist writing in any language can be brought forward as a match for Tolstoi. The general recognition of this fact is proved by the circumstances that, although the Russian and Scandinavian languages are so difficult that both Tolstoi and Ibsen have to be read in translation by the vast majority of the well educated even, their works are familiar to the mass of thoughtful readers everywhere. Tolstoi, however, being immensely in the lead.

Kipling, the Anglo-Indian novelist, would get many votes among the readers of the world as a writer of power; there would be much difference of opinion about his poetry. Swinburne, with all his faults, is entitled to first place among living poets writing in English.

Perhaps Sienkiewicz, the Pole who wrote Quo Vadis, should be named; undoubtedly Sudermann, German dramatist, should, and perhaps Edmond Rostand, the Frenchman, author of Cyrano de Bergerac, though there are critics who fail to see exceptional power in his works. John Morley and James Bryce, historians, are writers of power.

Among living American painters, power should be attributed unhesitatingly to John Sargent, expatriated portrait painter; to John La Farge and to E. A. Abbey. Nor is America lacking in sculptors of power. MacMonnies and Saint-Gaudens at least should be mentioned.

While there seems to be some diminution in the writers and artists of real power in these early twentieth century days, this cannot be said of the scientific inventor class.

To Thomas A. Edison, inventor of the incandescent light, and fifth in the list already mentioned, the popular mind gives the first place in this interesting group, though men of science probably would place Lord Kelvin, who began life as plain William Thomson, above him.

Alexander Graham Bell, whose telephone is widely used, is another illustrious member of this group, and probably Edison and Bell, the makers of light and he who taught the wire to talk, have exerted more real power in revolutionizing the world’s way of living than any other inventors still alive. It is worth noting, by the way, what most folk have forgotten that Edison’s telephone was in use as early as Bell’s and that the Edison phone was much the clearer and more distinct talker.

With these men, of course, should be classed Marconi, who telegraphs without wires, and Tesla, brilliant but eccentric and unable to realize fully on his own splendid endowment, yet to whose invention of the revolving field the present advanced stage of electric traction is unquestionably indebted.

The power of the Pope, as head of the greatest body of Christians, is universally recognized, but today there are no preachers in any church who, with flame-tipped tongue, can stir the hearts of men as could Spurgeon or Beecher, or Phillips Brooks.

Where do the multi-millionaires, the Rockefellers, the Rothschilds and the Morgans come in among the world’s living men of power? The Croesuses of today have power, no doubt, but it is the power that is won by exploitation, by utilizing the labor and the brains of others; it is not original and initiative in the best sense, and for once it may be ignored.

DEXTER MARSHALL.