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Vol. I.                     MAY, 1906                   No. 3

MOTHER EARTH


[Illustration]


P. O. Box 217        EMMA GOLDMAN, Publisher      10c. a Copy




CONTENTS

                                                               PAGE

Tidings of May                                                    1

Envy    WALT WHITMAN                                              2

Observations and Comments                                         3

"This Man Gorky"    MARGARET GRANT                                8

Comrade    MAXIM GORKY                                           17

Alexander Berkman    E. G.                                       22

Poem    VOLTAIRINE DE CLEYRE                                     25

The White Terror                                                 25

Paternalistic Government    THEODORE SCHROEDER                   27

Liberty in Common Life    BOLTON HALL                            34

Statistics    H. KELLY                                           35

Gerhart Hauptmann with the Weavers of Silesia    MAX BAGINSKI    38

Disappointed Economists                                          47

Vital Art    ANNY MALI HICKS                                     48

Kristofer Hansteen    VOLTAIRINE DE CLEYRE                       52

Fifty Years of Bad Luck    SADAKICHI HARTMANN                    56




10c. A COPY    $1 A YEAR


MOTHER EARTH


Monthly Magazine Devoted to Social Science and Literature
           Published Every 15th of the Month

EMMA GOLDMAN, Publisher, P. O. Box 217, Madison Square Station,
                     New York, N. Y.

Vol. I                   MAY, 1906                        No. 3




TIDINGS OF MAY.


The month of May is a grinning satire on the mode of living of human
beings of the present day.

The May sun, with its magic warmth, gives life to so much beauty, so
much value.

The dead, grayish brown of the forest and woods is transformed into a
rich, intoxicating, delicate, fragrant green.

Golden sun-rays lure flowers and grass from the soil, and kiss branch
and tree into blossom and bloom.

Tillers of the soil are beginning their activity with plough, shovel,
rake, breaking the firm grip of grim winter upon the Earth, so that the
mild spring warmth may penetrate her breast and coax into growth and
maturity the seeds lying in her womb.

A great festival seems at hand for which Mother Earth has adorned
herself with garments of the richest and most beautiful hues.

What does civilized humanity do with all this splendor? It speculates
with it. Usurers, who gamble with the necessities of life, will take
possession of Nature's gifts, of wheat and corn, fruit and flowers, and
will carry on a shameless trade with them, while millions of toilers,
both in country and city, will be permitted to partake of the earth's
riches only in medicinal doses and at exorbitant prices.

May's generous promise to mankind, that they were to receive in
abundance, is being broken and undone by the existing arrangements of
society.

The Spring sends its glad tidings to man through the jubilant songs
that stream from the throats of her feathered messengers. "Behold," they
sing, "I have such wealth to give away, but you know not how to take.
You count and bargain and weigh and measure, rather than feast at my
heavily laden tables. You crawl about on the ground, bent by worry and
dread, rather than drink in the free balmy air!"

The irony of May is neither cold nor hard. It contains a mild yet
convincing appeal to mankind to finally break the power of the Winter
not only in Nature, but in our social life,--to free itself from the
hard and fixed traditions of a dead past.

[Illustration]




ENVY.

By WALT WHITMAN.


     _When I peruse the conquered fame of heroes, and the victories of
         mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,
     Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great
         house;
     But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them,
     How through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long and long
     Through youth, and through middle and old age, how unfaltering, how
         affectionate and faithful they were,
     Then I am pensive--I hastily walk away, filled with the bitterest
         envy._




OBSERVATIONS AND COMMENTS.


A young man had an Ideal which he cherished as the most beautiful and
greatest treasure he had on earth. He promised himself never to part
with it, come what might.

His surroundings, however, repeated from morn till night that one can
not feed on Ideals, and that one must become practical if he wishes to
get on in life.

When he attempted the practical, he realized that his Ideal could never
become reconciled to it. This, at first, caused him deep suffering, but
he soon conceived a pleasant thought: "Why should I expose my precious
jewel to the vulgarity, coarseness and filth of a practical life? I will
put it into a jewel case and hide it in a secluded spot."

From time to time, especially when business was bad, he stole over to
the case containing his Ideal, to delight in its splendor. Indeed, the
world was shabby compared with that!

Meanwhile he married and his business began to improve. The members of
his party had already begun to discuss the possibility of putting him up
as a candidate for Alderman.

He visited his Ideal at longer intervals now. He had made a very
unpleasant discovery,--his Ideal had lessened in size and weight in
proportion to the practical opulence of his mind. It grew old and full
of wrinkles, which aroused his suspicions. After all, the practical
people were right in making light of Ideals. Did he not observe with his
own eyes how his Ideal had faded?

It had been overlooked for a long time. Once more he stole over to the
safety vault containing his Ideal. It was at a time when he had suffered
a severe business loss. With great yearning in his breast, he lifted the
cover of the case. He was worn from practical life and his heart and
head felt heavy. He found the case empty. His Ideal had vanished,
evaporated!--It dawned upon him that he had proven false to the Ideal,
and not the Ideal to him.

[Illustration]

Pity and sympathy have been celebrating a great feast within the last
few weeks. When they look into the mirror of public opinion they find
their own reflex touchingly beautiful, big, very human. Want was about
to commit self-destruction in abolishing poverty, tears and the despair
of suffering humanity forever.

The "heart" of New York, the "heart" of the country, the "heart" of the
entire world throbs for San Francisco. The press says so, at least.

No doubt a large amount in checks and banknotes was sent to the city of
the Golden Gate. Money, in these days, is the criterion of emotions and
sentiments; so that the pity of one who gives $10,000 must appear
incomparably greater than the pity of one who contributes a small sum
which was perhaps intended to buy shoes for the children, or to pay the
grocery bill. A large sum is always loud and boastful in the way it
appears in the newspapers. The delicate tact and fine taste of the
various editors see to it that the names of the donors of large sums be
printed in heavy type.

After all, can not one every day and in every large city observe the
same phenomenon that has followed the disaster in San Francisco? Surely
there were homeless, starved, despaired, wretched beings in San
Francisco before the earthquake and the fire, yet the public's pity and
sympathy haughtily passed them by; and official sympathy and compassion
had nothing but the police station and the workhouse to give them.

And now,--what is really being done now? Humanitarianism is exhibiting
itself in a low and vulgar manner, and superficiality and bad taste are
stalking about in peacock fashion.

The newspapers are full of praise for the bravery of the militia in
their defense of property. A man was instantly shot as he walked out of
a saloon with his arms full of champagne bottles, and another was shot
for carrying off a sack of coffee, etc. How strange that the "brave
boys" of the militia,--who, by the way, had to be severely disciplined
because of their beastly drunkenness,--showed so much noble indignation
against a few clumsy thieves! During the strikes and labor conflicts it
is usually their mission to protect the property of skillful
thieves,--legal thieves, of course.

Finally what is going to be the end of the great display of superficial
sentimentality for the stricken city? An all-around good deal: Moneyed
people, contractors, real estate speculators will make large sums of
money. Indeed it is not at all unlikely that within a few months good
Christian capitalists will secretly thank their Lord that he sent the
earthquake.

[Illustration]

As an employer, the United States Government is certainly tolerant and
liberal, especially so far as the highly remunerative offices are
concerned.

The President, for instance, loves to deliver himself of moral sermons.
Recently he spoke of the people who criticise government and society and
breed discontent. He considers them dangerous and entertains little
regard for them. He ought not be blamed for that, since, as the first
clerk of the State, it is his duty to represent its interests and
dignity.

The most ordinary business agent, though he may be convinced of the
corruption of his firm, will take good care to keep this fact from the
public. Business morals demand it.

Besides, no one will expect or desire that the President should become a
Revolutionist. This would certainly be no gain of ours, nor would the
State suffer harm. Surely there are enough professional politicians who
do not lack talent for the calling of doorkeepers on a large scale.

As to the moral sermons against the undesirable and obnoxious element,
all that can be said, from a practical standpoint, is, that their
originality and wisdom are in no proportion to the salary the sermonizer
receives. Competition among preachers of penitence and servility is
almost as great as among patent medicine quacks. Four or five thousand a
year can easily buy the services of a corpulent, reverend gentleman of
some prominence.

[Illustration]

The dangers of the first of May, when France was to be ruined by the
"mob" of socialists and anarchists, was very fantastically described by
the Paris correspondents of the American newspapers. These gentlemen
seem to have known everything. They discovered that the cause of the
threatened revolution was to be found in the irresponsible good nature
and kindness of the French government.

Just show "Satan" Anarchy a finger, and straightway he will seize the
entire arm. Especially M. Clemenceau was severely censured as being
altogether too good a fellow to make a reliable minister. There he is
with France near the abyss of a social revolution! That is the manner in
which history is being manufactured for boarding-school young ladies.

The social revolution may come, but surely not because of the kindness
or good nature of the government. France needed a newspaper boom for her
elections: "The republic is in danger; for goodness' sake give us your
vote on election day!"

In order that the citizens might feel the proper horror, trade-union
leaders, anarchists and even a few royalistic scare-crows were arrested;
at the same time the sympathy and devotion of the government for its
people manifested itself in the reign of the military terror in the
strike regions.

The real seriousness of the situation, the correspondents failed to
grasp. How could they? since they got their wisdom in the ante-chamber
of the ministry.

The revolutionary labor organizations care little for the good will or
the Jesuit kindness of the authorities. They continue with their work,
propagate the idea of direct action, and strengthen the anti-military
movement, the result of which is already being felt among the soldiers
and officers.

The officer who jumped upon the platform at the Bourse du Travail,
expressing his solidarity with the workers and declaring that he would
not fire on them, was immediately arrested; but this will only influence
others to follow the good example.

[Illustration]

In the old fables the lion is described as supreme judge and not the
mule or the wether.

In Cleveland things are different. Several weeks ago Olga Nethersole
gave a performance of Sappho there. Whereupon the police felt moved to
perform an operation on the play, for moral reasons, of course. The
staircase scene was ordered to be left out altogether.

Ye poor, depraved artists, how low ye might sink, were the police and
Comstock not here to watch over the moral qualities of your productions!

If one observes one of these prosaic fellows on the corner, terribly
bored, and with his entire intellect concentrated on his club, and how
out of pure ennui he is constantly recapitulating the number of his
brass buttons, one can hardly realize that such an individual has been
entrusted with the power to decide the fate of an artistic production.

[Illustration]

1792 the French people marched through the streets singing:


     O, what is it the people cry?
     They ask for all equality.
         The poor no more shall be
         In slavish misery;
         The idle rich shall flee.

     O, what is it the people need?
     They ask for bread and iron and lead.
         The iron to win our pay,
         The lead our foes to slay,
         The bread our friends to feed.


The soldiers at Mount Carmel, Pennsylvania, who were ordered by their
superiors to fire into a crowd of strikers and wounded and killed
innocent men and women, do not sing the Carmagnole; they sing:


     "My country, 'tis of thee,
     Sweet land of Liberty!"


If the ruling powers continue to maintain peace and order with iron and
blood it may happen that the meaningless national hymn may be drowned by
the Carmagnole, pealing forth like thunder from the throats of the
masses.

[Illustration]

To the credit of human nature be it said, it is not altogether hopeless.
Since tyranny has existed, human nature has ever rebelled against it.

Real slavery exists only when the oppressed consider their fate as
something normal, something self-evident.

There is greater security for tyranny in slavish thoughts, indifference
and pettiness than in cannons and swords.

[Illustration]




"THIS MAN GORKY."

By MARGARET GRANT.


THE women of America are aroused as never before. They always are
aroused to the defense of their firesides. Even those women who live in
flats are awake to the need for defending their radiators or their gas
stoves; it is inherent in the nature of woman, it seems.

Most of the women's societies and clubs have spoken in no uncertain
terms concerning the outrage that has been put upon the civilization of
this great country by the conduct of this man Gorky. And, in fact, it is
a thing not to be borne.

As for me, I belong to the Woman's Association for the Regulation of the
Morals of Others, a society which is second to none in its activity and
usefulness, but which has seen fit to defer its own discussion of this
man Gorky's conduct until most of the other women's societies have
spoken.

We have just had our meeting, and I think that if this man Gorky should
read an account of our proceedings, he would certainly get out of this
outraged country with all the celerity of which he is capable. But, of
course, he is only a foreigner after all and probably will not
comprehend the exquisite purity of our morals.

I want to say that in our meetings we do not slavishly follow those
parliamentary rules which men have made for their guidance, but allow
ourselves some latitude in discussion. And we do not invite some man to
come and do all the talking, as is the case in some women's clubs.

Mrs. Blanderocks was in the chair. We began with an informal discussion
of the best way of preventing the common people from dressing so as not
to be distinguished from the upper classes, but there was no heart in
the talk, for we all felt that it was only preliminary. It was my friend
Sarah Warner who changed the subject.

"The Woman's State Republican Association held its annual meeting at
Delmonico's yesterday," she said, quietly drawing a newspaper clipping
from her pocket-book.

"And had some men there to amuse them and to tell them what to do," said
Mrs. Blanderocks with cutting irony.

We all laughed heartily. We meet at Mrs. Blanderocks' house, and she
always provides a beautiful luncheon.

"But Mrs. Flint said some things that I would like to read to you," said
Sarah. "It won't take long. I cut this out of the 'Times' this morning."

"What is it about?" some one asked.

"Gorky," Sarah answered, closing her eyes in a way to express volumes.

You could hear all the members catch their breath. This was what they
had come for. I broke the oppressive silence.

"I foresee," I said, "that in the discussion of this subject there will
be said things likely to bring a blush to the cheek of innocence, and I
move that all unmarried women under the age of twenty-five be excluded
from the meeting for as long as this man is under discussion."

A fierce cry of rage rose from all parts of the crowded room. I did not
understand. I could see no one who would be affected by the rule. Mrs.
Blanderocks raised her hand to command silence and said coldly:

"The motion is out of order. By a special provision of our constitution
it is the inalienable right of all unmarried women to be under
twenty-five. We will be as careful in our language as the subject will
permit. Mrs. Warner will please read the words of Mrs. Flint."

I was shocked to think I had made such a mistake. Sarah rose and read in
a clear, sharp voice from the clipping:

"