On the third of November several Catalan conspirators were arrested at different points in France. This naturally produced a deep impression in Spain, and especially in Barcelona, where the Directory took prompt measures to prevent a demonstration. Yet a stranger strolling through the streets and squares of the Catalan metropolis, or sauntering down her famous ramblas, which her good citizens like to compare to our Paris boulevards, or surveying her from Tibidabo as she reclines indolently at the foot of her mountain rampart, while steamers incessantly come and go at her feet and sailing vessels and fishing boats dot the blue Mediterranean to where the faint loom of the Balearic Islands catches the eye on the horizon, would imagine that this happy, busy, prosperous city was utterly absorbed in her own affairs. Nevertheless, were he to be received into the intimacy of a family circle, or to fall into conversation with a man on the street who recognized him as a foreigner, hearts would be opened, and he would find her citizens afire with intense local patriotism and bitter hatred of Castile, and ready for revolt. That is true of all classes of society.

What lies at the bottom of this hostility to the Central Government? It is composed of many elements. Passing visitors interpret it variously. Some think it is merely a political movement; some fancy it inspired by

1 From Le Correspondant (Liberal Catholic semimonthly), November 25

Catalonian manufacturers in order to extort concessions from the Madrid authorities. Still others attribute it to a nation's romantic regret for its lost glories of the past. Such people have seen only the surface of the Catalan movement.

Unquestionably, revolutionary manœuvres have been associated with the Separatist agitation, particularly of late, and Primo de Rivera may imagine he can win back big landed proprietors and other Conservatives in Catalonia by dwelling upon the perils from which he has preserved them. Such an argument would have great weight in any other part of Spain. But in Catalonia it only provokes a smile. Have not rabid Socialists and hidebound Conservatives, radical Republicans and unbending Monarchists, joined hands in Barcelona to secure provincial autonomy? Indeed, they have formed a regular organization, called 'Solidarity.' During the past few years, however, partisans of violence have increased. Under the rigid rule of the present Government the more moderate elements of the local league founded by Cambo have shunned prominence, and the Republican wing, which is bolder and less time-serving, has seized control.

Partisans of direct action have been aided and abetted from without. Blasco Ibáñez's pamphlet proclaiming that 'only a republic can prevent the national disintegration, symptoms of which have begun to manifest themselves in Spain,' and adding that

Separatism would disappear under a republic, 'because no one would want to secede from a nation where all are well treated and enjoy full political rights,' has been interpreted in various ways. Some imagine that they must set up a republic immediately in order to get Catalan autonomy from a sympathetic Government. Others consider this appeal a summons to fight with every weapon in their power a central government doubly odious because it is both Castilian and monarchist.

The recent conspiracy seems to have sought first of all to overthrow the Directory. Yet Primo de Rivera knows Barcelona well. He was Commandant there in 1923. At that time he exhibited none of the intense hatred of the Separatist movement he manifests today. We assume this, at least, from the fact that he accepted liberal subsidies from big Barcelona employers, who were tired of the civil strife and lawlessness that were ruining their factories and paralyzing business. In fact, Primo de Rivera is rumored to have contemplated using the Separatists to intimidate Madrid if the Central Government tried to oppose his schemes.

Times have changed, however, and Primo now outcastilians the Castilians themselves in his severity toward the Catalans. As early as November 1923 a dispute occurred between the 'Savior of Catalonia' and the people of that province over the Commercial Exposition at Barcelona. It was about a mere trifle the language on the official posters advertising that event. Barcelona continues to use her mother tongue. In the narrow, winding streets of the older city many shop signs, and even street signs, are still in Catalan. If you ask a cabman to take you to a place which you name in Spanish, following the directions of your guidebook, he will at once correct you in

Catalan. If he sees that you are a Frenchman, he will sometimes add in French that he does not speak 'Castilian.' So the posters for the Barcelona Exposition were in Catalan, according to usage. The new head of the Government at Madrid, however, considered this an intolerable indignity to the nation. From that day it was open war.

The principal event in this campaign — omitting a number of attempts to assassinate individuals, and the recent conspiracy was Primo de Rivera's suppression of the Mancommunidad de Catalunya on the first of April, 1925. That institution was a sort of union or federation of administrative districts formed to coördinate their public services. A royal decree, which was issued in 1913 after a long agitation which the Cabinet sought to end by this concession, authorized the formation of similar unions throughout Spain.

Only the four districts of Catalonia took advantage of the privilege and set up the Mancommunidad, which held its first formal meeting on the sixth of April, 1914. Between that date and 1924 this new body accomplished wonders. Many patriotic citizens gave a large share of their time without remuneration to making its work a success. New roads, railways, canals, and bridges were built, telephone lines installed, sanitation improved, schools established, credit banks founded, and the whole public service lifted to a higher level. The annual budget of the Mancommunidad rose from 340,000 pesetas to nearly thirty-three million pesetas. But the men at the head of it offended Madrid in two ways-by cultivating the Catalan language, and by distrusting and despising the incapable and impulsive Central Administration.

Finally the Directory issued a decree which retained the old organization nominally intact but placed its own

henchmen in control. That started a bitter struggle. Any Catalan who gave his services to the Mancommunidad thereafter was stigmatized as ‘a turncoat Moro,' after the Moorish traitors who were fighting with the Spaniards against Abd-el-Krim. Before long Señor Rovira y Virgili, the eminent Catalan historian in charge of the press bureau of the Mancommunidad, resigned rather than revise an official notice in which the representatives of the Central Government imagined they discovered a trace of irony. Immediately every Catalan in the service of the body followed his example.

Shortly afterward, in February 1925, another incident occurred to aggravate the situation. Primo de Rivera declared war against a French savant who had been invited to Barcelona to organize a psychological laboratory. The Dictator, in an official note, accused the professor of 'working for France and the Sorbonne' and of following suspicious orders.' Had not that gentleman mentioned in his lectures that during the World War twelve thousand Catalan volunteers had fought in the armies of France? Spanish professors at once flew to arms in defense of their French colleague. The Madrid press summoned up courage to criticize the Government's position. Eminent men in France expressed their wonder and displeasure. As a result, however, the new university founded by the Mancommunidad was crippled in the cradle and its faculty dispersed.

for decentralizing the administration undertaken by the Directory designedly ignores the old provincial boundaries. That spelled the doom of the Mancommunidad, although no sentence of death was expressly pronounced upon it. In vain Señor Sala, its chief, although a nominee of the Directory and a personal friend of the King, appealed to the Sovereign in its behalf and pointed out how unpopular, and indeed dangerous, the measure was. Alfonso XIII took the matter under advisement for five days, and then the decree submitted by the Premier appeared under his name. The Mancommunidad, which, although it did not satisfy ardent Separatists, enabled honest autonomists to develop their province within the greater Spanish nation, was a thing of the past.

That was the situation early last November. Minor incidents have been constantly occurring. Singers of patriotic songs have been prosecuted by the police, Catalan banners and insignia have been seized by the authorities, printing offices have been occupied by military detachments, pamphlets and handbills have been confiscated, newspapers have been suspended. Any number of things like these, any single one of which would cause enormous agitation in a country under a normal government, have happened in Spain without exciting more than passing comment.

Under cover of this last superficial disturbance on the border a great plot against the Government of Madrid is being spun. It seeks, not only to overthrow the dictatorship, but also to burst asunder the Spanish monarchy. So this frontier conspiracy, petty and puerile as at first glance it may seem, is a symptom of something far greater and more serious. It is as significant for what it conceals as it is for what it reveals.

FOR a machine politician, getting elected to Parliament is extremely simple, but a little boresome. He keeps on good personal terms with the Party bosses, plays cards with them, lets them win, sees that they have the best stands at the hunting season, and does them other favors. Then, when one of these 'higher-ups,' on returning from a trip to Budapest, remarks some fine evening at the club that there will be an election next month, he calls upon his friends and mentions his patriotic desire to subscribe a few thousands to the campaign fund — with the implied condition, of course, that he shall be nominated in such and such a district. Naturally, he pays his personal campaign expenses out of his own pocket. He also makes a modest subscription to the charity union of which Mrs. Higher-up is president. He does not forget, however, to debit all these expenses against the various corporations whose interests he will look after in the various ministries during his term in Parliament. In fact, he generally debits them at five or six times the actual sum expended. Meanwhile the Government officials in the district, and the 'higherup' and his secretary, look after the technical details of the election. It is considered indispensable that the secretary publish an article in the local press dwelling upon the sanctity of the ballot box and the passionate enthusiasm the voters exhibit for the nominee in question.

1 From Arbeiter Zeitung (Vienna ConservativeSocialist daily), October 28

Another type of candidate is the 'only available man.' He may be, for example, the secretary of the SocialDemocratic Party. Down in the Budapest office they say to him: 'Comrade, you were born up in that district. You know the peasants there. For the past ten years you've handled business down here for the working people back in your native town. You had better run.'

I see some of my workingmen friends shake their heads when they read this, and ask: 'Don't the workmen select their own candidates?' No, my dear fellow, that could not happen-in Hungary. In fact, no Social-Democratic Party organization exists in country towns and villages to nominate a candidate, for the very good reason that men bold enough to serve on a Party committee would be promptly arrested under the Public Security Law of 1920 and sent to jail. In such parts of Hungary there are no members of the Social-Democratic Party, but only sympathizers. Silent sympathizers, to be sure; they do not even dare to take a Social-Democratic paper, for fear of being arrested as suspicious subjects.

Accordingly, a Social-Democrat secretary, or some other member of the Opposition, comes down from Budapest to look into the situation in the district. 'Of course you must run,' his friends say privately; 'we'll stand back of you through thick and thin'— and their faces light up with enthusiasm. So 'the only available man' presents himself as a candidate. He runs down to

address his loyal supporters. The railway station is deserted. No one is waiting to receive him- except a couple of gendarmes with tall feathers in their shakoes. 'Are you the agitator who is trying to stir up revolution down here? We've got your accomplices down in jail. Come along!'

Nothing remarkable has happened. The secretary of the 'higher-up' has merely ordered a small handbill struck off at the local printing office, ostensibly in the name of 'the only available man.' As soon as printed, some busybody carries a copy to the local magistrate. Two days later this official, naturally finding the circular seditious, orders 'that the candidate leave the district immediately, under prohibition against returning within six months.' His supporters who wanted to receive him at the railway station are sentenced to two weeks in jail for holding an illegal assemblage. These are the remaining two weeks of the primary campaign.

Hereupon the bold electors of the village manage to convey a secret message to the candidate, telling him not to be discouraged, to get his official petitions printed, and they will circulate them by night from house to house. The candidate appeals to the Ministry of the Interior. The Party formally demands that the official petition blanks provided by law shall be issued. Those of the Government Party are promptly dispatched to the district by a special courier. Those of the Opposition candidate are promised from day to day; they are all ready to be O. K.'d, but 'the boss is on a vacation,' or 'the boss is sick.' Two or three days before the candidate's nomination petition must be filed the blanks are finally delivered. The candidate is shrewd enough not to send them down to the district by mail, lest they be 'miscarried' to some other district or confis

cated as suspicious literature. So he confides them to a drummer friend making a business trip in that direction.

Ever since ten days ago the gendarmes at the railway station have been on the lookout for a notorious pickpocket. Every traveler who gets off the train is searched, unless he happens to be a well-known henchman of the local boss. The poor drummer is in a fix. The packet of petitions, although it bears the official seal of the Ministry of the Interior, must be inspected. It might all be a scheme to smuggle in seditious literature. The local prosecuting attorney is summoned. He immediately reports the matter-of course for a good fee to the local magistrate. 'Official petition blanks from the Ministry of the Interior can hardly be suspicious literature,' argues the drummer. The chief magistrate suggests with a gracious smile: 'My dear fellow, I shall not know that these are official petition blanks until the package is opened. I can't attend to such matters except during business hours. Just now I have important official duties elsewhere. I shall not be back until late to-night. I cannot possibly attend to this matter until to-morrow morning.'

So on the last day before petitions for nomination must be filed the packet is opened. The reassuring discovery is made that it does not contain a proclamation by the Soviet Government calling upon the Hungarian people to assassinate the Regent. In spite of the activity of the police, a few enthusiastic Party workers are still at large. They have been awaiting a signal in a cowshed. So when, about the middle of the forenoon of the day before filing the primary petitions, Stephan Kakakis's dog begins to yelp- he invariably yelps when you twist his ears a little group of campaign workers turns up. There are thirty-three of