In the language of business, he was to "sell" Bohemia and the Bohemian idea to the Allies. In the language of present politics, he was to do Bohemian "propaganda." And he turned out to be the most successful salesman and propagandist that has appeared during the war. But he certainly did it by a method all his own.

Ho would arrive at a new city-London or Paris or Washington or any other. He would settle down it a little room which at once became a study. Ex irst task seemed to be to go out and buy some bors for this study. On his table in Washing E would notice a nie thest line of amikor

Vien egy and govemment.

In return Masaryk would do nothing. He would agree that the weather was wet and he would not dissent from the opinion that the Germans on the western front were pretty violent. But he had no opinions to offer on the subject of Bohemia. Bohemia had not been mentioned. His host and hostess had not mentioned it. He had not mentioned it. And it would finally become quite comfortably clear, that unless somebody asked him a definite question about Bohemia, the whole evening would pass by without any propaganda.

But it was impossible not to be inquisitive about him. He looked so unlike a dangerous person. And a lady would presently say:

"Oh, Professor Masaryk, is it true that you are condemned to death by the Austrian Government?"

And Professor Masaryk would say yes it was, and he would politely relate the circumstances and, having related them, stop. And he would look about agreeably for the next question. And it would come. It could not help coming.

To see this man was to feel and know that in him there was a great store of achievement and knowledge. But it was not a fountain. It was a mine, a sort of magnetic mine, in which you could not help digging. And people would begin to dig. They would ask him question after question. And Masaryk

would unroll the great pageant of Bohemian history and of Austro-Hungarian tyranny, point by point, but always stopping when the point which the question had drawn out was finished. And it was clear as day that everything he said about Bohemia and Austria-Hungary was said from the standpoint of the man of science, the man of scrupulous, ascertained truth.

And it would get to be late. And still Masaryk had never raised his voice above the level of a man discussing the politics of ancient Egypt. Only in his gravity, only in the perfectly tragic and therefore perfectly serene sadness which lived in his eyes, could one see the man who suffered and the nation which for five centuries has every year and every day suffered from the Austria, never better described than when it was called "assassin of the spirit."

And at the end of the evening people would say: "Really, you must lecture about this."

And Masaryk would lecture. In England he was appointed to a chair at King's College in the University of London. He lectured there and he lectured in France and he lectured in America. He lectured among us on Bohemia. He would have a great map and a long pointer. And he would relate the history of Europe, in relation to the history of Bohemia, through all time, just exactly as if the people before

him were engaged in studying for their degree of Doctor of Philosophy. And they would not be thrilled. He did not want to thrill them. He wanted to inform them. And he succeeded, They were in

formed and they were convinced.

And by precisely that same method he ultimately convinced the Governments of Britain and France and Italy and the United States. In appealing to them he used their own history and their own character just as much as he used the history and character of Bohemia. And he would put footnotes to his diplomatic communications, just exactly as if he were writing a treatise in historical science.

An extraordinary instance of this habit of his occurred in one of his memoranda to our Government at Washington. It leaked out among the newspaper reporters who frequent the State Department, and it filled them with amazement. Masaryk was quite familiar, apparently with the colonial pre-revolutionary history of the United States, and he seemed to regard it as quite important for present purposes; and so, in course of showing why the United States should regard Bohemia as a good and useful ally in the world war, he delivered himself as follows:

"The history of Bohemia is permeated by the religious element, which brings us into close spiritual relationship with England (John Wyclif of England

and Jan Huss of Bohemia in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries) and with America. And I would especially point out that for us Czechs there is a foundation of sympathy with America laid down by the fact of the development of American democracy out of church organization. (See the well-known works of Borgeaud, Jellinek, etc.)"

To the learned eyes in the White House we may assume that the "well-known" works of Borgeaud and Jellinek were familiar objects. To most of the rest of Washington they were a bit novel. And Masaryk went on to say:

"America and Europe have to choose between the liberation of seven oppressed nations in AustriaHungary and the perpetuation of the degraded Hapsburg dynasty, covering its crimes with the sacrilegious pretense of being a chosen instrument of God. No! 'God is not an Austrian' (Byron)."

This is probably the only diplomatic document that ever ended with the word "Byron." But we have to remember Masaryk's theory. "Politics is the Sciences and the Arts."

In the fall of 1916 the Allies committed themselves, in their December manifesto, to the liberation of Austria-Hungary's oppressed nations. Into that manifesto, directly through the influence set going by Masaryk, the French Government inserted the specifie