Part 13

Where it is entirely optional with a party, whether or not to nominate by primaries, having decided affirmatively the party must conduct such election strictly in accordance with the statutes. The first primary laws made past acts the test of qualification to take part in a party primary election. But later laws incline to accept future intentions instead, while New Jersey, at least, requires both faith and works. Kentucky’s court has held that the Constitutional provisions relating to elections, do not apply to primary elections, but most courts that have considered the subject, take the opposite view. Massachusetts holds that a primary law is not unconstitutional in authorizing printing on the ballots, the names of candidates presented by a certain number of voters, if blanks are left for the insertion of the names of other candidates not so presented. But Minnesota denies this poor boon to voter and candidate, and says that no blanks need be left in which to write a name.

In many instances, only parties casting a certain percentage of the total vote are privileged to avail themselves of the mandatory laws, and such limitation has been upheld where ample provision is made for nominations in other ways, by the minor parties. In some of the laws, the procedure is minutely detailed; others are very brief and general. Some leave much to the party rules and machinery already in existence, or that may be provided, and even expressly declare that the party’s rules shall govern in matters not provided for in the law. While the provisions of a primary law may apply only to general elections, seemingly to the exclusion of special elections, it is not therefore a special law, within the Constitutional meaning of the term, and in all elections to which the act does not apply, the old statutes will govern as before the passing of a primary law. Nor is a law rendered special by requiring direct choice of the candidates in a single ward or township, while for larger divisions, delegates are selected to hold nominating conventions. A New York statute distinguishes between municipal and other elections in determining party affiliations, so that a man may claim party regularity, though voting differently at will in city affairs. The inalienable right of the people to call Cincinnatus and Putnam from their plows, when the office seeks the man has been vindicated by the Supreme Court of Michigan.

(4) Ever since man first espoused the doctrine of majority rule in popular Government, students have been perplexed by the problems presented when three or more candidates for one office, or three or more solutions of one question, have been before the people. Likewise, the utter elimination of the minority from a voice in affairs, and its treatment as a wholly negligible factor, has troubled philosophers and statesmen who desire justice and truly representative government. In the early history of this nation, five or more of the original commonwealths chose their representatives in Congress on a general ticket; five chose by districts, and this system gradually spread, until in 1842 it was made mandatory. Numerous constitutional amendments were offered, especially in the early days, to elect Presidential Electors by districts, and Representatives by districts. In 1877 and again in 1888, Maish of Pennsylvania presented resolutions of amendment dividing the electoral votes of each State in proportion to the popular vote for the several candidates. Many States provide for the distribution of election boards, and some few other offices among political parties, usually between the two leading parties. In 1870 Illinois adopted a constitution with a section to secure proportional representation, or more properly, minority representation, in the legislature. Quite a number of proportional measures have been passed in the different States, but most of them have been pronounced to be unconstitutional. In March 1889, the Michigan Legislature enacted a law embodying the “cumulative” plan to represent the minority. It was held unconstitutional. In the opinion, Chief Justice Champlin discusses the matter philosophically and historically, and describes the four plans known as the “restrictive” or “limited vote,” the “Cumulative,” the “Geneva,” “free vote,” or “Gilpin” plan, and the “Hare” or “single vote” system. To this there has since been added perhaps as, fifth—the “Gove” plan.

The “restrictive” or “limited vote” plan has been used in American elections more than any other method designed to assure representation of a minority. The Pennsylvania Constitution prescribed the limited vote for Judges of the Supreme Court, County Commissioners and some other officers. The principle has been extended by simple statutory enactment, in the Keystone State, and upheld there. But similar laws in Ohio, New Jersey and Rhode Island, have been repeatedly pronounced unconstitutional. In foreign countries, the system is much used. The “cumulative” plan is much used in corporations, and some attempt has been made to apply it in general elections, the Illinois selection of its lower house, being the most prominent example. Beginning in 1874, Ohio, too, used this method for a while in selecting Legislators. In 1889 it was applied in Boston to choosing Aldermen. In Michigan the attempt so to elect the lower house was held void, as has been stated. The “free vote” has gained no foothold in our land, but is much used in Europe. The Hare-Spence plan has been in use in some parts of Denmark since 1856, also in Tasmania, parts of Australia and New Zealand.

The “preferential ballot,” which is a prominent feature of the Hare-Spence method of securing proportional representation, has also been used where single candidates are to be chosen to office, in order to assure a majority choice among three or more candidates.

Even this simple survey of events shows strongly the steady advance of the electorate in taking power into their own hands. If any mistrust the people, if any have any misgivings lest the masses be incapable of using wisely the powers they have assumed, he may find relief in the thought that whereas the average mature American of the year 1800 had enjoyed but 82 days of schooling in his life, his descendant of today receives 1,034 days’ public instruction. The trend toward democracy may be the result of men’s conscious deliberate design; it may be unconscious destiny.

States are not great, Except as men may make them. Men are not great, except they do and dare; But States, like men, Have destinies that take them. That bear them on, not knowing how or where.

You wonder why the world should be so fair to me today—to me, Pierre of the People, the poor oppressed people, whose heart’s blood has been crushed out until it rushed forth in floods that cover the streets of Paris with a crimson stain?

Even for me the sun shines today and the flowers bloom with a fragrance they never breathed before—the red stains that clot the dust in the street are great crimson roses blossoming with a glory never before worn by flowers.

“Pierre,” said Monsieur le Géneral, “you are not a traitor to France, are you?”

“No, Monsieur,” I said sturdily, setting my teeth and giving him as steady a look as he was bending upon me.

I told the truth. We who would free France from the rule of the aristocrats are not traitors. Rather are they traitors who would make of our nation a stagnant pool of slavery and corruption.

Monsieur le Géneral looked at me again, keenly.

“We may not agree upon definitions.”

“My definitions are from the book of real life, Monsieur le Géneral. They are always in agreement with the truth. Monsieur knows, though, that he may trust me for himself, however my definitions may differ from his own. He has not forgotten that I saved his life once from an English sword. I know the memory is graven upon the mind of Monsieur le Géneral as deeply as the scar is cut in my arm.”

“I think you love me, Pierre,” he replied.

I laid my hand on my heart, bowing till my head almost touched one of the crimson roses in the velvet of Monsieur’s carpet.

“More than my life, Monsieur.”

What could I say fairer than that, for was not life the dearest thing to me then?

So matters stood with my lord and me on that morning when he sent me with a missive to Mademoiselle Denise. To her or to another, what mattered it to me? They were all young demoiselles and, as such, of far less consequence than the silver mounting of my lord’s pistols or the flash of his gold-sheathed sword.

As I crossed the courtyard a dark-eyed page, idling by the fountain that sparkled in the sun, was singing:

“By the garden-wall the rose blooms red, And lifts to the sun its royal head; There’s never a flower of such sweet grace As the blossoming rose on my lady’s face— Rose-red, flower grace, Never a rose like my lady’s face.”

With that refrain ringing in my ears, “Never a rose like my lady’s face,” I went from the shining flood of sunshine into a hall that seemed like dusky twilight after the outside brilliance. But in the centre was a space where the sunlight drifted down through an open window into a circle of radiance and in the middle of it stood Mademoiselle, a shining figure that dimmed all other light. She was clad in white and gold, and the long folds of her robe lay in shimmering snow along the marble floor. Her amber hair was like a river that the morning sun-rays cross. Her eyes shone like great sapphires set under long lashes of gold and arched over by golden brows. It was as if the light of a thousand suns had centered in one fair woman.

The scar, once a proud and happy place upon my arm, burned as if a coal of fire had been dropped upon it and for one wild moment I could have cut from me the arm that had interposed to save the life of my master. Then I knelt before her, when she had waved her hand for my approach, and presented the letter. She looked at it carelessly and turned her eyes from it to me where I knelt and beckoned me to rise.

“Tell me of yourself,” she said in a voice that was like the softest strain of a lute. “Who are you?”

Who was I? Yesterday I would have said a man. Had I not done a man’s part in battle? Was it not a man’s right arm that had stretched itself forth to save a great life? Now I was—nothing. There was not a grain of dust in the streets of Paris smaller than I.

“Nothing, my lady,” I said, not daring to lift my eyes to her face, nor scarcely to look at her hand lying like a white lily on the snow of her gown.

“That proves you very much,” she said, “for a man never thinks himself nothing till he has a standard of merit with which to compare himself and the possession of such a standard is a proof of worth.”

“I am only Pierre—the servant of Monsieur le Géneral.”

With what pride I should yesterday have avowed myself the servant of so brave a soldier and so grand a gentleman. With what hatred of him and what contempt for myself did I make that statement today. Did not the great gulf between the gold and white Queen of the World deepen and widen infinitely with the significance of my words?

“Monsieur le Géneral is fortunate.”

She wrote a line on a leaf from a gold and white tablet and gave it to me, sealed with a golden seal.

I bowed low and went out from her presence with my face toward her. At the entrance I lifted my eyes and looked dazzled at the spot of light in the centre of the great hall. Thus I passed out into the courtyard flooded with sunlight which seemed dim in comparison with that supernal radiance.

The dark-eyed page had seated himself on the rim of the basin into which the fountain fell with a tinkling music that kept rhythm with the song he was still singing. With the refrain yet ringing in my ears, “Never a rose like my lady’s face,” I went back to Monsieur le Géneral with the missive she had given me.

A little later the blood of the Paris streets spattered to the gold robes of the court. I saw the head of Monsieur le Géneral carried by me on a spike and the dark-faced, ragged man who bore it sang a ribald song as he looked mockingly up into the face, one word of which would have been his death-warrant had it been uttered when that head yet sat upon the stately shoulders. For a moment a sorrowful thought of the days when I loved him lay like a cloud upon my mind, but what time was there then for thinking of love—at least of that love.

I left the crowd of raging demons and ran across the courtyard where the fountain yet tinkled merrily down into the basin. No dark-eyed page loitered there and sang of the red rose and his lady’s face to the music of the falling water. I dashed past the fountain and ran into the great hall. It was empty and there was the print of muddy feet trampled over the marble floor. I went to the Leader of the People.

“Where is Mademoiselle Denise?”

His wicked eyes flashed vindictively.

“Ah, Pierre, if you owe a grudge to the aristocracy of France you can feed to it now the most luxurious viands of earth. Even she is offered to the vengeance of justice and her head will grace a pike as none other has ever done.”

I threw myself down before him.

“Citizen, what has she done to you or to France?”

“Done? She has done nothing. She is. That is the crime of an aristocrat.”

I pleaded with him for the life of that woman whose gold and white beauty was the fairest thing I had ever gazed upon and whose beautiful heart looked out from eyes that showed all its goodness and truth. Citizen Beauget had received many services at my hands in the days when I was near the powers of the court because the favorite of the king had owed his life to me.

“Eh!” he cried. “A citizen of France seeking to save the life of one of the oppressors of France? Ah, I have it. If she will marry you, good Pierre, her life is yours. Ha, the white and gold lily of the court marry Pierre, the Sansculotte! Beautiful thought! Perhaps she will wish to save her life.”

Then I stood up before him and looked at him with a scorn before which he dropped his gaze.

“Citizen Beauget, Mademoiselle will marry where she loves or kiss the cruel ‘Maiden of Liberty’ with pure lips and a brave heart.”

But I took the paper he gave me and went straight to the prison where she stood, and even there space was bright because of her. She turned and looked at me and the glow that comes once to a woman’s face was in hers when her eyes fell on me.

“You have come to help me die,” she said reaching out her hand.

I took the hand and fell upon my knees and pressed it to my lips.

“Nay, not so, Mademoiselle. I come to bid you live, if I read truly what is written on your face.”

Hand in hand we went out into the night and neither the terror of the living nor the faces of the dead staring up into the moon-lit sky marred the peace that filled our hearts.

_The New Party_

_What Shall It Be Named?_

BY CHARLES Q. DE FRANCE

_Secretary People’s Party National Committee_

There are phenomena a-plenty, said the _New York World_ editorially (December 31), “which unmistakably foretell a new party and a new issue in American affairs. It comes in a multitude of shapes and clothed in a multitude of garments.”

Coming from the source it does, this utterance is significant. There is no doubt about the existence of the phenomena, but your conservative usually delights in playing ostrich. Personally I would like to question the accuracy of the _World’s_ forecast—for I contend that we have now more political parties than economic conditions warrant—but regard for truth requires affirmation instead of denial. The new party is bound to come.

“Mr. Bryan,” the _World_ continued, “has already defined it (the new party) in terms of triple state socialism—city ownership, State ownership and national ownership of all public utilities.”

Granting that this is correct, it is not hard to see that a new party is superfluous, for the People’s Party now covers this ground; and the Democratic Party has in places adopted a portion of the program.

The public mind, however, is thinking of a new party—and that settles it. The arguments of a few feeble individuals cannot change public opinion. So let us accept the inevitable and try to make the best of it.

The new party, it is safe to say, will pre-empt a large portion of the ground now occupied by the People’s Party. It will declare for true democracy. It will adopt one of two methods in making its declarations. It may, in a few well worded paragraphs, state fundamental principles of democracy, avoiding the peculiar isms of the various factions which will be brought together in the new organization; or it may attempt to frame a plank acceptable to each of the factions. It is needless to say that the former will lay the foundation for success, while the latter will give rise to dissensions and result, finally, in disintegration.

But I do not wish to suggest a platform for the new party. Able men will be present at its birth, and they will know what to do. I do wish to be heard, however, on the question of name for the infant party.

Populists well know that for the past four years I have fought persistently against changing the People’s Party name. I have freely admitted its faults, but have insisted that a faulty name is less dangerous than a change. The organization of a new party presents a different problem. A new name is necessary.

What shall it be?

Viewed superficially there are many good names which might be adopted; but when subjected to careful analysis, the number dwindles down to a very few. I take it that the name should indicate the predominant feature of the party; that it should be but one word, and that word short, preferably of three syllables, not explosive or difficult to pronounce, but capable of being uttered easily; that whether used as noun or adjective no change is necessary; that it should not be an unusual or a newly coined word, but one the meaning of which, in its generic sense, is now well understood by, or at least familiar to the public.

A year or so ago a writer in _The Public_ (Chicago) suggested Isocrat, one who believes in equal rule; and Orthocrat, one who believes in good rule—both charming names but violating what I believe to be very important: that the name should not be unusual, newly coined, or unfamiliar to the public. Isocrat, isocratic, isocracy; orthocrat, orthocratic, orthocracy. Ingenious inventions, but hardly suited to our purpose.

Several persons in the past few years, notably Rev. John V. Potts, of Ohio, have made good arguments in favor of “The People’s Democratic-Republican Party.” I shall not discuss this further than to suggest that a 27-letter name is too long; and that to designate a member of the party would require a hopeless amount of circumlocution.

“Home Rule,” “American,” etc., have been suggested; but a little thought will disclose their weak points.

I suggest the good, old word RADICAL.

Nine men out of every ten today—who would likely become affiliated with the new party—will, when questioned as to their political belief, generally preface their remarks by declaring, “I am a radical.” Why not give them an opportunity to say it with a capital R?

The Radical Party; a Radical; Radical measures; Radicalism.

Not so many years ago the suggestion of this name would have aroused a storm of protest—but it is different today. Then a radical was looked upon as a rash man, if not, indeed, a revolutionist. Men coveted the distinction of being regarded as conservative. To put a radical in an important public office, as Governor, for instance, would “drive capital out of the State.” Only a “con-ser-r-va-tive” (how they did roll that r) could prevent things from going to the demnition bow-wows.

Today it is almost criminally libelous to call a man “safe and sane,” so great a change has come over the public mind. The words “radical” and “conservative” have come to be understood in a new light. The new meanings have quite obscured the old. A “conservative” is looked upon today as the beneficiary, as principal or agent, of some special privilege—franchise, tariff tax and the like—which gives him the power to absorb wealth produced by others, without rendering an equivalent therefor. Naturally, he desires to “conserve” this unfair advantage—for civilization has by no means eliminated the wolf in man—and is, therefore, opposed to radical change. He is a conservative, a stand-patter, a let-well-enough-aloner.

I make no claim of altruism for the radical, and am inclined to look with suspicion upon the man who prates overmuch about doing everything for others and nothing for himself. Self-preservation is the first law of Nature, and man hasn’t learned how to repeal it. Besides, it isn’t necessary, even if we knew how. But there is selfishness and selfishness. Conservative selfishness means to build up one’s self at the expense of others; radical selfishness has for its motto, “Live and let live.” In other words, by promoting the general welfare, I can best advance my own interests.

But, for the sake of argument, let us admit that men are alike in their selfishness; that all are wolfish, whether conservative or radical. Common sense teaches us that only a comparative few can be the beneficiaries of special privileges. If we all possessed equal powers to rob, conferred by legislation, the result would be about the same as though none of us possessed such powers. The former alternative is, of course, impossible; for a special privilege would cease to be such if made general. But the latter is possible. Let us frankly confess that the radical would be a conservative if he could become the beneficiary of a special privilege. Given the opportunity, I feel sure he would act much as other legalized robbers do.

I believe we have indulged in too much denunciation of the beneficiaries of special privileges, the legalized plunderers, and paid too little attention to the criminal ignorance of the great majority who permit themselves to be robbed. I believe we should admit that the masses have acted as “them asses”—and resolve to quit playing the fool. That’s why I suggest the name Radical for the new party. It means a going to the root of the trouble and uprooting it. It means a change which will hurt the pride of a few, because they can no longer hoodwink and rob their tens of thousands under guise of law—a change which will benefit the pockets of the many, because they will no longer be picked by legal enactment.

And this would be a radical change. Let it be made by a Radical party.

_A Wild Enthusiast_

“He——?”

“Oh, he is the kind of a chap that would try to blow up a balloon with baking-powder.”

_Unfinished_

Johnny—Mamma, I was having such a nice dream when I woke up.

MAMMA—Were you?

Johnny—Yes. I wish there was some way I could go ahead with that dream.

_The Municipal Boss_

By W. D. Wattles

The present revolt against bossism and the recent destruction of several of the strongest and best constructed machines, naturally suggest the question as to the permanence of the results. The vital problem now is whether the boss will rise again, or whether a new one will come in his stead. To know the answer we must understand the causes and conditions which bring the boss into existence.