76
PARTISAN REVIEW
Immortal as an institution, Henry rarely
survives as an individual beyond the memo
ory of his own generation. The polyps pass,
but the coral reef remains. This truism can
easily be demonstrated by running over a
list of eminent Henrys of several gen–
erations ago in this country, when the order
had an especially luxuriant growth. Begin–
ning with one charter member, Henry Ward
Beecher, the roster would include such
honorary members as Henry Eliot Norton,
Henry W. Eliot, Henry Watson Gilder,
Henry Clarence Stedman, Henry Ellery
Channing, Henry Dudley Warner, Henry
Rowland Sill, Henry Nelson Page, and
Henry Everett Hale. This list, by the way,
suggests another common trait of the Amer–
ican Henry's: their Anglo-Saxon origin.
Like other respectable old American in–
stitutions, the Communist Party has its
Henrys. There is space to mention here
only charter member Henry Hart and hon–
orary members Henry Berry Burgum, Henry
Samuel Sillen, and Henry Corliss Lamont.
Not even grand master Henri Rolland, of
the clerical collar and wan spirituality, can
equal the lubugrious dignity, the funereally
institutionalized quality of Henry Hart's
platform manner.
The official publishing house for the
books Henry so diligently and persiste:1tly
produces is, of course, Henry Holt
&
Cn.
Henry will come into his kingdom when
Henry Goddard Leach writes a biography
of Henry Clay which is published by Henry
Holt.
We invite our readers to send us nomina·
tions for the Henry Club. The best hunting
grounds we have found for Henrys are the
pages of the
Yale Review,
the
Atlanti.,
Forum, Harpers,
and the
North Ameri.an
Review,.
the ijsts of Pulitzer Prize winners
in history and biography; and the reports of
proceedings of such bodies as the National
Academy of Arts and Letters, the Confer–
ence for Progressive Education, the Smith–
sonian Institute, and the League of Ameri–
can Writers.
Where Is Alexander Woolcott?
We see that the
Nation
is offering its
readers a really sensational journalistic
treat : the "living philosophies" of a group
of writers which includes Lin Yutang, Hen·
drik Van Loon, and Emil Ludwig.
Waldo frank at the Keyboard
Mr. Waldo Frank must be given credit
for a certain amount of personal integrity.
His public questioning of the MoscI)V{
trials, which drew down on his head the
vituperation of his former intimate, Mr.
Earl Browder, and got him blacklisted by
the League of American Writers--of which
he happened to be president at the time–
this was a gesture that took some courage
to make. But granting that Mr. Frank's
heart is in the right place, it still must
be
said that his articles on Spain, recently
published in the
New Republi.,
have
established a new low in liberal journalism,
which is saying something these days. Mr.
Frank has turned the agony and heroism of
the Spanish masses into a romantic com·
position to be played, with sentimental
cadenzas, on the Mighty Wurlitzer of his
prose style. That festive air of mystical reo
connoitering so characteristic of his work is
here in even worse taste than usual. From
these articles one would never suspect that
Mr. Frank has been traveling in and writing
about Spain for many years, that he
fanci~
himself, indeed, as the high priest of the
inmost shrine of Hispanic culture. He
writes like any literary tourist about the
'Spanish national character' which, he as·
sures us, is both individualistic and gen·
erous. ( "The generosity of the Spaniards is
the sharpest trait dividing them from the
French and British.") And what a fine con·
tempt he has for "the rationalist minds of
Western Europe and America, incapable of
understanding Spain" - those dolts who
"cannotgrasp how the Rebel drive toTortosa
cutting the Republic in two has proven a
cathartic, cleaning the army of its impurities
and incompetencies and actually strengthen·
ing the morale behind the lines." Let
US
hope the recent loyalist victories on the
Ebro have not too badly shattered the
morale of Barcelona and Madrid.
No rationalism for Mr. Frank! He
speaks lovingly of "the mystery of suffer·
ing" and of "irrational, joyous acceptance
of the tragic in life," and he assures us the
Spanish masses share. his mystical en·
thusiasm. "The Spanish people have what
they want, every day." Is this perhaps
bread? Land? Peace? No, these are the
fantasies of West European rationalists,
quite alien to the 'integral' and 'organic'
soul of Spain. "They want to struggle,"
