Bot-S: Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White

A conference with Dr. Woolworth, a teacher of the very
largest experience, showed me that none of the evil results
which were prophesied had resulted.  He solemnly assured
me that, during his long experiences as principal of two or
three large academies, and, as secretary of the Board of
Regents, in close contact with all the academies and high
schools of the State, he had never known of a serious scandal
arising between students of different sexes.

As I drafted the main features of the university charter
these statements were in my mind, but I knew well that it
would be premature to press the matter at the outset.  It
would certainly have cost us the support of the more
conservative men in the legislature.  All that I could do at
that time I did; and this was to keep out of the charter
anything which could embarrass us regarding the question
in the future, steadily avoiding in every clause relating to
students the word ``man,'' and as steadily using the word
``person.''  In conversations between Mr. Cornell and
myself on this subject, I found that we agreed; and in our
addresses at the opening of the university we both alluded
to it, he favoring it in general terms, and I developing
sundry arguments calculated to prepare the way for future
action upon it.  At the close of the exercises Mr. John
McGraw, who was afterward so munificent toward us,
came to me and said:  ``My old business partner, Henry
Sage, who sat next me during the exercises this morning,
turned to me during your allusion to Mr. Cornell with
tears in his eyes, and said:  `John, we are scoundrels to
stand doing nothing while those men are killing themselves
to establish this university.' ''  In the afternoon Mr. Sage
himself came to me and said:  ``I believe you are right in
regard to admitting women, but you are evidently carrying
as many innovations just now as public opinion will
bear; when you are ready to move in the matter, let me
know.''

The following year came the first application of a young
woman for admission.  Her case was strong, for she presented
a certificate showing that she had passed the best
examination for the State scholarship in Cortland County;
and on this I admitted her.  Under the scholarship clause
in the charter I could not do otherwise.  On reporting
the case to the trustees, they supported me unanimously,
though some of them reluctantly.  The lady student
proved excellent from every point of view, and her
admission made a mere temporary ripple on the surface
of our affairs; but soon came a peculiar difficulty.  The
only rooms for students in those days on the University
Hill were in the barracks filled with young men; and therefore
the young woman took rooms in town, coming up to
lectures two or three times a day.  It was a hard struggle;
for the paths and roads leading to the university grounds,
four hundred feet above the valley, were not as in these
days, and the electric trolley had not been invented.  She
bore the fatigue patiently until winter set in; then she
came to me, expressing regret at her inability to toil up the
icy steep, and left us.  On my reporting this to the trustees,
Mr. Sage made his proposal.  I had expected from him
a professorship or a fellowship; but to my amazement
he offered to erect and endow a separate college for young
women in the university, and for this purpose to give us
two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.  A committee
of trustees having been appointed to examine and
report upon this proposal, I was made its chairman; and,
in company with Mr. Sage, visited various Western
institutions where experiments in the way of what was
called ``coeducation'' had been tried.  At Oberlin College
in Ohio two serious doubts were removed from my mind.
The first of these was regarding the health of the young
women.  I had feared that in the hard work and vigorous
competitions of the university they would lose their physical
strength; but here we found that, with wise precautions,
the health of the young women had been quite equal
to that of the young men.  My other fear was that their
education with young men might cost some sacrifice of the
better general characteristics of both sexes; but on
studying the facts I became satisfied that the men had been
made more manly and the women more womanly.  As to
the manliness there could be little doubt; for the best
of all tests had been applied only a few years before, when
Oberlin College had poured forth large numbers of its
young men, as volunteers, into the Union army.  As to the
good effect upon women, it was easy to satisfy myself
when I met them, not only at the college, but in various
beautiful Western homes.

Very striking testimony was also given at the University
of Michigan.  Ten years earlier I had known that institution
well, and my professorship there, which lasted six
years, had made me well acquainted with the character and
spirit of its students; but, since my day, women had been
admitted, and some of the results of this change surprised
me much.  Formerly a professor's lecture- or recitation-
room had been decidedly a roughish place.  The men had
often been slouchy and unkempt.  Now all was quiet and
orderly, the dress of the students much neater; in fact, it
was the usual difference between assemblages of men alone
and of men and women together, or, as I afterward phrased
it, ``between the smoking-car and the car back of it.''
Perhaps the most convincing piece of testimony came from
an old janitor.  As I met him I said:  ``Well, J----, do the
students still make life a burden to you?''  ``Oh, no,'' he
answered; ``that is all gone by.  They can't rush each
other up and down the staircases or have boxing-matches
in the lobbies any longer, for the girls are there.''

My report went fully into the matter, favored the admission
of women, and was adopted by the trustees unanimously--
a thing which surprised me somewhat, since two
of them, Judge Folger and Mr. Erastus Brooks, were
among the most conservative men I have ever known.  The
general results were certainly fortunate; though one or
two minor consequences were, for a year or two, somewhat
disappointing.  Two or three of the faculty and a
considerable number of the students were greatly opposed to
the admission of women, a main cause of this being the
fear that it would discredit the institution in the eyes of
members of other universities, and the number of the
whole student body was consequently somewhat diminished;
but that feeling died away, the numbers became
larger than ever, and the system proved a blessing, not
only to the university, but to the State at large.  None of
the prophecies of evil so freely made by the opponents of
the measure have ever been fulfilled.  Every arrangement
was made in Mr. Sage's building to guard the health of the
young women; and no one will say that the manliness of
men or the womanliness of women has ever suffered in
consequence of the meeting of the two sexes in classrooms,
laboratories, chapel, or elsewhere.  From one evil
which was freely prophesied the university has been
singularly free.  It was declared that a great deal of
``spooning'' would result.  This has not been the case.  Both
sexes seem to have been on their guard against it; and,
although pleasant receptions have, as a rule, taken place
weekly at Sage College, and visits to its residents have
been permitted at suitable times, no embarrassing attachments
have resulted.

The main difficulties arose from a cause which proved
very short-lived.  Several of the young women who first
applied for admission held high ideas as to their rights.
To them Sage College was an offense.  Its beautiful parlors,
conservatories, library, lecture-rooms, and lawns,
with its lady warden who served as guide, philosopher, and
friend, were all the result of a deep conspiracy against the
rights of women.  Again and again a committee of them
came to me, insisting that young women should be treated
exactly like young men; that there should be no lady warden;
that every one of them should be free to go and come
from Sage College at every hour in the twenty-four, as
young men were free to go and come from their dormitories.
My answer was that the cases were not the same;
that when young women insisted on their right to come and
go at all times of the day and night, as they saw fit, without
permission, it was like their right to walk from the campus
to the beautiful point opposite us on the lake: the right they
undoubtedly had, but insurmountable obstacles were in the
way; and I showed them that a firm public opinion was
an invincible barrier to the liberties they claimed.  Still,
they were allowed advisory powers in the management of
the college; the great majority made wise use of this
right, and all difficulty was gradually overcome.

Closely connected with the erection of Sage College was
the establishment of Sage Chapel.  From the first I had
desired to have every working-day begun with a simple
religious service at which attendance should be voluntary,
and was glad to see that in the cheerless lecture-room
where this service was held there usually assembled a
goodly number of professors and students, in spite of the
early hour and long walk from town.  But for Sunday
there was no provision; and one day, on my discussing the
matter with Mr. Sage, he said that he would be glad to
establish a chapel on the university grounds for the general
use of professors and students, if I saw no objection.  This
proposal I heartily welcomed, but on two conditions: first,
that the chapel should never be delivered over to any one
sect; secondly, that students should be attracted, but not
coerced into it.  To these conditions Mr. Sage agreed, and
the building was erected.

As it approached completion there came a proposal
which opened a new era in our university life.  Mr. Dean
Sage, the eldest son of him who had given us the women's
college and the chapel, proposed to add an endowment for
a chaplaincy, and suggested that a clergyman of the Protestant
Episcopal Church be appointed to that office.  This
would have been personally pleasing to me; for, though
my churchmanship was ``exceeding broad,'' I was still
attracted to the church in which I was brought up, and felt
nowhere else so much at home.  But it seemed to me that
we had no right, under our charter, to give such prominence
to any single religious organization; and I therefore
proposed to the donor that the endowment be applied to a
preachership to be filled by leading divines of all
denominations.  In making this proposal I had in view, not only
the unsectarian feature embodied in our charter, but my
observation of university chaplaincies generally.  I had
noticed that, at various institutions, excellent clergymen,
good preachers, thorough scholars, charming men, when
settled as chaplains, had, as a rule, been unable to retain
their hold upon the great body of the students.  The
reason was not far to seek.  The average parish clergyman,
even though he be not a strong preacher or profound
scholar or brilliant talker, if he be at all fit for his
position, gradually wins the hearts of his congregation.  He
has baptized their children, married their young men and
maidens, buried their dead, rejoiced with those who have
rejoiced, and wept with those who have wept.  A strong
tie has thus grown up.  But such a tie between a chaplain
and bodies of students shifting from year to year, is, in
the vast majority of cases, impossible.  Hence it is that
even the most brilliant preachers settled in universities
have rapidly lost their prestige among the students.  I
remembered well how, at Geneva and at Yale, my college-
mates joked at the peculiarities of clergymen connected
with the college, who, before I entered it, had been objects
of my veneration.  I remembered that at Yale one of my
class was wont to arouse shouts of laughter by his droll
imitations of the prayers of the leading professors--
imitations in which their gestures, intonations, and bits of
rhetoric and oratory were most ludicrously caricatured.  I
remembered, too, how a college pastor, a man greatly
revered, was really driven out of the university pulpit by
a squib in a students' paper, and how several of his
successors had finally retreated into professorships in the
Divinity School; and I felt that leading men coming from
week to week from the outside world would be taken at
the value which the outside world puts upon them, and
that they would bring in a fresh atmosphere.  My expectations
were more than fulfilled.  The preachership having
been established, I sent invitations to eminent clergymen
along the whole gamut of belief, from the Roman Catholic
bishop of the diocese to the most advanced Protestants.
The bishop answered me most courteously; but, to my
sincere regret, declined.  One or two bishops of the
Protestant Episcopal Church also made some difficulties at
first, but gradually they were glad to accept; for it was
felt to be a privilege and a pleasure to preach to so large
a body of open-minded young men, and the course of sermons
has for years deepened and strengthened what is best
in university life.  The whole system was indeed at first
attacked; and while we had formerly been charged with
godlessness, we were now charged with ``indifferentism''
--whatever that might mean.  But I have had the pleasure
of living to see this system adopted at other leading
universities of our country, and it is evidently on its way to
become the prevailing system among all of them.  I believe
that no pulpit in the United States has exercised a
more powerful influence for good.  Strong men have been
called to it from all the leading religious bodies; and they,
knowing the character of their audience, have never
advocated sectarianism, but have presented the great
fundamental truths upon which all religion must be based.

The first of these university preachers was Phillips
Brooks, and he made a very deep impression.  An interesting
material result of his first sermon was that Mr.
William Sage, the second son of our benefactor, came
forward at the close of the service, and authorized me to
secure a beautiful organ for the university chapel.[8]  In
my addresses to students I urged them to attend for
various good reasons, and, if for none of these, because a
man is but poorly educated who does not keep himself
abreast of the religious thought of his country.  Curious
was it to see Japanese students, some of them Buddhists,
very conscientious in their attendance, their eyes steadily
fixed upon the preacher.


[8] Sunday, June 13, 1875.


My selections for the preachership during the years of
my presidency were made with great care.  So far as possible,
I kept out all ``sensational preaching.''  I had no
wish to make the chapel a place for amusement or for
ground and lofty tumbling by clerical performers, and the
result was that its ennobling influence was steadily maintained.

Some other pulpits in the university town were not so
well guarded.  A revivalist, having been admitted to one
of them, attempted to make a sensation in various ways--
and one evening laid great stress on the declaration that
she was herself a brand plucked from the burning, and
that her parents were undoubtedly lost.  A few minutes
afterward, one of the Cornell students present, thinking
doubtless, that his time would be better employed upon his
studies, arose and walked down the aisle to the door.  At
this the preacher called out, ``There goes a young man
straight down to hell.''  Thereupon the student turned
instantly toward the preacher and asked quietly, ``Have
you any message to send to your father and mother?''

Our list of university preachers, both from our own and
other countries, as I look back upon it, is wonderful to me.
Becoming acquainted with them, I have learned to love
very many men whom I previously distrusted, and have
come to see more and more the force of the saying, ``The
man I don't like is the man I don't know.''  Many of
their arguments have not appealed to me, but some
from which I have entirely dissented, have suggested
trains of profitable thought; in fact, no services have ever
done more for me, and, judging from the numbers who
have thronged the chapel, there has been a constant good
influence upon the faculty and students.

In connection with the chapel may be mentioned the
development of various religious associations, the first of
these being the Young Men's Christian Association.  Feeling
the importance of this, although never a member of it,
I entered heartily into its plan, and fitted up a hall for its
purposes.  As this hall had to serve also, during certain
evenings in the week, for literary societies, I took pains
to secure a series of large and fine historical engravings
from England, France, and Germany, among them some
of a decidedly religious cast, brought together after a
decidedly Broad-church fashion.  Of these, two, adjoining
each other, represented--the one, Luther discussing with
his associates his translation of the Bible, and the other,
St. Vincent de Paul comforting the poor and the afflicted;
and it was my hope that the juxtaposition of these two
pictures might suggest ideas of toleration in its best sense
to the young men and women who were to sit beneath
them.  About the room, between these engravings, I placed
some bronze statuettes, obtained in Europe, representing
men who had done noble work in the world; so that it
was for some years one of the attractions of the university.

Some years later came a gift very advantageous to this
side of university life.  A gentleman whom I had known
but slightly--Mr. Alfred S. Barnes of Brooklyn, a trustee
of the university--dropped in at my house one morning,
and seemed to have something on his mind.  By and by he
very modestly asked what I thought of his putting up a
building for the religious purposes of the students.  I
welcomed the idea joyfully; only expressing the hope that
it would not be tied up in any way, but open to all forms
of religious effort.  In this idea he heartily concurred, and
the beautiful building which bears his honored name was
the result,--one of the most perfect for its purposes that
can be imagined,--and as he asked me to write an inscription
for the corner-stone, I placed on it the words:  ``For
the Promotion of God's work among Men.''  This has
seemed, ever since, to be the key-note of the work done
in that building.

It has been, and is, a great pleasure to me to see young
men joining in religious effort; and I feel proud of the
fact that from this association at Cornell many strong and
earnest men have gone forth to good work as clergymen
in our own country and in others.

In the erection of the new group of buildings south of
the upper university quadrangle, as well as in building
the president's house hard by, an opportunity was offered
for the development of some minor ideas regarding the
evolution of university life at Cornell which I had deeply
at heart.  During my life at Yale, as well as during visits
to various other American colleges, I had been painfully
impressed by the lack of any development of that which
may be called the commemorative or poetical element.  In
the long row of barracks at Yale one longed for some
little bit of beauty, and hungered and thirsted for something
which connected the present with the past; but, with
the exception of the portraits in the Alumni Hall, there
was little more to feed the sense of beauty or to meet one 's
craving for commemoration of the past than in a cotton-
factory.  One might frequent the buildings at Yale or
Harvard or Brown, as they then were, for years, and see
nothing of an architectural sort which had been put in
its place for any other reason than bare utility.

Hence came an effort to promote at Cornell some development
of a better kind.  Among the first things I ordered
were portraits by competent artists of the leading non-
resident professors, Agassiz, Lowell, Curtis, and Goldwin
Smith.  This example was, from time to time, followed
by the faculty and trustees, the former commemorating
by portraits some of their more eminent members, and the
latter ordering portraits of some of those who had connected
their names with the university by benefactions or
otherwise, such as Mr. Cornell, Senator Morrill, Mr. Sage,
Mr. McGraw, and others.  The alumni and undergradu-
ates also added portraits of professors.  This custom has
proved very satisfactory; and the line of portraits hanging
in the library cannot fail to have an ennobling influence
on many of those who, day after day, sit beneath them.

But the erection of these new buildings--Sage College,
Sage Chapel, Barnes Hall, and, finally, the university
library--afforded an opportunity to do something of a
different sort.  There was a chance for some effort to
promote beauty of detail in construction, and, fortunately,
the forethought of Goldwin Smith helped us greatly in
this.  On his arrival in Ithaca, just after the opening of
the university, he had seen that we especially needed
thoroughly trained artisans; and he had written to his
friend Auberon Herbert, asking him to select and send
from England a number of the best he could find.  Nearly
all proved of value, and one of them gave himself to the
work in a way which won my heart.  This was Robert
Richardson, a stone-carver.  I at first employed him to
carve sundry capitals, corbels, and spandrels for the
president's house, which I was then building on the university
grounds; and this work was so beautifully done that, in
the erection of Sage College, another opportunity was
given him.  Any one who, to-day, studies the capitals of
the various columns, especially those in the porch, in the
loggia of the northern tower, and in some of the front
windows, will feel that he put his heart into the work.  He
wrought the flora of the region into these creations of
his, and most beautifully.  But best of all was his work
in the chapel.  The tracery of the windows, the capitals
of the columns, and the corbels supporting the beams of
the roof were masterpieces; and, in my opinion, no investment
of equal amount has proved to be of more value to
us, even for the moral and intellectual instruction of our
students, than these examples of a conscientious devotion
of genius and talent which he thus gave us.

The death of Mr. Cornell afforded an opportunity for
a further development in the same direction.  It was felt
that his remains ought to rest on that beautiful site, in the
midst of the institution he loved so well; and I proposed
that a memorial chapel be erected, beneath which his
remains and those of other benefactors of the university
might rest, and that it should be made beautiful.  This was
done.  The stone vaulting, the tracery, and other decorative
work, planned by our professor of architecture, and
carried out as a labor of love by Richardson, were all that
I could desire.  The trustees, entering heartily into the
plan, authorized me to make an arrangement with Story,
the American sculptor at Rome, to execute a reclining
statue of Mr. Cornell above the crypt where rest his
remains; and citizens of Ithaca also authorized me to
secure in London the memorial window beneath which the
statue is placed.  Other memorials followed, in the shape
of statues, busts, and tablets, as others who had been loved
and lost were laid to rest in the chapel crypt, until the
little building has become a place of pilgrimage.  In the
larger chapel, also, tablets and windows were erected from
time to time; and the mosaic and other decorations of the
memorial apse, recently erected as a place of repose for
the remains of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Sage, are a beautiful
development of the same idea.

So, too, upon the grounds, some effort was made to
connect the present with the past.  Here, as elsewhere in
our work, it seemed to me well to impress, upon the more
thinking students at least, the idea that all they saw
had not ``happened so,'' without the earnest agency of
human beings; but that it had been the result of the earnest
life-work of men and women, and that no life-work to
which a student might aspire could be more worthy.  In
carrying out this idea upon the ``campus'' Goldwin Smith
took the lead by erecting the stone seat which has now
stood there for over thirty years.  Other memorials
followed, among them a drinking-fountain, the stone bridge
across the Cascadilla, the memorial seat back of the
library, the entrance gateway, and the like; and, at the
lamented death of Richardson, another English stone
carver put his heart into some of the details of the newly
erected library.

Meanwhile, the grounds themselves became more and
more beautiful.  There was indeed one sad mistake; and
I feel bound, in self-defense, to state that it was made
during an absence of mine in Europe: this was the
erection of the chemical laboratory upon the promontory
northwest of the upper quadrangle.  That site afforded
one of the most beautiful views in our own or any other
country.  A very eminent American man of letters, who
had traveled much in other countries, said to me, as we
stood upon it, ``I have traveled hundreds of miles in
Europe to obtain views not half so beautiful as this.''  It
was the place to which Mr. Cornell took the trustees at
their first meeting in Ithaca, when their view from it led
them to choose the upper site for the university buildings
rather than the lower.  On this spot I remember once
seeing Phillips Brooks evidently overawed by the amazing
beauty of the scene spread out at his feet--the great
amphitheater to the south and southwest, the hills beyond,
and Cayuga Lake stretching to the north and northwest.
But though this part of the grounds has been covered by
a laboratory which might better have been placed elsewhere,
much is still left, and this has been treated so as to
add to the natural charm of the surroundings.  With the
exception of the grounds of the State University of
Wisconsin and of the State University and Stanford
University in California, I know of none approaching in beauty
those of Cornell.  I feel bound to say, however, that there
is a danger.  Thus far, though mistakes have been made
here and there, little harm has been done which is irremediable.
But this may not always be the case.  In my view,
one of the most important things to be done by the trustees
is to have a general plan most carefully decided upon
which shall be strictly conformed to in the erection of all
future buildings, no matter what their size or character
may be.  This has been urged from time to time, but
deferred.[9]  The experience of other universities in the
United States is most instructive in this respect.  Nearly
every one of them has suffered greatly from the want
of some such general plan.  One has but to visit almost
any one of them to see buildings of different materials and
styles--classical, Renaissance, Gothic, and nondescript
--thrown together in a way at times fairly ludicrous.
Thomas Jefferson, in founding the University of Virginia,
was wiser; and his beautiful plan was carried out so fully,
under his own eyes, that it has never been seriously
departed from.  At Stanford University, thanks to the
wisdom of its founders, a most beautiful plan was adopted,
to which the buildings have been so conformed that
nothing could be more satisfactory; and recently another
noble Californian--Mrs. Hearst--has devoted a queenly
gift to securing a plan worthy of the University of
California.  At the opening of Cornell, as I have already
said, a general plan was determined upon, with an upper
quadrangle of stone, plain but dignified, to be at some
future time architecturally enriched, and with a freer
treatment of buildings on other parts of the grounds; but
there is always danger, and I trust that I may be allowed
to remind my associates and successors in the board of
trustees, of the necessity, in the future development of the
university, for a satisfactory plan, suitable to the site, to
be steadily kept in mind.


[9]  It has now--1904--been very intelligently developed.



CHAPTER XXIV

ROCKS, STORMS, AND PERIL--1868-1874

Thus far I have dwelt especially upon the steady
development of the university in its general system of
instruction, its faculty, its equipment, and its daily life;
but it must not be supposed that all was plain sailing.  On
the contrary, there were many difficulties, some
discouragements, and at times we passed through very deep
waters.  There were periods when ruin stared us in the
face--when I feared that my next move must be to close
our doors and announce the suspension of instruction.
The most serious of these difficulties were financial.  Mr.
Cornell had indeed endowed the institution munificently,
and others followed his example: the number of men
and women who came forward to do something for it
was astonishing.  In addition to the great endowments
made by Mr. Cornell, Mr. Sage, Mr. McGraw, Mr. Sibley,
and others, which aggregated millions, there were smaller
gifts no less encouraging:  Goldwin Smith's gift of his
services, of his library, and of various sums to increase
it, rejoiced us all; and many other evidences of confidence,
in the shape of large collections of books and material,
cheered us in that darkest period; and from that day to
this such gifts have continued.

Some of the minor gifts were especially inspiring,
as showing the breadth of interest in our work.  One of
them warmed my heart when it was made, and for many
years afterward cheered me amid many cares.  As Mr. Sage
and myself were one day looking over matters upon the
grounds, there came along, in his rough wagon, a plain
farmer from a distant part of the county, a hard-working
man of very small means, who had clearly something
upon his mind.  Presently he said:  ``I would very much
like to do something for the university if I could.  I have
no money to give; but I have thought that possibly some
good elm-trees growing on my farm might be of use to
you, and if you wish them I will put them in the best
condition and bring them to you.''  This offer we gladly
accepted; the farmer brought the trees; they were carefully
planted; they have now, for over twenty years, given
an increasing and ever more beautiful shade to one of
the main university avenues; and in the line of them stands
a stone on which are engraved the words, ``Ostrander
Elms.''

But while all this encouraged us, there were things of a
very different sort.  Could the university have been
developed gradually, normally, and in obedience to a policy
determined solely by its president, trustees, and faculty
all would have gone easily.  But our charter made this
impossible.  Many departments must be put into operation
speedily, each one of them demanding large outlay for
buildings, equipment, and instruction.  From all parts of
the State came demands--some from friends, some from
enemies--urging us to do this, blaming us for not doing
that, and these utterances were echoed in various presses,
and rechoed from the State legislature.  Every nerve had
to be strained to meet these demands.  I remember well
that when a committee of the Johns Hopkins trustees, just
before the organization of that university, visited Cornell
and looked over our work, one of them said to me:  ``We
at least have this in our favor: we can follow out our own
conceptions and convictions of what is best; we have no
need of obeying the injunctions of any legislature, the
beliefs of any religious body, or the clamors of any press;
we are free to do what we really believe best, as slowly,
and in such manner, as we see fit.''  As this was said a
feeling of deep envy came over me: our condition was the
very opposite of that.  In getting ready for the opening
of the university in October, 1868, as required by our
charter, large sums had to be expended on the site now so
beautiful, but then so unpromising.  Mr. Cornell's private
affairs, as also the constant demands upon him in locating
the university lands on the northern Mississippi, kept him
a large part of the time far from the university; and my
own university duties crowded every day.  The president
of a university in those days tilled a very broad field.  He
must give instruction, conduct examinations, preside over
the faculty, correspond with the trustees, address the
alumni in various parts of the country, respond to calls
for popular lectures, address the legislature from time
to time with reference to matters between the university
and the State and write for reviews and magazines; and
all this left little time for careful control of financial
matters.

In this condition of things Mr. Cornell had installed, as
``business manager,'' a gentleman supposed to be of wide
experience, who, in everything relating to the ordinary
financial management of the institution, was all-powerful.
But as months went on I became uneasy.  Again and
again I urged that a careful examination be made of
our affairs, and that reports be laid before us which
we could clearly understand; but Mr. Cornell, always
optimistic, assured me that all was going well, and the
matter was deferred.  Finally, I succeeded in impressing
upon my colleagues in the board the absolute necessity
of an investigation.  It was made, and a condition of
things was revealed which at first seemed appalling.  The
charter of the university made the board of trustees
personally liable for any debt over fifty thousand dollars, and
we now discovered that we were owing more than three
times that amount.  At this Mr. Cornell made a characteristic
proposal.  He said:  ``I will pay half of this debt if
you can raise the other half.''  It seemed impossible.  Our
friends had been called upon so constantly and for such
considerable sums that it seemed vain to ask them for
more.  But we brought together at Albany a few of the
most devoted, and in fifteen minutes the whole amount was
subscribed: four members of the board of trustees agreed
to give each twenty thousand dollars; and this, with Mr.
Cornell's additional subscription; furnished the sum needed.

Then took place one of the things which led me later in
life, looking back over the history of the university, to
say that what had seemed to be our worst calamities
had generally proved to be our greatest blessings.  Among
these I have been accustomed to name the monstrous
McGuire attack in the Assembly on Mr. Cornell, which
greatly disheartened me for the moment, but which eventually
led the investigation committee not only to show
to the world Mr. Cornell's complete honesty and self-
sacrifice, but to recommend the measures which finally
transferred the endowment fund from the State to the
trustees, thus strengthening the institution greatly.  So
now a piece of good luck came out of this unexpected debt.
As soon as the subscription was made, Mr. George W.
Schuyler, treasurer of the university, in drawing up the
deed of gift, ended it with words to the following effect:
``And it is hereby agreed by the said Ezra Cornell, Henry
W. Sage, Hiram Sibley, John McGraw, and Andrew D.
White, that in case the said university shall ever be in
position to repay their said subscriptions, then and in that
case the said entire sum of one hundred and sixty thousand
dollars SHALL BE REPAID INTO A UNIVERSITY FUND FOR THE
CREATION OF FELLOWSHIPS AND SCHOLARSHIPS in the said
university.''  A general laugh arose among the subscribers, Mr.
McGraw remarking that this was rather offhand dealing
with us; but all took it in good part and signed the agreement.
It is certain that not one of us then expected in his
lifetime to see the university able to repay the money; but,
within a few years, as our lands were sold at better prices
than we expected, the university was in condition to make
restitution.  At first some of the trustees demurred to
investing so large a sum in fellowships and scholarships,
and my first effort to carry through a plan to this effect
failed; but at the next meeting I was successful; and so, in
this apparently calamitous revelation of debt began that
system of university fellowships and scholarships which
has done so much for the development of higher instruction
at Cornell.

So far as the university treasury was concerned,
matters thenceforth went on well.  Never again did the
university incur any troublesome debt; from that day to this
its finances have been so managed as to excite the
admiration even of men connected with the most successful and
best managed corporations of our country.  But financial
difficulties far more serious than the debt just referred
to arose in a different quarter.  In assuming the
expenses of locating and managing the university lands,
protecting them, paying taxes upon them, and the like, Mr.
Cornell had taken upon himself a fearful load, and it
pressed upon him heavily.  But this was not all.  It was,
indeed, far from the worst; for, in his anxiety to bring
the university town into easy connection with the railway
system of the State, he had invested very largely in local
railways leading into Ithaca.  Under these circumstances,
while he made heroic efforts and sacrifices, his relations
to the comptroller of the State, who still had in his charge
the land scrip of the university, became exceedingly
difficult.  At the very crisis of this difficulty Mr. Cornell's
hard work proved too much for him, and he lay down to
die.  The university affairs, so far as the land-grant fund
was concerned, seemed hopelessly entangled with his own
and with those of the State: it seemed altogether likely
that at his death the institution would be subjected to
years of litigation, to having its endowment tied up in the
courts, and to a suspension of its operations.  Happily, we
had as our adviser Francis Miles Finch, since justice of
the Court of Appeals of the State, and now dean of the
Law School--a man of noble character, of wonderfully
varied gifts, an admirable legal adviser, devoted personally
to Mr. Cornell, and no less devoted to the university.

He set at work to disentangle the business relations of
Mr. Cornell with the university, and of both with the State.
Every member of the board, every member of Mr. Cornell's
family,--indeed, every member of the community,--
knew him to be honest, faithful, and capable.  He labored
to excellent purpose, and in due time the principal financial
members of the board were brought together at Ithaca
to consider his solution of the problem.  It was indeed
a dark day; we were still under the shadow of ``Black
Friday,'' the worst financial calamity in the history of
the nation.  Mr. Finch showed us that the first thing
needful was to raise about two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, which could be tendered to the comptroller
of the State in cash, who, on receiving it, would
immediately turn over to the trustees the land scrip, which
it was all-important should be in our possession at the
death of Mr. Cornell.  He next pointed out the measures
to be taken in separating the interests of the university
from Mr. Cornell's estate, and these were provided
for.  The sum required for obtaining control of the land
scrip was immediately subscribed as a loan, virtually
without security, by members of the board then present;
though at that depressing financial period of the country
strong men went about with the best of securities, unable
to borrow money upon them.  In a few days Mr. Cornell
was dead; but the university was safe.  Mr. Finch's plan
worked well in every particular; and this, which appeared
likely to be a great calamity, resulted in the board of
trustees obtaining control of the landed endowment of
the institution, without which it must have failed.  But
the weeks while these negotiations were going on were
gloomy indeed for me; rarely in my life have I been so
unhappy.  That crisis of our fate was the winter of 1874.
The weather was cold and depressing, my family far off in
Syracuse.  My main refuge then, as at sundry other times
of deep personal distress, was in work.  In the little southwest
room of the president's house, hardly yet finished and
still unfurnished, I made my headquarters.  Every morn-
ing a blazing fire was lighted on the hearth; every day I
devoted myself to university work and to study for my
lectures.  Happily, my subject interested me deeply.  It was
``The Age of Discovery''; and, surrounded with my books,
I worked on, forgetful, for the time, of the December
storms howling about the house, and of the still more fearful
storms beating against the university.  Three new lectures
having been thus added to my course on the Renaissance
period, I delivered them to my class; and, just as I
was finishing the last of them, a messenger came to tell me
that Mr. Cornell was dying.  Dismissing my students, I
hurried to his house, but was just too late; a few minutes
before my arrival his eyes had closed in death.  But his
work was done--nobly done.  As I gazed upon his dead
face on that 9th of December, 1874, I remember well
that my first feeling was that he was happily out of the
struggle; and that, wherever he might be, I could wish to
be still with him.  But there was no time for unavailing
regrets.  We laid him reverently and affectionately to
rest, in the midst of the scenes so dear to him, within the
sound of the university chimes he so loved to hear, and
pressed on with the work.

A few years later came another calamity, not, like the
others, touching the foundations and threatening the
existence of the university, yet hardly less crushing at the
time; indeed, with two exceptions, it was the most depressing
I have ever encountered.  At the establishment of the
university in Ithaca, one of the charter trustees who
showed himself especially munificent to the new enterprise
was Mr. John McGraw.  One morning, while I was in the
midst of the large collection of books sent by me from
Europe, endeavoring to bring them into some order before
the opening day, his daughter, Miss Jenny McGraw,
came in, and I had the pleasure of showing her some of
our more interesting treasures.  She was a woman of kind
and thoughtful nature, had traveled in her own country
and abroad to good purpose, and was evidently deeply
interested.  Next day her father met me and said:  ``Well,
you are pressing us all into the service.  Jenny came home
yesterday, and said very earnestly, `I wish that I could
do something to help on the university'; to which I
replied, `Very well.  Do anything you like; I shall be glad
to see you join in the work.' ''  The result was the gift
from her of the chime of bells which was rung at the
opening of the university, and which, with the additions
afterward made to it, have done beautiful service.  On the
bells she thus gave were inscribed the verses of the ninety-
fifth chant of Tennyson's ``In Memoriam''; and some
weeks afterward I had the pleasure of placing in her
hands what she considered an ample return for her gift--
a friendly letter from Tennyson himself, containing some
of the stanzas written out in his own hand.  So began her
interest in the university--an interest which never faltered.

A few years later she married one of our professors, an
old friend of mine, and her marriage proved exceedingly
happy; but, alas, its happiness was destined to be brief!
Less than two years after her wedding day she was
brought home from Europe to breathe her last in her
husband's cottage on the university grounds, and was
buried from the beautiful residence which she had built
hard by, and had stored with works of art in every field.

At the opening of her will it was found that, while she
had made ample provision for all who were near and dear
to her, and for a multitude of charities, she had left to the
university very nearly two millions of dollars, a portion
of which was to be used for a student hospital, and the
bulk of the remainder, amounting to more than a million
and a half, for the university library.  Her husband
joined most heartily in her purpose, and all seemed ready
for carrying it out in a way which would have made
Cornell University, in that respect, unquestionably the
foremost on the American continent.  As soon as this
munificent bequest was announced, I asked our leading
lawyer, Judge Douglas Boardman, whether our charter allowed
the university to take it, calling his attention to the
fact that, like most of its kind in the State of New York,
it restricted the amount of property which the university
could hold, and reminding him that we had already exceeded
the limit thus allowed.  To this he answered that
the restriction was intended simply to prevent the endowment
of corporations beyond what the legislature might
think best for the commonwealth; that if the attorney-
general did not begin proceedings against us to prevent
our taking the property, no one else could; and that he
would certainly never trouble us.

In view of the fact that Judge Boardman had long
experience and was at the time judge of the Supreme Court
of the State, I banished all thought of difficulty; though
I could not but regret that, as he drew Mrs. Fiske's will,
and at the same time knew the restrictions of our charter,
he had not given us a hint, so that we could have had our
powers of holding property enlarged.  It would have been
perfectly easy to have the restrictions removed, and, as
a matter of fact, the legislature shortly afterward removed
them entirely, without the slightest objection; but this
action was too late to enable us to take the McGraw-Fiske
bequest.

About a fortnight after these assurances that we were
perfectly safe, Judge Boardman sent for me, and on meeting
him I found that he had discovered a decision of the
Court of Appeals--rendered a few years before--which
might prevent our accepting the bequest.

But there was still much hope of inducing the main heirs
to allow the purpose of Mrs. Fiske to be carried out.  Without
imputing any evil intentions to any person, I fully
believe--indeed, I may say I KNOW--that, had the matter
been placed in my hands, this vast endowment would have
been saved to us; but it was not so to be.  Personal
complications had arisen between the main heir and two of
our trustees which increased the embarrassments of the
situation.  It is needless to go into them now; let all that
be buried; but it may at least be said that day and night I
labored to make some sort of arrangement between the
principal heir and the university, and finally took the
steamer for Europe in order to meet him and see if some
arrangement could be made.  But personal bitterness had
entered too largely into the contest, and my efforts were
in vain.  Though our legal advisers insisted that the
university was sure of winning the case, we lost it in every
court--first in the Supreme Court of the State, then in the
Court of Appeals, and finally in the Supreme Court of the
United States.  To me all this was most distressing.  The
creation of such a library would have been the
culmination of my work; I could then have sung my Nunc
dimittis.  But the calamity was not without its
compensations.  When the worst was known, Mr. Henry W. Sage,
a lifelong friend of Mr. McGraw and of Mrs. Fiske, came
to my house, evidently with the desire to console me.  He
said:  ``Don't allow this matter to prey upon you; Jenny
shall have her library; it shall yet be built and well
endowed.''  He was true to his promise.  On the final
decision against us, he added to his previous large gifts to the
university a new donation of over six hundred thousand
dollars, half of which went to the erection of the present
library building, and the other half to an endowment fund.
Professor Fiske also joined munificently in enlarging the
library, adding various gifts which his practised eye
showed him were needed, and, among these, two collections,
one upon Dante and one in Romance literature, each
the best of its kind in the United States.  Mr. William
Sage also added the noted library in German literature
of Professor Zarncke of Leipsic; and various others
contributed collections, larger or smaller, so that the library
has become, as a whole, one of the best in the country.  As
I visit it, there often come back vividly to me remembrances
of my college days, when I was wont to enter the
Yale library and stand amazed in the midst of the sixty
thousand volumes which had been brought together during
one hundred and fifty years.  They filled me with awe.
But Cornell University has now, within forty years from
its foundation, accumulated very nearly three hundred
thousand volumes, many among them of far greater value
than anything contained in the Yale library of my day;
and as I revise these lines comes news that the will of
Professor Fiske, who recently died at Frankfort-on-the-Main,
gives to the library all of his splendid collections in Italian
history and literature at Florence, with the addition of
nearly half a million of dollars.

Beside these financial and other troubles, another class
of difficulties beset us, which were, at times, almost as
vexatious.  These were the continued attacks made by good
men in various parts of the State and Nation, who thought
they saw in Cornell a stronghold-first, of ideas in religion
antagonistic to their own; and secondly, of ideas in
education likely to injure their sectarian colleges.  From
the day when our charter was under consideration at
Albany they never relented, and at times they were violent.
The reports of my inauguration speech were, in sundry
denominational newspapers, utterly distorted; far and
wide was spread the story that Mr. Cornell and myself
were attempting to establish an institution for the
propagation of ``atheism'' and ``infidelity.''  Certainly nothing
could have been further from the purpose of either of us.
He had aided, and loved to aid, every form of Christianity;
I was myself a member of a Christian church and a trustee
of a denominational college.  Everything that we could do
in the way of reasoning with our assailants was in vain.
In talking with students from time to time, I learned that,
in many cases, their pastors had earnestly besought them
to go to any other institution rather than to Cornell;
reports of hostile sermons reached us; bitter diatribes
constantly appeared in denominational newspapers, and
especially virulent were various addresses given on public
occasions in the sectarian colleges which felt themselves
injured by the creation of an unsectarian institution on so
large a scale.  Typical was the attack made by an eminent
divine who, having been installed as president over one
of the smaller colleges of the State, thought it his duty
to denounce me as an ``atheist,'' and to do this especially
in the city where I had formerly resided, and in the church
which some of my family attended.  I took no notice of the
charge, and pursued the even tenor of my way; but the
press took it up, and it recoiled upon the man who made it.

Perhaps the most comical of these attacks was one made
by a clergyman of some repute before the Presbyterian
Synod at Auburn in western New York.  This gentleman,
having attended one or two of the lectures by Agassiz
before our scientific students, immediately rushed off to
this meeting of his brethren, and insisted that the great
naturalist was ``preaching atheism and Darwinism'' at the
university.  He seemed about to make a decided impression,
when there arose a very dear old friend of mine, the
Rev. Dr. Sherman Canfield, pastor of the First Presbyterian
Church in Syracuse, who, fortunately, was a scholar
abreast of current questions.  Dr. Canfield quietly
remarked that he was amazed to learn that Agassiz had, in
so short a time, become an atheist, and not less astonished
to hear that he had been converted to Darwinism; that
up to that moment he had considered Agassiz a deeply
religious man, and also the foremost--possibly, indeed,
the last--great opponent of the Darwinian hypothesis.  He
therefore suggested that the resolution denouncing Cornell
University brought in by his reverend brother be
laid on the table to await further investigation.  It was
thus disposed of, and, in that region at least, it was never
heard of more.  Pleasing is it to me to chronicle the fact
that, at Dr. Canfield's death, he left to the university a
very important part of his library.

From another denominational college came an attack
on Goldwin Smith.  One of its professors published, in
the Protestant Episcopal ``Gospel Messenger,'' an attack
upon the university for calling into its faculty a
``Westminster Reviewer''; the fact being that Goldwin Smith
was at that time a member of the Church of England,
and had never written for the ``Westminster Review''
save in reply to one of its articles.  So, too, when there
were sculptured on the stone seat which he had ordered
carved for the university grounds the words, ``Above all
nations is humanity,'' there came an outburst.  Sundry
pastors, in their anxiety for the souls of the students, could
not tell whether this inscription savored more of atheism
or of pantheism.  Its simple significance--that the claims
of humanity are above those of nationality--entirely
escaped them.  Pulpit cushions were beaten in all parts of
the State against us, and solemn warnings were renewed
to students by their pastors to go anywhere for their
education rather than to Cornell.  Curiously, this fact became
not only a gratuitous, but an effective, advertisement:
many of the brightest men who came to us in those days
confessed to me that these attacks first directed their
attention to us.

We also owed some munificent gifts to this same cause.
In two cases gentlemen came forward and made large
additions to our endowment as their way of showing
disbelief in these attacks or contempt for them.

Still, the attacks were vexatious even when impotent.
Ingenious was the scheme carried out by a zealous young
clergyman settled for a short time in Ithaca.  Coming
one day into my private library, he told me that he was
very anxious to borrow some works showing the more
recent tendencies of liberal thought.  I took him to one
of my book-cases, in which, by the side of the works of
Bossuet and Fnelon and Thomas Arnold and Robertson
of Brighton, he found those of Channing, Parker, Renan,
Strauss, and the men who, in the middle years of the last
century, were held to represent advanced thought.  He
looked them over for some time, made some excuse for not
borrowing any of them just then, and I heard nothing
more from him until there came, in a denominational
newspaper, his eloquent denunciation of me for possessing
such books.  Impressive, too, must have been the utterances
of an eminent ``revivalist'' who, in various Western
cities, loudly asserted that Mr. Cornell had died
lamenting his inability to base his university on atheism,
and that I had fled to Europe declaring that in America
an infidel university was, as yet, an impossibility.

For a long time I stood on the defensive, hoping that
the provisions made for the growth of religious life
among the students might show that we were not so
wicked as we were represented; but, as all this seemed
only to embitter our adversaries, I finally determined to
take the offensive, and having been invited to deliver a
lecture in the great hall of the Cooper Institute at New
York, took as my subject ``The Battle-fields of Science.''
In this my effort was to show how, in the supposed
interest of religion, earnest and excellent men, for many
ages and in many countries, had bitterly opposed various
advances in science and in education, and that such
opposition had resulted in most evil results, not only to science
and education, but to religion.  This lecture was published
in full, next day, in the ``New York Tribune''; extracts
from it were widely copied; it was asked for by lecture
associations in many parts of the country; grew first into
two magazine articles, then into a little book which was
widely circulated at home, reprinted in England with a
preface by Tyndall, and circulated on the Continent in
translations, was then expanded into a series of articles in
the ``Popular Science Monthly,'' and finally wrought into
my book on ``The Warfare of Science with Theology.''
In each of these forms my argument provoked attack; but
all this eventually created a reaction in our favor, even in
quarters where it was least expected.  One evidence of this
touched me deeply.  I had been invited to repeat the
lecture at New Haven, and on arriving there found a
large audience of Yale professors and students; but, most
surprising of all, in the chair for the evening, no less a
personage than my revered instructor, Dr. Theodore
Dwight Woolsey, president of the university.  He was of
a deeply religious nature; and certainly no man was ever
under all circumstances, more true to his convictions of
duty.  To be welcomed by him was encouragement indeed.
He presented me cordially to the audience, and at the
close of my address made a brief speech, in which he
thoroughly supported my positions and bade me Godspeed.
Few things in my life have so encouraged me.

Attacks, of course, continued for a considerable time,
some of them violent; but, to my surprise and satisfaction,
when my articles were finally brought together in
book form, the opposition seemed to have exhausted itself.
There were even indications of approval in some quarters
where the articles composing it had previously been
attacked; and I received letters thoroughly in sympathy
with the work from a number of eminent Christian men,
including several doctors of divinity, and among these
two bishops, one of the Anglican and one of the American
Episcopal Church.

The final result was that slander against the university
for irreligion was confined almost entirely to very narrow
circles, of waning influence; and my hope is that,
as its formative ideas have been thus welcomed by various
leaders of thought, and have filtered down through the
press among the people at large, they have done something
to free the path of future laborers in the field of
science and education from such attacks as those which
Cornell was obliged to suffer.



CHAPTER XXV

CONCLUDING YEARS--1881-1885

To this work of pressing on the development of the
leading departments in the university, establishing
various courses of instruction, and warding off attacks as
best I could, was added the daily care of the regular and
steady administration of affairs, and in this my duty was
to coperate with the trustees, the faculty, and the
students.  The trustees formed a body differently composed
from any organization for university government up to
that time.  As a rule, such boards in the United States
were, in those days, self-perpetuating.  A man once elected
into one of them was likely to remain a trustee during
his natural life; and the result had been much dry-rot and,
frequently, a very sleepy condition of things in American
collegiate and university administration.  In drawing the
Cornell charter, we provided for a governing body by first
naming a certain number of high State officers--the
governor, lieutenant-governor, speaker, president of the State
Agricultural Society, and others; next, a certain number
of men of special fitness, who were to be elected by the
board itself; and, finally, a certain proportion elected by
the alumni from their own number.  Beside these, the eldest
male lineal descendant of Mr. Cornell, and the president
of the university, were trustees ex officio.  At the first
nomination of the charter trustees, Mr. Cornell proposed
that he should name half the number and I the other half.
This was done, and pains were taken to select men accustomed
to deal with large affairs.  A very important provision
was also made limiting their term of office to five years.

During the first nine years the chairmanship of the
board was held by Mr. Cornell, but at his death Mr.
Henry W. Sage was elected to it, who, as long as he lived,
discharged its duties with the greatest conscientiousness
and ability.  To the finances of the university he gave
that shrewd care which had enabled him to build up his
own immense business.  Freely and without compensation,
he bestowed upon the institution labor for which any
great business corporation would have gladly paid him
a very large sum.  For the immediate management, in
the intervals of the quarterly meetings of the board, an
executive committee of the trustees was created, which
also worked to excellent purpose.

The faculty, which was at first comparatively small,
was elected by the trustees upon my nomination.  In
deciding on candidates, I put no trust in mere paper
testimonials, no matter from what source; but always saw
the candidates themselves, talked with them, and then
secured confidential communications regarding them from
those who knew them best.  The results were good, and
to this hour I cherish toward the faculty, as toward the
trustees, a feeling of the deepest gratitude.  Throughout
all the hard work of that period they supported me heartily
and devotedly; without their devotion and aid, my
whole administration would have been an utter failure.

To several of these I have alluded elsewhere; but one
should be especially mentioned to whom every member of
the faculty must feel a debt of gratitude--Professor Hiram
Corson.  No one has done more to redress the balance
between the technical side and the humanities.  His writings,
lectures, and readings have been a solace and an
inspiration to many of us, both in the faculty and
among the students.  It was my remembrance of the effect
of his readings that caused me to urge, at a public address
at Yale in 1903, the establishment not only of professorships
but of readerships in English literature in all our
greater institutions, urging especially that the readers
thus called should every day present, with little if any note
or comment, the masterpieces of our literature.  I can
think of no provision which would do more to humanize
the great body of students, especially in these days when
other branches are so largely supplanting classical studies,
than such a continuous presentation of the treasures of our
language by a thoroughly good reader.  What is needed is
not more talk about literature, but the literature itself.
And here let me recall an especial service of Professor
Corson which may serve as a hint to men and women of
light and leading in the higher education of our country.
On sundry celebrations of Founder's Day, and on various
other commemorative occasions, he gave in the university
chapel recitals from Milton, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and
other poets of the larger inspiration, while organ
interludes were given from the great masters of music.
Literature and music were thus made to do beautiful service as
yokefellows.  It has been my lot to enjoy in various capitals
of the modern world many of the things which men
who have a deep feeling for art most rejoice in, but never
have I known anything more uplifting and ennobling than
these simple commemorations.

From one evil which has greatly injured many American
university faculties, especially in the middle and western
States, we were virtually free.  This evil was the prevalence
of feuds between professors.  Throughout a large
part of the nineteenth century they were a great affliction.
Twice the State University of Michigan was nearly
wrecked by them; for several years they nearly paralyzed
two or three of the New York colleges; and in one of
these a squabble between sundry professors and the
widow of a former president was almost fatal.  Another
of the larger colleges in the same State lost a very eminent
president from the same cause; and still another,
which had done excellent work, was dragged down and
for years kept down by a feud between its two foremost
professors.  In my day, at Yale, whenever there
was a sudden influx of students, and it was asked whence
they came, the answer always was, ``Another Western college
has burst up''; and the ``burst up'' had resulted,
almost without exception, from faculty quarrels.

In another chapter I have referred to one of these
explosions which, having blown out of a Western university
the president, the entire board of trustees, and all
the assistant professors and instructors, convulsed the
State for years.  I have known gifted members of faculties,
term after term, substitute for their legitimate work
impassioned appeals to their religious denominations,
through synods or conferences, and to the public at large
through the press,--their quarrels at last entangling other
professors and large numbers of students.

In my ``Plan of Organization'' I called attention to this
evil, and laid down the principle that ``the presence of no
professor, however gifted, is so valuable as peace and
harmony.''  The trustees acquiesced in this view, and from
the first it was understood that, at any cost, quarrels must
be prevented.  The result was that we never had any which
were serious, nor had we any in the board of trustees.  One
of the most satisfactory of all my reflections is that I never
had any ill relations with any member of either body; that
there was never one of them whom I did not look upon as
a friend.  My simple rule for the government of my own
conduct was that I had NO TIME for squabbling; that life
was not long enough for quarrels; and this became, I
think, the feeling among all of us who were engaged in the
founding and building of the university.

As regards the undergraduates, I initiated a system
which, so far as is known to me, was then new in American
institutions of learning.  At the beginning of every year,
and also whenever any special occasion seemed to require
it, I summoned the whole body of students and addressed
them at length on the condition of the university, on their
relations to it, and on their duties to it as well as to
themselves; and in all these addresses endeavored to bring
home to them the idea that under our system of giving to
the graduates votes in the election of trustees, and to
representative alumni seats in the governing board, the whole
student body had become, in a new sense, part of the
institution, and were to be held, to a certain extent,
responsible for it.  I think that all conversant with the history
of the university will agree that the results of thus taking
the students into the confidence of the governing
board were happy.  These results were shown largely
among the undergraduates, and even more strongly
among the alumni.  In all parts of the country alumni
associations were organized, and here again I found a
source of strength.  These associations held reunions during
every winter, and at least one banquet, at which the
president of the university was invited to be present.  So
far as possible, I attended these meetings, and made use
of them to strengthen the connection of the graduates with
their alma mater.

The administrative care of the university was very
engrossing.  With study of the various interests combined
within its organization; with the attendance on meetings
of trustees, executive committee, and faculty, and
discussion of important questions in each of these bodies--
with the general oversight of great numbers of students
in many departments and courses; with the constant
necessity of keeping the legislature and the State informed
as to the reasons of every movement, of meeting hostile
forces pressing us on every side, of keeping in touch with
our graduates throughout the country, there was much
to be done.  Trying also, at times, to a man never in
robust health was the duty of addressing various
assemblies of most dissimilar purposes.  Within the space
of two or three years I find mention in my diaries of a
large number of addresses which, as president of the
university, I could not refuse to give; among these, those
before the legislature of the State, on Technical Education;
before committees of Congress, on Agriculture and
Technical Instruction; before the Johns Hopkins University,
on Education with Reference to Political Life; before
the National Teachers' Association at Washington, on the
Relation of the Universities to the State School Systems;
before the American Social Science Association of New
York, on Sundry Reforms in University Management; before
the National Association of Teachers at Detroit, on
the Relations of Universities to Colleges; before four
thousand people at Cleveland, on the Education of the
Freedmen; before the Adalbert College, on the Concentration
of Means for the Higher Education; before the
State Teachers' Association at Saratoga, on Education
and Democracy; at the Centennial banquet at Philadelphia,
on the American Universities; and before my
class at Yale University, on the Message of the
Nineteenth Century to the Twentieth; besides many public
lectures before colleges, schools, and special assemblies.
There seemed more danger of wearing out than of rusting
out, especially as some of these discourses provoked
attacks which must be answered.  Time also was required
for my duties as president of the American Social Science
Association, which lasted several years, and of the American
Historical Society, which, though less engrossing,
imposed for a time much responsibility.  Then, too, there
was another duty, constantly pressing, which I had
especially at heart.  The day had not yet arrived when the
president of the university could be released from his
duties as a professor.  I had, indeed, no wish for such
release; for, of all my duties, that of meeting my senior
students face to face in the lecture-room and interesting
them in the studies which most interested me, and which
seemed most likely to fit them to go forth and bring the
influence of the university to bear for good upon the country
at large, was that which I liked best.  The usual routine
of administrative cares was almost hateful to me,
and I delegated minor details, as far as possible, to those
better fitted to take charge of them--especially to the vice-
president and registrar and secretary of the faculty.  But
my lecture-room I loved.  Of all occupations, I know of
none more satisfactory than that of a university professor
who feels that he is in right relations with his
students, that they welcome what he has to give them,
and that their hearts and minds are developed, day by
day, by the work which he most prizes.  I may justly say
that this pleasure was mine at the University of Michigan
and at Cornell University.  It was at times hard to
satisfy myself; for next to the pleasure of directing
younger minds is the satisfaction of fitting one's self to
do so.  During my ordinary working-day there was little
time for keeping abreast with the latest and best in my
department; but there were odds and ends of time, day
and night, and especially during my frequent journeys by
rail and steamer to meet engagements at distant points,
when I always carried with me a collection of books which
seemed to me most fitted for my purpose; and as I had
trained myself to be a rapid reader, these excursions gave
me many opportunities.

But some of these journeys were not well suited to
study.  During the first few years of the university,
being obliged to live in the barracks on the University Hill
under many difficulties, I could not have my family with
me, and from Saturday afternoon until Monday morning
was given to them at Syracuse.  In summer the journey
by Cayuga Lake to the New York Central train gave me
excellent opportunity for reading and even for writing.
But in winter it was different.  None of the railways now
connecting the university town with the outside world
had then been constructed, save that to the southward;
and, therefore, during those long winters there was at
least twice a week a dreary drive in wagon or sleigh
sometimes taking all the better hours of the day, in order
to reach the train from Binghamton to Syracuse.  Coming
out of my lecture-room Friday evening or Saturday
morning, I was conveyed through nearly twenty-five miles
of mud and slush or sleet and snow.  On one journey my
sleigh was upset three times in the drifts which made the
roads almost impassable, and it required nearly ten hours
to make the entire journey.  The worst of it was that,
coming out of my heated lecture-room and taking an open
sleigh at Ithaca, or coming out of the heated cars and taking
it at Cortland, my throat became affected, and for
some years gave me serious trouble.

But my greater opportunities--those which kept me
from becoming a mere administrative machine--were
afforded by various vacations, longer or shorter.  During the
summer vacation, mainly passed at Saratoga and the seaside,
there was time for consecutive studies with reference
to my work, my regular lectures, and occasional addresses.
But this was not all.  At three different times I
was summoned from university work to public duties.
The first of these occasions was when I was appointed
by President Grant one of the commissioners to Santo
Domingo.  This appointment came when I was thoroughly
worn out with university work, and it gave me a chance
of great value physically and intellectually.  During four
months I was in a world of thought as different from
anything that I had before known as that wonderful island
in the Caribbean Sea is different in its climate from
the hills of central New York swept by the winds of
December.  And I had to deal with men very different
from the trustees, faculty, and students of Cornell.  This
episode certainly broadened my view as a professor, and
strengthened me for administrative duties.

The third of these long vacations was in 1879--80--81,
when President Hayes appointed me minister plenipotentiary
in Berlin.  My stay at that post, and especially
my acquaintance with leaders in German thought and with
professors at many of the Continental universities, did
much for me in many ways.

It may be thought strange that I could thus absent
myself from the university, but these absences really enabled
me to maintain my connection with the institution.  My
constitution, though elastic, was not robust; an uninterrupted
strain would have broken me, while variety of
occupation strengthened me.  Throughout my whole life
I have found the best of all medicines to be travel and
change of scene.  Another example of this was during my
stay of a year abroad as commissioner at the Paris
Exposition.  During that stay I prepared several additions
to my course of general lectures, and during my official
stay in Berlin added largely to my course on German
history.  But the change of work saved me: though minor
excursions were frequently given up to work with book
and pen, I returned from them refreshed and all the more
ready for administrative duties.

As to the effect of such absences upon the university,
I may say that it accorded with the theory which I held
tenaciously regarding the administration of the university
at that formative period.  I had observed in various
American colleges that a fundamental and most injurious
error was made in relieving trustees and faculty from
responsibility, and concentrating all in the president.  The
result, in many of these institutions, had been a sort of
atrophy,--the trustees and faculty being, whenever an
emergency arose, badly informed as to the affairs of their
institutions, and really incapable of managing them.  This
state of things was the most serious drawback to President
Tappan's administration at the University of Michigan,
and was the real cause of the catastrophe which
finally led to his break with the regents of that university,
and his departure to Europe, never to return.  Worse still
was the downfall of Union College, Schenectady, from
the position which it had held before the death of President
Nott.  Under Drs. Nott and Tappan the tendency in
the institutions above named was to make the trustees
in all administrative matters mere ciphers, and to make
the faculty more and more incapable of administering
discipline or conducting current university business.  That
system concentrated all knowledge of university affairs
and all power of every sort in the hands of the president,
and relieved trustees and faculty from everything except
nominal responsibility.  From the very beginning I
determined to prevent this state of things at Cornell.  Great
powers were indeed given me by the trustees, and I used
them; but in the whole course of my administration I
constantly sought to keep ample legislative powers in the
board of trustees and in the faculty.  I felt that the
university, to be successful, should not depend on the life and
conduct of any one man; that every one of those called to
govern and to manage it, whether president or professor,
should feel that he had powers and responsibilities in its
daily administration.  Therefore it was that I inserted in
the fundamental laws of the university a provision that
the confirmation by the trustees of all nominations of
professors should be by ballot; so that it might never be in
the power of the president or any other trustee unduly to
influence selections for such positions.  I also exerted
myself to provide that in calling new professors they should
be nominated by the president, not of his own will, but
with the advice of the faculty and should be confirmed by
the trustees.  I also provided that the elections of students
to fellowships and scholarships and the administration of
discipline should be decided by the faculty, and by ballot.
The especial importance of this latter point will not
escape those conversant with university management.  I
insisted that the faculty should not be merely a committee
to register the decrees of the president, but that it should
have full legislative powers to discuss and to decide
university affairs.  Nor did I allow it to become a body
merely advisory:  I not only insisted that it should have
full legislative powers, but that it should be steadily
trained in the use of them.  On my nomination the trustees
elected from the faculty three gentlemen who had shown
themselves especially fitted for administrative work to the
positions of vice-president, registrar, and secretary; and
thenceforth the institution was no longer dependent on any
one man.  To the first of these positions was elected
Professor William Channing Russel; to the second, Professor
William Dexter Wilson; to the third, Professor George C.
Caldwell; and each discharged his duties admirably.

Of the last two of these I have already spoken, and here
some record should be made of the services rendered by
Dr. Russel.  He was among those chosen for the instructing
body at the very beginning.  Into all of his work he
brought a perfect loyalty to truth, with the trained
faculties of a lawyer in seeking it and the fearlessness of an
apostle in announcing it.  As to his success in this latter
field, there may be given, among other testimonies, that of
an unwilling witness--a young scholar of great strength
of mind, who, though he had taken deep offense at sundry
acts of the professor and never forgiven them, yet, after a
year in the historical lecture-rooms of the University of
Berlin, said to me:  ``I have attended here the lectures of
all the famous professors of history, and have heard few
who equal Professor Russel and none who surpass him in
ascertaining the really significant facts and in clearly
presenting them.''

In the vice-presidency of the faculty he also rendered
services of the greatest value.  No one was more devoted
than he to the university or more loyal to his associates.
There was, indeed, some friction.  His cousin, James
Russell Lowell, once asked me regarding this, and my reply
was that it reminded me of a character in the ``Biglow
Papers'' who ``had a dre'dful winnin' way to make folks
hate him.''  This was doubtless an overstatement, but it
contained truth; for at times there was perhaps lacking in
his handling of delicate questions something of the suaviter
in modo.  His honest frankness was worthy of all
praise; but I once found it necessary to write him:  ``I am
sorry that you have thought it best to send me so unsparing
a letter, but no matter; write me as many as you like;
they will never break our friendship; only do not write
others in the same strain.''  This brought back from him
one of the kindest epistles imaginable.  Uncompromising
as his manner was, his services vastly outweighed all the
defects of his qualities; and among these services were
some of which the general public never dreamed.  I could
tell of pathetic devotion and self-sacrifice on his part, not
only to the university, but to individual students.  No
professor ever had a kindlier feeling toward any scholar in
need, sickness, or trouble.  Those who knew him best loved
him most; and, in the hard, early days of the university,
he especially made good his title to the gratitude of every
Cornellian, not only by his university work, but by his
unostentatious devotion to every deserving student.

As to my professorial work, I found in due time
effective aid in various young men who had been members of
my classes.  Of these were Charles Kendall Adams, who
afterward became my successor in the presidency of Cornell,
and George Lincoln Burr, who is now one of my successors
in the professorship of history.

Thus it was that from time to time I could be absent
with a feeling that all at the university was moving on
steadily and securely; with a feeling, indeed, that it was
something to have aided in creating an institution which
could move on steadily and securely, even when the hands
of those who had set it in motion had been removed.

There was, however, one temporary exception to the rule.
During my absence as minister at Berlin trouble arose in
the governing board so serious that I resigned my diplomatic
post before my term of service was ended, and hastened
back to my university duties.  But no permanent
injury had been done; in fact, this experience, by
revealing weaknesses in sundry parts of our system, resulted
in permanent good.

Returning thus from Berlin, I threw myself into university
work more heartily than ever.  It was still difficult,
for our lands had not as yet been sold to any extent, and
our income was sadly insufficient.  The lands were steadily
increasing in value, and it was felt that it would be a great
error to dispose of them prematurely.  The work of providing
ways and means to meet the constantly increasing
demands of the institution was therefore severe, and the
loss of the great library bequest to the university also
tried me sorely; but I labored on, and at last, thanks to
the admirable service of Mr. Sage in the management of
the lands, the university was enabled to realize, for the
first time, a large capital from them.  Up to the year 1885
they had been a steady drain upon our resources; now
the sale of a fraction of them yielded a good revenue.
For the first time there was something like ease in the
university finances.

Twenty years had now elapsed since I had virtually
begun my duties as president by drafting the university
charter and by urging it upon the legislature.  The four
years of work since my return from Berlin had tried me
severely; and more than that, I had made a pledge some
years before to the one who, of all in the world, had the
right to ask it, that at the close of twenty years of service
I would give up all administrative duties.  To this pledge
I was faithful, but with the feeling that it was at the
sacrifice of much.  The new endowment coming in from the
sale of lands offered opportunities which I had longed for
during many weary years; but I felt that it was best to
put the management into new hands.  There were changes
needed which were far more difficult for me to make than
for a new-comer--especially changes in the faculty, which
involved the severing of ties very dear to me.

At the annual commencement of 1885, the twenty years
from the granting of our charter having arrived, I
presented my resignation with the declaration that it must
be accepted.  It was accepted in such a way as to make
me very grateful to all connected with the institution:
trustees, faculty, and students were most kind to me.  As
regards the first of these bodies, I cannot resist the
temptation to mention two evidences of their feeling
which touched me deeply.  The first of these was the
proposal that I should continue as honorary president of
the university.  This I declined.  To hold such a position
would have been an injury to my successor; I knew well
that the time had come when he would be obliged to
grapple with questions which I had left unsettled from
a feeling that he would have a freer hand than I could have.
But another tender made me I accepted: this was that I
should nominate my successor.  I did this, naming my old
student at the University of Michigan, who had succeeded
me there as professor of history--Charles Kendall Adams;
and so began a second and most prosperous administration.

In thus leaving the presidency of the university, it
seemed to me that the time had come for carrying out a
plan formed long before--the transfer to the university
of my historical and general library, which had become
one of the largest and, in its field, one of the best
private collections of books in the United States.  The
trustees accepted it, providing a most noble room for it in
connection with the main university library and with the
historical lecture-rooms; setting apart, also, from their
resources, an ample sum, of which the income should be
used in maintaining the library, in providing a librarian,
in publishing a complete catalogue, and in making the
collection effective for historical instruction.  My only
connection with the university thenceforward was that of
a trustee and member of its executive committee.  In this
position it has been one of the greatest pleasures and
satisfactions of my life to note the large and steady
development of the institution during the two administrations
which have succeeded my own.  At the close of the
administration of President Adams, who had especially
distinguished himself in developing the law department and
various other important university interests, in strengthening
the connection of the institution with the State, and
in calling several most competent professors, he was
succeeded by a gentleman whose acquaintance I had made
during my stay as minister to Germany, he being at that
time a student at the University of Berlin,--Dr. Jacob
Gould Schurman, whose remarkable powers and gifts have
more than met the great expectations I then formed
regarding him, and have developed the university to a yet
higher point, so that its number of students is now, as I
revise these lines, over three thousand.  He, too, has been
called to important duties in the public service; and he
has just returned after a year of most valuable work as
president of the Commission of the United States to the
Philippine Islands, the university progressing during his
absence, and showing that it has a life of its own and is
not dependent even on the most gifted of presidents.

On laying down the duties of the university presidency,
it did not seem best to me to remain in its neighborhood
during the first year or two of the new administration.
Any one who has ever been in a position similar
to mine at that period will easily understand the reason.
It is the same which has led thoughtful men in the
churches to say that it is not well to have the old pastor
too near when the new pastor is beginning his duties.
Obedient to this idea of leaving my successor a free hand, my
wife and myself took a leisurely journey through England,
France, and Italy, renewing old acquaintances and making
new friends.  Returning after a year, I settled down
again in the university, hoping to complete the book for
which I had been gathering materials and on which I had
been working steadily for some years, when there came the
greatest calamity of my life,--the loss of her who had been
my main support during thirty years,--and work became
for a time, an impossibility.  Again I became a wanderer,
going, in 1888, first to Scotland, and thence, being ordered
by physicians to the East, went again through France and
Italy, and extended the journey through Egypt, Greece
and Turkey.  Of the men and things which seemed most
noteworthy to me at that period I speak in other chapters.
From the East I made my way leisurely to Paris, with
considerable stops at Buda-Pesth, Vienna, Ulm, Munich
Frankfort-on-the-Main, Paris, London, taking notes in
libraries, besides collecting books and manuscripts.

Returning to the United States in the autumn of 1889,
and settling down again in my old house at Cornell, I was
invited to give courses of historical lectures at various
American universities, especially one upon the ``Causes
of the French Revolution,'' at Johns Hopkins, Columbian
University in Washington, the University of Pennsylvania,
Tulane University in New Orleans, and Stanford
University in California.  Excursions to these institutions
opened a new epoch in my life; but of this I shall speak
elsewhere.

During this period of something over fifteen years, I
have been frequently summoned from these duties, which
were especially agreeable to me--first, in 1892, as minister
to Russia; next, in 1896, as a member of the Venezuelan
Commission at Washington; and, in 1897, as ambassador
to Germany.  I have found many men and things which
would seem likely to draw me away from my interest in
Cornell; but, after all, that which has for nearly forty
years held, and still holds, the deepest place in my
thoughts is the university which I aided to found.

Since resigning its presidency I have, in many ways,
kept in relations with it; and as I have, at various times,
returned from abroad and walked over its grounds,
visited its buildings, and lived among its faculty and
students, an enjoyment has been mine rarely vouchsafed
to mortals.  It has been like revisiting the earth after
leaving it.  The work to which I had devoted myself for
so many years, and with more earnestness than any other
which I have ever undertaken, though at times almost
with the energy of despair, I have now seen successful
beyond my dreams.  Above all, as I have seen the crowd
of students coming and going, I have felt assured that the
work is good.  It was with this feeling that, just before I
left the university for the embassy at Berlin, I erected at
the entrance of the university grounds a gateway, on
which I placed a paraphrase of a Latin inscription noted
by me, many years before, over the main portal of the
University of Padua, as follows:

   ``So enter that daily thou mayest become more learned
        and thoughtful;
     So depart that daily thou mayest become more useful
        to thy country and to mankind.''


I often recall the saying of St. Philip Neri, who, in the
days of the Elizabethan persecutions, was wont to gaze
at the students passing out from the gates of the English
College at Rome, on their way to Great Britain,
and to say:  ``I am feasting my eyes on those martyrs
yonder.''  My own feelings are like his, but happier:  I
feast my eyes on those youths going forth from Cornell
University into this new twentieth century to see great
things that I shall never see, and to make the new time
better than the old.

During my life, which is now extending beyond the
allotted span of threescore and ten, I have been engaged
after the manner of my countrymen, in many sorts of
work, have become interested in many conditions of men
have joined in many efforts which I hope have been of
use; but, most of all, I have been interested in the founding
and maintaining of Cornell University, and by the part I
have taken in that, more than by any other work of my life
I hope to be judged.



PART V

IN THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICE


CHAPTER XXVI

AS ATTACH AT ST. PETERSBURG--1854-1855

While yet an undergraduate at Yale, my favorite
studies in history and some little attention to
international law led me to take special interest in the
diplomatic relations between modern states; but it never
occurred to me that I might have anything to do directly
with them.

Having returned to New Haven after my graduation,
intending to give myself especially to modern languages
as a preparation for travel and historical study abroad,
I saw one day, from my window in North College, my
friend Gilman, then of the class above mine, since
president of Johns Hopkins University and of the Carnegie
Institution, rushing along in great haste, and, on going out
to greet him, learned that he had been invited by Governor
Seymour of Connecticut, the newly appointed minister
to Russia, to go with him as an attach, and that, at his
suggestion, a similar invitation would be extended to me.

While in doubt on the matter, I took the train for New
York to consult my father, and, entering a car, by a happy
chance found the only vacant place at the side of the
governor.  I had never seen him, except on the platform at my
graduation, three months before; but on my introducing
myself, he spoke kindly of my argument on that occasion,
which, as he was ``pro-slavery'' and I ``anti-slavery,'' I
had supposed he would detest; then talked pleasantly on
various subjects, and, on our separating at New York,
invited me so cordially to go to Russia with him that I then
and there decided to do so, and, on meeting my father,
announced my decision.

On the 10th of December, 1853, I sailed for England, with
Gilman, and in London awaited Governor Seymour, who,
at the last moment, had decided not to leave Washington
until the Senate had confirmed his nomination; but this
delay proved to be fortunate, for thereby opportunity was
afforded me to see some interesting men, and especially
Mr. Buchanan, who had previously been minister to Russia,
was afterward President of the United States, and
was at that time minister at the court of St. James.  He
was one of the two or three best talkers I have ever known,
and my first knowledge of his qualities in this respect was
gained at a great dinner given in his honor by Mr. George
Peabody, the banker.  A day or two before, our minister
in Spain, Mr. Soul, and his son had each fought a duel,
one with the French ambassador, the Marquis de Turgot,
and the other with the Duke of Alba, on account of a
supposed want of courtesy to Mrs. Soul; and the
conversation being directed somewhat by this event, I recall
Mr. Buchanan's reminiscences of duels which he had
known during his long public life as among the most
interesting I have ever heard on any subject.

Shortly after the arrival of Governor Seymour, we went
on to Paris, and there, placing myself in the family of a
French professor, I remained, while the rest of the party
went on to St. Petersburg; my idea being to hear lectures
on history and kindred subjects, thus to fit myself by
fluency in French for service in the attachship, and,
by other knowledge, for later duties.

After staying in France for nearly a year, having
received an earnest request from Governor Seymour to
come on to Russia before the beginning of the winter, I
left Paris about the middle of October and went by way of
Berlin.  In those days there was no railroad beyond the
eastern frontier of Prussia, and, as the Crimean War was
going on, there was a blockade in force which made it
impossible to enter Russia by sea; consequently I had
seven days and seven nights of steady traveling in a post-
coach after entering the Russian Empire.

Arriving at the Russian capital on the last day of
October, 1854, I was most heartily welcomed by the minister,
who insisted that I should enjoy all the privileges of
residence with him.  Among the things to which I now
look back as of the greatest value to me, is this stay of
nearly a year under his roof.  The attachship, as it existed
in those days, was in many ways a good thing and in
no way evil; but it was afterward abolished by Congress
on the ground that certain persons had abused its privileges.
I am not alone in believing that it could again be
made of real service to the country: one of the best
secretaries of state our country has ever had, Mr. Hamilton
Fish, once expressed to me his deep regret at its suppression.

Under the system which thus prevailed at that time
young men of sufficient means, generally from the leading
universities, were secured to aid the minister, without any
cost to the government, their only remuneration being an
opportunity to see the life and study the institutions of
the country to which the minister was accredited.

The duty of an attach was to assist the minister in
securing information, in conducting correspondence, and
in carrying on the legation generally; he was virtually an
additional secretary of legation, and it was a part of my
duty to act as interpreter.  As such I was constantly called
to accompany the minister in his conferences with his
colleagues as well as with the ministers of the Russian
government, and also to be present at court and at ceremonial
interviews: this was of course very interesting to me.  In
the intervals of various duties my time was given largely
to studying such works upon Russia and especially upon
Russian history as were accessible, and the recent history
was all the more interesting from the fact that some of
the men who had taken a leading part in it were still upon
the stage.  One occasion especially comes back to me
when, finding myself at an official function near an old
general who was allowed to sit while all the others stood,
I learned that he was one of the few still surviving who
had taken a leading part in the operations against Napoleon,
in 1812, at Moscow.

It was the period of the Crimean War, and at our legation
there were excellent opportunities for observing not
only society at large, but the struggle then going on
between Russia on one side, and Great Britain, France,
Italy, and Turkey on the other.

The main duties of the American representative were to
keep his own government well informed, to guard the
interests of his countrymen, and not only to maintain, but
to develop, the friendly relations that had existed for
many years between Russia and the United States.  A
succession of able American ministers had contributed to
establish these relations: among them two who afterward
became President of the United States--John Quincy
Adams and James Buchanan, George Mifflin Dallas, who
afterward became Vice-President; John Randolph of Roanoke;
and a number of others hardly less important in
the history of our country.  Fortunately, the two nations
were naturally inclined to peaceful relations; neither had
any interest antagonistic to the other, and under these
circumstances the course of the minister was plain: it was
to keep his government out of all entanglements, and at
the same time to draw the two countries more closely
together.  This our minister at that time was very successful
in doing: his relations with the leading Russians,
from the Emperor down, were all that could be desired,
and to the work of men like him is largely due the fact
that afterward, in our great emergency during the Civil
War, Russia showed an inclination to us that probably had
something to do with holding back the powers of western
Europe from recognizing the Southern Confederacy.

To the feeling thus created is also due, in some measure,
the transfer of Alaska, which has proved fortunate, in
spite of our halting and unsatisfactory administration of
that region thus far.

The Czar at that period, Nicholas I, was a most
imposing personage, and was generally considered the most
perfect specimen of a human being, physically speaking,
in all Europe.  At court, in the vast rooms filled with
representatives from all parts of the world, and at the
great reviews of his troops, he loomed up majestically,
and among the things most strongly impressed upon
my memory is his appearance as I saw him, just before
his death, driving in his sledge and giving the military
salute.

Nor was he less majestic in death.  In the spring of 1855
he yielded very suddenly to an attack of pneumonia,
doubtless rendered fatal by the depression due to the ill
success of the war into which he had rashly plunged;
and a day or two afterward it was made my duty to attend,
with our minister, at the Winter Palace, the first
presentation of the diplomatic corps to the new Emperor,
Alexander II.  The scene was impressive.  The foreign
ministers having been arranged in a semicircle, with their
secretaries and attachs beside them, the great doors were
flung open, and the young Emperor, conducted by his
Minister of Foreign Affairs, Count Nesselrode, entered
the room.  Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he
gave his address with deep feeling.  He declared that if
the Holy Alliance made in 1815 had been broken, it was
not the fault of Russia; that though he longed for peace,
if terms should be insisted upon by the Western powers, at
the approaching Paris conference, incompatible with Russian
honor, he would put himself at the head of his faithful
country,--would retreat into Siberia,--would die rather
than yield.

Then occurred an incident especially striking.  From
Austria, which only seven years before had been saved by
Russia from destruction in the Austro-Hungarian revolution,
Russia had expected, in ordinary gratitude, at least
some show of neutrality.  But it had become evident that
gratitude had not prevented Austria from secretly joining
the hostile nations; therefore it was that, in the course of
the address, the Emperor, turning to the Austrian
representative, Count Esterhazy, addressed him with the
greatest severity, hinted at the ingratitude of his government,
and insisted on Russia's right to a different return.
During all this part of the address the Emperor Alexander
fastened his eyes upon those of the Austrian minister and
spoke in a manner much like that which the head of a
school would use toward a school-boy caught in misdoing.
At the close of this speech came the most perfect example
of deportment I had ever seen: the Austrian minister,
having looked the Czar full in the face, from first to last,
without the slightest trace of feeling, bowed solemnly,
respectfully, with the utmost deliberation, and then stood
impassive, as if words had not been spoken destined to
change the traditional relations between the two great
neighboring powers, and to produce a bitterness which,
having lasted through the latter half of the nineteenth
century, bids fair to continue far into the twentieth.

Knowing the importance of this speech as an indication
to our government of what was likely to be the course of
the Emperor, I determined to retain it in my mind; and,
although my verbal memory has never been retentive, I
was able, on returning to our legation, to write the whole
of it, word for word.  In the form thus given, it was
transmitted to our State Department, where, a few years
since, when looking over sundry papers, I found it.

Immediately after this presentation the diplomatic
corps proceeded to the room in which the body of Nicholas
lay in state.  Heaped up about the coffin were the jeweled
crosses and orders which had been sent him by the various
monarchs of the world, and, in the midst of them, the
crowns and scepters of all the countries he had ruled,
among them those of Siberia, Astrakhan, Kazan, Poland,
the Crimea, and, above all, the great crown and scepter of
the empire.  At his feet two monks were repeating prayers
for the dead; his face and form were still as noble and
unconquerable as ever.

His funeral dwells in my memory as the most imposing
pageant I had ever seen.  When his body was carried from
the palace to the Fortress Church, it was borne between
double lines of troops standing closely together on each
side of the avenues for a distance of five miles; marshals
of the empire carried the lesser crowns and imperial
insignia before his body; and finally were borne the great
imperial crown, orb, and scepter, the masses of jewels in
them, and especially the Orloff diamond swinging in the
top of the scepter, flashing forth vividly on that bright
winter morning, and casting their rays far along the
avenues.  Behind the body walked the Emperor Alexander
and the male members of the imperial family.

Later came the burial in the Fortress Church of St.
Peter and St. Paul, on the island of the Neva, nearly
opposite the Winter Palace.  That, too, was most imposing.
Choirs had been assembled from the four great cathedrals
of the empire, and their music was beyond dreams.  At
the proper point in the service, the Emperor and his
brothers, having taken the body of their father from its
coffin and wrapped it in a shroud of gold cloth, carried it
to the grave near that of Peter the Great, at the right of
the high altar; and, as it was laid to rest, and beautiful
music rose above us, the guns of the fortress on all sides
of the church sounded the battle-roll until the whole
edifice seemed to rock upon its foundations.  Never had I
imagined a scene so impressive.

Among the persons with whom it was my duty to deal,
in behalf of our representative, was the Prime Minister of
Russia,--the Minister of Foreign Affairs,--Count Nesselrode.
He was at that period the most noted diplomatist
in the world; for, having been associated with Talleyrand,
Metternich, and their compeers at the Congress of Vienna,
he was now the last of the great diplomatists of the
Napoleonic period.  He received me most kindly and said, ``So
you are beginning a diplomatic career?''  My answer was
that I could not begin it more fitly than by making the
acquaintance of the Nestor of diplomacy, or words to that
effect, and these words seemed to please him.  Whenever
he met me afterward his manner was cordial, and he
seemed always ready to do all in his power to favor the
best relations between the two countries.

The American colony in Russia at that period was
small, and visitors were few; but some of these enlivened
us.  Of the more interesting were Colonel Samuel Colt of
Hartford, inventor of the revolver which bears his name,
and his companion, Mr. Dickerson, eminent as an expert
in mechanical matters and an authority on the law of
patents.  They had come into the empire in the hope of
making a contract to supply the Russians with improved
arms such as the allies were beginning to use against them
in the Crimea; but the heavy conservatism of Russian
officials thwarted all their efforts.  To all representations
as to the importance of improved arms the answer was,
``Our soldiers are too ignorant to use anything but the
old `brown Bess.' ''  The result was that the Russian
soldiers were sacrificed by thousands; their inferiority
in arms being one main cause of their final defeat.

That something better than this might have been
expected was made evident to us all one day when I
conducted these gentlemen through the Imperial Museum of
the Hermitage, adjoining the Winter Palace.  After looking
through the art collections we went into the room
where were preserved the relics of Peter the Great, and
especially the machines of various sorts made for him by
the mechanics whom he called to his aid from Holland and
other Western countries.  These machines were not then
shut up in cases, as they now are, but were placed about
the room and easy of access.  Presently I heard Mr. Dickerson
in a loud voice call out:  ``Good God!  Sam, come
here!  Only look at this!''  On our going to him, he
pointed out to us a lathe for turning irregular forms and
another for copying reliefs, with specimens of work still
in them.  ``Look at that,'' he said.  ``Here is Blanchard's
turning-lathe, which only recently has been reinvented,
which our government uses in turning musket-stocks, and
which is worth a fortune.  Look at those reliefs in this
other machine; here is the very lathe for copying sculpture
that has just been reinvented, and is now attracting so
much attention at Paris.''

These machines had stood there in the gallery, open to
everybody, ever since the death of Peter, two hundred
years before, and no human being had apparently ever
taken the trouble to find the value of them.

But there came Americans of a very different sort, and
no inconsiderable part of our minister's duties was to keep
his hot-headed fellow-citizens from embroiling our country
with the militant powers.

A very considerable party in the United States leaned
toward Russia and sought to aid her secretly, if not
openly.  This feeling was strongest in our Southern States
and among the sympathizers with slavery in our Northern
States, a main agent of it in St. Petersburg being Dr.
Cottman of New Orleans, and its main causes being the
old dislike of Great Britain, and the idea among pro-slavery
fanatics that there was a tie between their part of
our country and Russia arising from the fact that while
the American Republic was blessed with slavery, the
Russian Empire was enjoying the advantages of the serf
system.  This feeling might have been very different had
these sympathizers with Russia been aware that at this
very moment Alexander II was planning to abolish the
serf system throughout his whole empire; but as it was,
their admiration for Russia knew no bounds, and they
even persuaded leading Russians that it would not be a
difficult matter to commit America to the cause of Russia,
even to aiding her with arms, men, and privateers.

This made the duty of the American minister at times
very delicate; for, while showing friendliness to Russia,
he had to thwart the efforts of her over-zealous American
advocates.  Moreover, constant thought had to be exercised
for the protection of American citizens then within
the empire.  Certain Russian agents had induced a number
of young American physicians and surgeons who had
been studying in Paris to enter the Russian army, and
these, having been given pay and rapid advancement, in
the hope that this would strengthen American feeling
favorable to the Russian cause, were naturally hated by
the Russian surgeons; hence many of these young
compatriots of ours were badly treated,--some so severely
that they died,--and it became part of our minister's duty
to extricate the survivors from their unfortunate position.
More than once, on returning with him from an interview
with the Minister of War, I saw tears in Governor
Seymour's eyes as he dwelt upon the death of some of these
young fellows whom he had learned to love during their
stay in St. Petersburg.

The war brought out many American adventurers, some
of them curiosities of civilization, and this was especially
the case with several who had plans for securing victory
to Russia over the Western powers.  All sorts of nostrums
were brought in by all sorts of charlatans, and the efforts
of the minister and his subordinates to keep these gentlemen
within the limits of propriety in their dealings with
one another and with the Russian authorities were at
times very arduous.  On one occasion, the main functionaries
of the Russian army having been assembled with
great difficulty to see the test of a new American invention
in artillery, it was found that the inventor's rival had
stolen some essential part of the gun, and the whole thing
was a vexatious failure.

One man who came out with superb plans brought a
militia colonel's commission from the governor of a Western
State and the full uniform of a major-general.  At
first he hesitated to clothe himself in all his glory, and
therefore went through a process of evolution, beginning
first with part of his uniform and then adding more as
his courage rose.  During this process he became the
standing joke of St. Petersburg; but later, when he had
emerged in full and final splendor, he became a man of
mark indeed, so much so that serious difficulties arose.
Throughout the city are various corps de garde, and the
sentinel on duty before each of these, while allowed merely
to present arms to an officer of lower rank, must, whenever
he catches sight of a general officer, call out the entire
guard to present arms with the beating of drums.  Here
our American was a source of much difficulty, for whenever
any sentinel caught sight of his gorgeous epaulets in
the distance the guard was instantly called out, arms
presented, and drums beaten, much to the delight of our
friend, but even more to the disgust of the generals of the
Russian army and to the troops, who thus rendered absurd
homage and found themselves taking part in something
like a bit of comic opera.

Another example was also interesting.  A New York
ward leader--big, rough, and rosy--had come out as an
agent for an American breech-loading musket company,
and had smuggled specimens of arms over the frontier.
Arriving in St. Petersburg, he was presented to the
Emperor, and after receiving handsome testimonials, was put
in charge of two aides-de-camp, who took him and his
wife about, in court carriages, to see the sights of the
Russian capital.  At the close of his stay, wishing to make
some return for this courtesy, he gave these two officers
a dinner at his hotel.  Our minister declined his invitation,
but allowed the secretary and me to accept it, and
we very gladly availed ourselves of this permission.
Arriving at his rooms, we were soon seated at a table
splendidly furnished.  At the head of it was the wife of our
entertainer, and at her right one of the Russian officials,
in gorgeous uniform; at the other end of our table was
our host, and at his right the other Russian official, splendidly
attired; beside the first official sat our secretary, and
beside the other was the place assigned to me.  The dinner
was successful: all spoke English, and all were happy;
but toward the end of it our host, having perhaps taken
more wine than was his wont, grew communicative, and, as
ill luck would have it, the subject of the conversation
became personal courage, whereupon he told a story.  Recalling
his experience as a deputy sheriff of New York, he
said:

``When those river pirates who murdered a sailor in
New York harbor had to be hanged, the sheriff of the
county hadn't the courage to do it and ordered me to
hang them.  I rather hated the business, but I made everything
ready, and when the time came I took an extra glass
of brandy, cut the rope, and off they swung.''

The two Russians started back in consternation.  Not
all their politeness could conceal it: horror of horrors,
they were dining with a hangman!  Besides their sense
of degradation in this companionship, superstitions had
been bred in them which doubled their distress.  A dead
silence fell over all.  I was the first to break it by
remarking to my Russian neighbor:

``You may perhaps not know, sir, that in the State of
New York the taking of life by due process of law is
considered so solemn a matter that we intrust it to the
chief executive officers of our counties,--to our sheriffs,--
and not to hangmen or executioners.''

He looked at me very solemnly as I announced this
truth, and then, after a solemn pause, gasped out in a
dubious, awe-struck voice, ``Merci bien, monsieur.''  But
this did not restore gaiety to the dinner.  Henceforth it
was cold indeed, and at the earliest moment possible the
Russian officials bowed themselves out, and no doubt, for
a long time afterward, ascribed any ill luck which befell
them to this scene of ill omen.

Another case in which this irrepressible compatriot
figured was hardly less peculiar.  Having decided to
return to America, and the blockade being still in force, he
secured a place in the post-coach for the seven days and
seven nights' journey to the frontier.  The opportunities
to secure such passages were few and far between, since
this was virtually the only public conveyance out of the
empire.  As he was obliged to have his passport visd
at the Russian Foreign Office in order that he might leave
the country, it had been sent by the legation to the Russian
authorities a fortnight before his departure, but
under various pretexts it was retained, and at last did not
arrive in time.  When the hour of departure came he was
at the post-house waiting for his pass, and as he had been
assured that it would duly reach him, he exerted himself
in every way to delay the coach.  He bribed one subordinate
after another; but at last the delay was so long and
the other passengers so impatient that one of the higher
officials appeared upon the scene and ordered the coach to
start.  At this our American was wild with rage and
began a speech in German and English--so that all the
officials might understand it--on Russian officials and on
the empire in general.  A large audience having gathered
around him, he was ordered to remove his hat.  At this
he held it on all the more firmly, declared himself an
American, and defied the whole power of the empire to
remove it.  He then went on to denounce everything in
Russia, from the Emperor down.  He declared that the
officials were a pack of scoundrels; that the only reason
why he did not obtain his passport was that he had not
bribed them as highly as they expected; that the empire
ought to be abolished; that he hoped the Western powers
in the war then going on would finish it--indeed, that he
thought they would.

There was probably some truth in his remark as to the
inadequate bribing of officials; but the amazing thing was
that his audience were so paralyzed by his utterances and
so overawed by his attitude that they made no effort to
arrest him.  Then came a new scene.  While they were
standing before him thus confounded, he suddenly turned
to the basket of provisions which he had laid in for his
seven days' journey, and began pelting his audience,
including the official above named, with its contents,
hurling sandwiches, oranges, and finally even roast chickens,
pigeons, and partridges, at their devoted heads.  At
last, pressing his hat firmly over his brows, he strode
forth to the legation unmolested.  There it took some
labor to cool his wrath; but his passport having finally
been obtained, we secured for him permission to use post-
horses, and so he departed from the empire.

To steer a proper course in the midst of such fellow-
citizens was often difficult, and I recall multitudes of other
examples hardly less troublesome; indeed, the career of
this same deputy sheriff at St. Petersburg was full of
other passages requiring careful diplomatic intervention
to prevent his arrest.

Luckily for these gentlemen, the Russian government
felt, just at that time, special need of maintaining friendly
relations with the powers not at war with her, and the
public functionaries of all sorts were evidently ordered
to treat Americans with extreme courtesy and forbearance.

One experience of this was somewhat curious.  Our first
secretary of legation and I, having gone on Easter eve to
the midnight mass at the Kazan cathedral, we were shown
at once into a place of honor in front of the great silver
iconostase and stationed immediately before one of the
doors opening through it into the inner sanctuary.  At
first the service went on in darkness, only mitigated by
a few tapers at the high altar; but as the clock struck the
hour of midnight there came suddenly the roaring of the
fortress guns, the booming of great bells above and
around us, and a light, which appeared at the opposite
end of the cathedral, seemed to shoot in all directions,
leaving trains of fire, until all was ablaze, every person
present holding a lighted taper.  Then came the mass,
celebrated by a bishop and his acolytes gorgeously
attired, with the swinging of censers, not only toward the
ecclesiastics, but toward the persons of importance present,
among whom we were evidently included.  Suddenly
there came a dead stop, stillness, and an evident
atmosphere of embarrassment.  Then the ceremony began again,
and again the censers were swung toward us, and again
a dead stop.  Everything seemed paralyzed.  Presently
there came softly to my side a gentleman who said in a
low tone, ``You are of the American legation?''  I
answered in the affirmative.  He said, ``This is a very
interesting ceremony.''  To this I also assented.  He then said,
``Is this the first time you have seen it?''  ``Yes,'' I
answered; ``we have never been in Russia at Easter before.''
He then took very formal leave, and again the ceremony
was revived, again the clouds of incense rose, and again
came the dead stop.  Presently the same gentleman came
up again, gently repeated very much the same questions
as before, and receiving the same answers, finally said,
with some embarrassment:  ``Might I ask you to kindly
move aside a little?  A procession has been waiting for
some time back of this door, and we are very anxious to
have it come out into the church.''  At this Secretary
Erving and I started aside instantly, much chagrined to
think that we had caused such a stoppage in such a ceremony;
the doors swung open, and out came a brilliant
procession of ecclesiastics with crosses, censers, lights, and
banners.

Not all of our troubles were due to our compatriots.
Household matters sometimes gave serious annoyance.
The minister had embraced a chance very rare in Russia,
--one which, in fact, almost never occurs,--and had
secured a large house fully furnished, with the servants,
who, from the big chasseur who stood at the back of the
minister's sledge to the boy who blew the organ on which
I practised, were serfs, and all, without exception, docile,
gentle, and kindly.  But there was one standing enemy
--vodka.  The feeling of the Russian peasant toward the
rough corn-brandy of his own country is characteristic.
The Russian language is full of diminutives expressive
of affection.  The peasant addresses his superior as
Batushka, the affectionate diminutive of the word which
means father; he addresses the mistress of the house as
Matushka, which is the affectionate diminutive of the
Russian word for mother.  To his favorite drink, brandy, he
has given the name which is the affectionate diminutive
of the word voda, water--namely, vodka, which really
means ``dear little water.''  Vodka was indeed our most
insidious foe, and gave many evidences of its power; but
one of them made an unwonted stir among us.

One day the minister, returning in his carriage from
making sundry official visits, summoned the housekeeper,
a Baltic-province woman who had been admirably brought
up in an English family, and said to her:  `` Annette I insist
that you discharge Ivan, the coachman, at once; I can't
stand him any longer.  This afternoon he raced, with me in
the carriage, up and down the Nevsky, from end to end, with
the carriages of grand dukes and ministers, and, do my
best, I could not stop him.  He simply looked back at me,
grinned like an idiot, and drove on with all his might.
It is the third time he has done this.  I have pardoned
him twice on his solemn pledge that he would do better;
but now he must go.''  Annette assented, and in the evening
after dinner came in to tell the minister that Ivan was
going, but wished to beg his pardon and say farewell.

The minister went out rather reluctantly, the rest of us
following; but he had hardly reached the anteroom when
Ivan, a great burly creature with a long flowing beard and
caftan, rushed forward, groveled before him, embraced
his ankles, laid his head upon his feet, and there remained
mumbling and moaning.  The minister was greatly
embarrassed and nervously ejaculated:  ``Take him away!
Take him away!''  But all to no purpose.  Ivan could
not be induced to relax his hold.  At last the minister
relented and told Annette to inform Ivan that he would
receive just one more trial, and that if he failed again he
would be sent away to his owner without having any
opportunity to apologize or to say good-bye.

Very interesting to me were the houses of some of the
British residents, and especially that of Mr. Baird, the
head of the iron-works which bore his name, and which,
at that time, were considered among the wonders of Russia.
He was an interesting character.  Noticing, among
the three very large and handsome vases in his dining-
room, the middle one made up of the bodies of three
large eagles in oxidized silver with crowns of gold,
I was told its history.  When the Grand Duke Alexander
--who afterward became the second emperor of that
name--announced his intention of joining the St. Petersburg
Yacht Club, a plan was immediately formed to
provide a magnificent trophy and allow him to win it,
and to this plan all the members of the club agreed except
Baird.  He at once said:  ``No; if the grand duke's yacht
can take it, let him have it; if not, let the best yacht win.
If I can take it, I shall.''  It was hoped that he would think
better of it, but when the day arrived, the other yachts
having gradually fallen back, Mr. Baird continued the
race with the grand duke and won.  As a result he was
for some years in disfavor with the high officials
surrounding the Emperor--a disfavor that no doubt cost
him vast sums; but he always asserted that he was glad
he had insisted on his right.

On one occasion I was witness to a sad faux pas at his
dinner-table.  It was in the early days of the Crimean
War, and an American gentleman who was present was
so careless as to refer to Queen Victoria's proclamation
against all who aided the enemy, which was clearly leveled
at Mr. Baird and his iron-works.  There was a scene at
once.  The ladies almost went into hysterics in deprecation
of the position in which the proclamation had placed
them.  But Mr. Baird himself was quite equal to the
occasion: in a very up-and-down way he said that he of
course regretted being regarded as a traitor to his country,
but that in the time of the alliance against the first
Napoleon his father had been induced by the Russian
government to establish works, and this not merely with the
consent, but with the warm approval, of the British
government; in consequence the establishment had taken
contracts with the Russian government and now they must be
executed; so far as he was concerned his conscience was
entirely clear; his duty was plain, and he was going to
do it.

On another occasion at his table there was a very good
repartee.  The subject of spiritualism having been brought
up, some one told a story of a person who, having gone
into an unfrequented garret of an old family residence,
found that all the old clothing which had been stored there
during many generations had descended from the shelves
and hooks and had assumed kneeling postures about the
floor.  All of us heard the story with much solemnity,
when good old Dr. Law, chaplain of the British church,
broke the silence with the words, ``That must have been
a family of very PIOUS HABITS.''  This of course broke the
spell.

I should be sorry to have it thought that all my stay
in the Russian capital was given up to official routine and
social futilities.  Fortunately for me, the social demands
were not very heavy.  The war in the Crimea, steadily
going against Russia, threw a cloud over the court and
city and reduced the number of entertainments to a
minimum.  This secured me, during the long winter evenings,
much time for reading, and in addition to all the valuable
treatises I could find on Russia, I went with care through
an extensive course in modern history.

As to Russian matters, it was my good fortune to become
intimately acquainted with Atkinson, the British
traveler in Siberia.  He had brought back many portfolios
of sketches, and his charming wife had treasured up a
great fund of anecdotes of people and adventure, so that
I seemed for a time to know Siberia as if I had lived there.
Then it was that I learned of the beauties and capabilities
of its southern provinces.  The Atkinsons had also
brought back their only child, a son born on the Siberian
steppe, a wonderfully bright youngster, whom they destined
for the British navy.  He bore a name which I fear
may at times have proved a burden to him, for his father
and mother were so delighted with the place in which he
was born that they called him, after it, ``Alatow-Tam
Chiboulak.''[10]


[10] Since writing the above, I have had the pleasure of
receiving a letter from this gentleman, who has for some time
held the responsible and interesting position of superintendent
of public instruction in the Hawaiian Islands, his son, a
graduate of the University of Michigan, having been Secretary
of the Territory.



The general Russian life, as I thus saw it, while intensely
interesting in many respects, was certainly not cheerful.
Despite the frivolity dominant among the upper class and
the fetishism controlling the lower classes, there was,
especially in that period of calamity, a deep undertone of
melancholy.  Melancholy, indeed, is a marked characteristic
of Russia, and, above all, of the peasantry.  They
seem sad even in their sports; their songs, almost without
exception, are in the minor key; the whole atmosphere is
apparently charged with vague dread of some calamity.
Despite the suppression of most of the foreign journals,
and the blotting out of page after page of the newspapers
allowed to enter the empire, despite all that the secret
police could do in repressing unfavorable comment, it
became generally known that all was going wrong in the
Crimea.  News came of reverse after reverse: of the
defeats of the Alma and Inkerman, and, as a climax, the loss
of Sebastopol and the destruction of the Russian fleet.  In
the midst of it all, as is ever the case in Russian wars,
came utter collapse in the commissariat department;
everywhere one heard hints and finally detailed stories
of scoundrelism in high places: of money which ought to
have been appropriated to army supplies, but which had
been expended at the gambling-tables of Homburg or in
the Breda quarter at Paris.

Then it was that there was borne in upon me the conviction
that Russia, powerful as she seems when viewed from
the outside, is anything but strong when viewed from the
inside.  To say nothing of the thousand evident weaknesses
resulting from autocracy,--the theory that one man, and
he, generally, not one of the most highly endowed, can do
the thinking for a hundred millions of people,--there was
nowhere the slightest sign of any uprising of a great nation,
as, for instance, of the French against Europe in
1792, of the Germans against France in 1813 and in 1870,
of Italy against Austria in 1859 and afterward, and of the
Americans in the Civil War of 1861.  There were certainly
many noble characters in Russia, and these must
have felt deeply the condition of things; but there being
no great middle class, and the lower class having been
long kept in besotted ignorance, there seemed to be no
force on which patriotism could take hold.



CHAPTER XXVII

AS ATTACH AND BEARER OF DESPATCHES
IN WAR-TIME--1855

The spring of 1855 was made interesting by the arrival
of the blockading fleet before the mouth of the
Neva, and shortly afterward I went down to look at it.
It was a most imposing sight: long lines of mighty three-
deckers of the old pattern, British and French,--one
hundred in all,--stretched across the Gulf of Finland in front
of the fortresses of Cronstadt.  Behind the fortresses lay
the Russian fleet, helpless and abject; and yet, as events
showed during our own Civil War half a dozen years
later, a very slight degree of inventive ability would have
enabled the Russians to annihilate the hostile fleet, and to
gain the most prodigious naval victory of modern times.
Had they simply taken one or two of their own great
ships to the Baird iron-works hard by, and plated them
with railway iron, of which there was plenty, they could
have paralleled the destruction of our old wooden frigates
at Norfolk by the Merrimac, but on a vastly greater
scale.  Yet this simple expedient occurred to no one; and
the allied fleet, under Sir Richard Dundas, bade defiance
to the Russian power during the whole summer.

The Russians looked more philosophically upon the
blockade than upon their reverses in the Crimea, but they
acted much like the small boy who takes revenge on the
big boy by making faces at him.  Some of their caricatures
on their enemies were very clever.  Fortunately for
such artistic efforts, the British had given them a fine
opportunity during the previous year, when Sir Charles
Napier, the commander of the Baltic fleet, having made
a boastful speech at a public dinner in London, and
invited his hearers to dine with him at St. Petersburg, had
returned to England, after a summer before Cronstadt,
without even a glimpse of the Russian capital.

I am the possessor of a very large collection of
historical caricatures of all nations, and among them all
there is hardly one more spirited and comical than that
which represents Sir Charles at the masthead of one of
his frigates, seeking, through a spy-glass, to get a sight at
the domes and spires of St. Petersburg: not even the best
efforts of Gillray or ``H. B.,'' or Gavarni or Daumier, or
the brightest things in ``Punch'' or ``Kladderadatsch''
surpass it.

Some other Russian efforts at keeping up public
spirit were less legitimate.  Popular pictures of a rude
sort were circulated in vast numbers among the peasants,
representing British and French soldiers desecrating
churches, plundering monasteries, and murdering priests.

Near the close of my stay I made a visit, in company
with Mr. Erving, first secretary of the legation, to
Moscow,--the journey, which now requires but twelve hours,
then consuming twenty-four; and a trying journey it was,
since there was no provision for sleeping.

The old Russian capital, and, above all, the Kremlin,
interested me greatly; but, of all the vast collections in
the Kremlin, two things especially arrested my attention.
The first was a statue,--the only statue in all those vast
halls,--and there seemed a wondrous poetic justice in the
fact that it represented the first Napoleon.  The other
thing was an evidence of the feeling of the Emperor
Nicholas toward Poland.  In one of the large rooms was
a full-length portrait of Nicholas's elder brother and
immediate predecessor, Alexander I; flung on the floor at
his feet was the constitution of Poland, which he had
given, and which Nicholas, after fearful bloodshed, had
taken away; and lying near was the Polish scepter broken
in the middle.

A visit to the Sparrow Hills, from which Napoleon
first saw Moscow and the Kremlin, was also interesting;
but the city itself, though picturesque, disappointed me.
Everywhere were filth, squalor, beggary, and fetishism.
Evidences of official stupidity were many.  In one of the
Kremlin towers a catastrophe had occurred on the occasion
of the Emperor's funeral, a day or two before our
arrival: some thirty men had been ringing one of the
enormous bells, when it broke loose from its rotten
fastenings and crashed down into the midst of the ringers,
killing several.  Sad reminders of this slaughter were
shown us; it was clearly the result of gross neglect.

Another revelation of Russian officialism was there
vouchsafed us.  Wishing to send a very simple message
to our minister at St. Petersburg, we went to the
telegraph office and handed it to the clerk in charge.
Putting on an air of great importance, he began a long
inquisitorial process, insisting on knowing our full names,
whence we had come, where we were going, how long we
were staying, why we were sending the message, etc., etc.;
and when he had evidently asked all the questions he
could think of, he gravely informed us that our message
could not be sent until the head of the office had given his
approval.  On our asking where the head of the office
was, he pointed out a stout gentleman in military uniform
seated near the stove in the further corner of the room,
reading a newspaper; and, on our requesting him to notify
this superior being, he answered that he could not thus
interrupt him; that we could see that he was busy.  At
this Erving lost his temper, caught up the paper, tore it
in pieces, threw them into the face of the underling with
a loud exclamation more vigorous than pious, and we
marched out defiantly.  Looking back when driving off
in our droshky, we saw that he had aroused the entire
establishment: at the door stood the whole personnel of the
office,--the military commander at the head,--all gazing
at us in a sort of stupefaction.  We expected to hear from
them afterward, but on reflection they evidently thought
it best not to stir the matter.

In reviewing this first of my sojourns in Russia, my
thoughts naturally dwell upon the two sovereigns Nicholas
I and Alexander II.  The first of these was a great
man scared out of greatness by the ever recurring specter
of the French Revolution.  There had been much to make
him a stern reactionary.  He could not but remember that
two Czars--his father and grandfather--had both been
murdered in obedience to family necessities.  At his
proclamation as emperor he had been welcomed by a revolt
which had forced him

   ``To wade through slaughter to a throne--''

a revolt which had deluged the great parade-ground of
St. Petersburg with the blood of his best soldiers, which
had sent many coffles of the nobility to Siberia, and which
had obliged him to see the bodies of several men who
might have made his reign illustrious dangling from the
fortress walls opposite the Winter Palace.  He had been
obliged to grapple with a fearful insurrection in Poland,
caused partly by the brutality of his satraps, but mainly
by religious hatreds; to suppress it with enormous carnage;
and to substitute, for the moderate constitutional
liberty which his brother had granted, a cruel despotism.
He had thus become the fanatical apostle of reaction
throughout Europe, and as such was everywhere the
implacable enemy of any evolution of constitutional liberty.
The despots of Europe adored him.  As symbols of his
ideals, he had given to the King of Prussia and to the
Neapolitan Bourbon copies of two of the statues which
adorned his Nevsky bridge--statues representing restive
horses restrained by strong men; and the Berlin populace,
with an unerring instinct, had given to one of these the
name ``Progress checked,'' and to the other the name
``Retrogression encouraged.''  To this day one sees every-
where in the palaces of Continental rulers, whether great
or petty, his columns of Siberian porphyry, jasper bowls,
or malachite vases--signs of his approval of reaction.

But, in justice to him, it should be said that there was
one crime he did not commit--a crime, indeed, which he
did not DARE commit: he did not violate his oath to
maintain the liberties of Finland.  THAT was reserved for the
second Nicholas, now on the Russian throne.

Whether at the great assemblages of the Winter Palace,
or at the reviews, or simply driving in his sledge or walking
in the street, he overawed all men by his presence.  Whenever
I saw him, and never more cogently than during that
last drive of his just before his death, there was forced
to my lips the thought:  ``You are the most majestic being
ever created.''  Colossal in stature; with a face such as
one finds on a Greek coin, but overcast with a shadow of
Muscovite melancholy; with a bearing dignified, but with
a manner not unkind, he bore himself like a god.  And
yet no man could be more simple or affable, whether in
his palace or in the street.  Those were the days when a
Russian Czar could drive or walk alone in every part of
every city in his empire.  He frequently took exercise in
walking along the Neva quay, and enjoyed talking with
any friends he met--especially with members of the
diplomatic corps.  The published letters of an American
minister--Mr. Dallas--give accounts of many discussions
thus held with him.

There seemed a most characteristic mingling of his better
and worse qualities in the two promises which, according
to tradition, he exacted on his death-bed from his son
--namely, that he would free the serfs, and that he would
never give a constitution to Poland.

The accession of this son, Alexander II, brought a
change at once: we all felt it.  While he had the big Romanoff
frame and beauty and dignity, he had less of the
majesty and none of the implacable sternness of his father.
At the reception of the diplomatic corps on his accession
he showed this abundantly; for, despite the strong
declarations in his speech, his tears betrayed him.  Reforms
began at once--halting, indeed, but all tending in the right
direction.  How they were developed, and how so largely
brought to naught, the world knows by heart.  Of all the
ghastly miscalculations ever made, of all the crimes which
have cost the earth most dear, his murder was the worst.
The murders of William of Orange, of Lincoln, of Garfield,
of Carnot, of Humbert I, did not stop the course of
a beneficent evolution; but the murder of Alexander II
threw Russia back into the hands of a reaction worse than
any ever before known, which has now lasted nearly a
generation, and which bids fair to continue for many
more, unless the Russian reverses in the present war
force on a better order of things.  For me, looking
back upon those days, it is hard to imagine even the
craziest of nihilists or anarchists wild enough to commit
such a crime against so attractive a man fully embarked
on so blessed a career.  He, too, in the days of my stay,
was wont to mingle freely with his people; he even went
to their places of public amusement, and he was
frequently to be seen walking among them on the quays and
elsewhere.  In my reminiscences of the Hague Conference,
I give from the lips of Prince Munster an account of a
conversation under such circumstances: the Czar walking
on the quay or resting on a seat by the roadside, while
planning to right a wrong done by a petty Russian official
to a German student.  Therein appears not only a deep
sense of justice and humanity, but that melancholy, so
truly Russian, which was deepest in him and in his uncle,
the first Alexander.  There dwell also in my memory
certain photographs of him in his last days, shown me
not long before his death, during my first official stay at
Berlin.  His face was beautiful as of old, but the melancholy
had deepened, and the eyes made a fearful revelation;
for they were the eyes of a man who for years had
known himself to be hunted.  As I looked at them there
came back to me the remembrance of the great, beautiful
frightened eyes of a deer, hunted down and finally at my
mercy, in the midst of a lake in the Adirondacks--eyes
which haunted me long afterward.  And there comes back
the scene at the funeral ceremony in his honor at Berlin,
coincident with that at St. Petersburg--his uncle, the
Emperor William I, and all about him, in tears, and a
depth of real feeling shown such as no monarch of a
coarser fiber could have inspired.  When one reflects that
he had given his countrymen, among a great mass of
minor reforms, trial by jury; the emancipation of twenty
millions of serfs, with provision for homesteads; and had
at that moment--as his adviser, Loris Melikoff, confessed
when dying--a constitution ready for his people, one feels
inclined to curse those who take the methods of revolution
rather than those of evolution.

My departure from Russia embraces one or two incidents
which may throw some light upon the Russian
civilization of that period.  On account of the blockade, I
was obliged to take the post from St. Petersburg to Warsaw,
giving to the journey seven days and seven nights of
steady travel; and, as the pressure for places on the post
was very great, I was obliged to secure mine several weeks
beforehand, and then thought myself especially lucky in
obtaining a sort of sentry-box on the roof of the second
coach usually occupied by the guard.  This good luck was
due to the fact that, there being on that day two coaches,
one guard served for both; and the place on the second
was thus left vacant for me.

Day and night, then, during that whole week, we
rumbled on through the interminable forests of Poland, and
the distressingly dirty hamlets and towns scattered along
the road.  My first night out was trying, for it was very
cold; but, having secured from a dealer in the first
town where we stopped in the morning a large sheet of
felt, I wrapped my legs in it, and thenceforward was
comfortable.  My companions in the two post-coaches
were very lively, being mainly French actors and actresses
who had just finished their winter campaign in Russia;
and, when we changed horses at the post-houses, the scenes
were of a sort which an American orator once characterized
as ``halcyon and vociferous.''

Bearing a despatch-bag to our legation at Paris, I
carried the pass, not only of an attach, but of a bearer of
despatches, and on my departure our minister said to me:

``The Russian officials at the frontier have given much
trouble to Americans of late; and I hope that if they
trouble you, you will simply stop and inform me.  You
are traveling for pleasure and information, and a few days
more or less will make little difference.''  On arriving at
the frontier, I gave up my papers to the passport officials,
and was then approached by the officers of the custom-
house.  One of these, a tall personage in showy uniform,
was very solemn, and presently asked:  ``Are you
carrying out any specie?'' I answered:  ``None to speak
of; only about twenty or thirty German dollars.''  Said he:
``That you must give up to me; the law of the empire does
not permit you to take out coin.''  ``No,'' I said; ``you
are mistaken.  I have already had the money changed,
and it is in German coin, not Russian.''  ``That makes no
difference,'' said he; ``you must give it up or stay here.''
My answer was that I would not give it up, and on this he
commanded his subordinates to take my baggage off the
coach.  My traveling companions now besought me to
make a quiet compromise with him, to give him half the
money, telling me that I might be detained there for weeks
or months, or even be maltreated; but I steadily refused,
and my baggage was removed.  All were ready to start
when the head of the police bureau came upon the scene
to return our papers.  His first proceeding was to call
out my name in a most obsequious tone, and, bowing
reverently, to tender me my passport.  I glanced at the
custom-house official, and saw that he turned pale.  The honor
done my little brief authority by the passport official
revealed to him his mistake, and he immediately ordered
his subordinates to replace my baggage on the coach; but
this I instantly forbade.  He then came up to me and
insisted that a misunderstanding had occurred.  ``No,'' I
said; ``there is no misunderstanding; you have only
treated me as you have treated other Americans.  The
American minister has ordered me to wait here and inform
him, and all that I have now to ask you is that you give
me the name of a hotel.''  At this be begged me to listen
to him, and presently was pleading most piteously; indeed,
he would have readily knelt and kissed my feet to secure
my forgiveness.  He became utterly abject.  All were
waiting, the coach stood open, the eyes of the whole party
were fastened upon us.  My comrades besought me to
let the rascal go; and at last, after a most earnest warning
to him, I gave my gracious permission to have the baggage
placed on the coach.  He was certainly at that moment
one of the happiest men I have ever seen; and, as we
drove off from the station, he lingered long, hat in hand,
profuse with bows and good wishes.

One other occurrence during those seven days and
nights of coaching may throw some light upon the feeling
which has recently produced, in that same region, the
Kishineff massacres.

One pleasant Saturday evening, at a Polish village, our
coach passed into the little green inclosure in front of
the post-house, and there stopped for a change of horses.
While waiting, I noticed, from my sentry-box on the top
of the coach, several well-dressed people--by the cut of
their beards and hair, Jews--standing at some distance
outside the inclosure, and looking at us.  Presently two
of them--clearly, by their bearing and dress, men of
mark--entered the inclosure, came near the coach, and
stood quietly and respectfully.  In a few moments my
attention was attracted by a movement on the other side
of the coach: our coachman, a young serf, was skulking
rapidly toward the stables, and presently emerged with
his long horsewhip, skulked swiftly back again until he
came suddenly on these two grave and reverend men,
--each of them doubtless wealthy enough to have bought
a dozen like him,--began lashing them, and finally drove
them out of the inclosure like dogs, the assembled crowd
jeering and hooting after them.

Few evenings linger more pleasantly in my memory
than that on which I arrived in Breslau.  I was once more
outside of the Russian Empire; and, as I settled for the
evening before a kindly fire upon a cheerful hearth, there
rose under my windows, from a rollicking band of university
students, the ``Gaudeamus igitur.''  I seemed to have
arrived in another world--a world which held home and
friends.  Then, as never before, I realized the feeling
which the Marquis de Custine had revealed, to the amusement
of Europe and the disgust of the Emperor Nicholas,
nearly twenty years before.  The brilliant marquis, on his
way to St. Petersburg, had stopped at Stettin; and, on
his leaving the inn to take ship for Cronstadt next day, the
innkeeper said to him:  ``Well, you are going into a very
bad country.''  ``How so?'' said De Custine; ``when
did you travel there?''  ``Never,'' answered the inn-
keeper; ``but I have kept this inn for many years.  All
the leading Russians, going and coming by sea, have
stopped with me; and I have always noticed that those
coming from Russia are very glad, and those returning
very sad.''

Throughout the remainder of my journey across the
Continent, considerable attention was shown me at various
stopping-places, since travelers from within the Russian
lines at that time were rare indeed; but there was
nothing worthy of note until my arrival at Strasburg.
There, in the railway station, I was presented by a young
Austrian nobleman to an American lady who was going
on to Paris accompanied by her son; and, as she was very
agreeable, I was glad when we all found ourselves together
in the same railway compartment.

Some time after leaving Strasburg she said to me:  ``I
don't think you caught my name at the station.''  To
this I frankly replied that I had not.  She then repeated it;
and I found her to be a distinguished leader in New York
and Parisian society, the wife of an American widely
known.  As we rolled on toward Paris, I became vaguely
aware that there was some trouble in our compartment;
but, being occupied with a book, I paid little attention to
the matter.  There were seven of us.  Facing each other at
one door were the American lady, whom I will call ``Mrs.
X.,'' and myself; at her left was her maid, then a vacant
seat, and then at the other door a German lady, richly
attired, evidently of high degree, and probably about fifty
years of age.  Facing this German lady sat an elegantly
dressed young man of about thirty, also of aristocratic
manners, and a German.  Between this gentleman and myself
sat the son of Mrs. X. and the Austrian gentleman
who had presented me to her.

Presently Mrs. X. bent over toward me and asked, in
an undertone, ``What do you think is the relationship
between those two people at the other door?''  I answered
that quite likely they were brother and sister.  ``No,'' said
she; ``they are man and wife.''  I answered, ``That can
hardly be; there is a difference of at least twenty years
in the young man's favor.''  ``Depend upon it,'' she
said, ``they are man and wife; it is a mariage de convenance;
she is dressed to look as young as possible.''  At
this I expressed new doubts, and the discussion dropped.

Presently the young German gentleman said something
to the lady opposite him which indicated that he
had lived in Berlin; whereupon Mrs. X. asked him,
diagonally across the car, if he had been at the Berlin
University.  At this he turned in some surprise and answered,
civilly but coldly, ``Yes, madam.''  Then he turned away
to converse with the lady who accompanied him.  Mrs. X.,
nothing daunted, persisted, and asked, ``Have you been
RECENTLY at the university?''  Before he could reply the
lady opposite him turned to Mrs. X. and said most
haughtily, ``Mon Dieu, madam, you must see that the gentleman
does not desire any conversation with you.  ``At this
Mrs. X.  became very humble, and rejoined most
penitently, ``Madam, I beg your pardon; if I had known that
the gentleman's mother did not wish him to talk with a
stranger, I would not have spoken to him.''  At this the
German lady started as if stung, turned very red, and
replied, ``Pardon, madam, I am not the mother of the
gentleman.''  At this the humble manner of Mrs. X. was
flung off in an instant, and turning fiercely upon the
German lady, she said, ``Madam, since you are not
the mother of the gentleman, and, of course, cannot be
his wife, by what right do you interfere to prevent his
answering me?''  The lady thus addressed started again
as if stabbed, turned pale, and gasped out, ``Pardon,
madam; I AM the wife of the gentleman.''  Instantly Mrs.
X. became again penitently apologetic, and answered,
``Madam, I beg a thousand pardons; I will not speak
again to the gentleman''; and then, turning to me, said
very solemnly, but loudly, so that all might hear,
``Heavens! can it be possible!''

By this time we were all in distress, the German lady
almost in a state of collapse, and her husband hardly less
so.  At various times during the remainder of the journey
I heard them affecting to laugh the matter off, but it was
clear that the thrust from my fair compatriot had cut deep
and would last long.

Arriving at our destination, I obtained the key to the
mystery.  On taking leave of Mrs. X., I said, ``That was
rather severe treatment which you administered to the
German lady.''  ``Yes,'' she answered; ``it will teach her
never again to go out of her way to insult an American
woman.''  She then told me that the lady had been
evidently vexed because Mrs. X. had brought her maid into
the compartment; and that this aristocratic dame had
shown her feeling by applying her handkerchief to her
nose, by sniffing, and by various other signs of disgust.
``And then,'' said Mrs. X., ``I determined to teach her a
lesson.''

I never saw Mrs. X. again.  After a brilliant social
career of a few years she died; but her son, who was then a
boy of twelve years, in a short jacket, has since become
very prominent in Europe and America, and, in a way, influential.

In Paris I delivered my despatches to our minister, Mr.
Mason; was introduced to Baron Seebach, the Saxon min-
ister, Nesselrode's son-in-law, who was a leading personage
at the conference of the great powers then in
session; and saw various interesting men, among them
sundry young officers of the United States army, who
were on their way to the Crimea in order to observe the
warlike operations going on there, and one of them,
McClellan, also on his way to the head of our own army
in the Civil War which began a few years later.

It was the time of the first great French Exposition--
that of 1855.  The Emperor Napoleon III had opened it
with much pomp; and, though the whole affair was petty
compared with what we have known since, it attracted
visitors from the whole world, and among them came
Horace Greeley.

As he shuffled along the boulevards and streets of Paris,
in his mooning way, he attracted much wondering
attention, but was himself very unhappy because his
ignorance of the French language prevented his talking with
the people about him.

He had just gone through a singular experience, having,
the day before my arrival, been released from Clichy
prison, where he had been confined for debt.  Nothing
could be more comical than the whole business from first
to last.  A year or two previously there had taken place
in New York, on what has been since known as Reservoir
Square, an international exposition which, for its day,
was very creditable; but, this exposition having ended
in bankruptcy, a new board of commissioners had been
chosen, who, it was hoped, would secure public confidence,
and among these was Mr. Greeley.

Yet even under this new board the exposition had not
been a success; and it had been finally wound up in a very
unsatisfactory way, many people complaining that their
exhibits had not been returned to them--among these a
French sculptor of more ambition than repute, who had
sent a plaster cast of some sort of allegorical figure to
which he attributed an enormous value.  Having sought
in vain for redress in America, he returned to Europe and
there awaited the coming of some one of the directors;
and the first of these whom he caught was no less a person
than Greeley himself, who, soon after arriving in Paris,
was arrested for the debt and taken to Clichy prison.

Much feeling was shown by the American community.
Every one knew that Mr. Greeley's connection with the
New York exposition was merely of a good-natured,
nominal sort.  It therefore became the fashion among
traveling Americans to visit him while thus in durance vile;
and among those who thus called upon him were two
former Presidents of the United States, both of whom
he had most bitterly opposed--Mr. Van Buren and Mr. Fillmore.

The American legation having made very earnest
representations, the prisoner was soon released; and the most
tangible result of the whole business was a letter, very
pithy and characteristic, which Greeley wrote to the ``New
York Tribune,'' giving this strange experience, and closing
with the words:  ``So ended my last chance to learn
French.''

A day or two after his release I met him at the student
restaurant of Madame Busque.  A large company of
Americans were present; and shortly after taking his seat
at table he tried to ask for some green string-beans,
which were then in season.  Addressing one of the serving-
maids, he said, ``Flawronce, donney moy--donney moy--
donney moy--''; and then, unable to remember the word,
he impatiently screamed out in a high treble, thrusting out
his plate at the same time, ``BEANS!''  The crowd of us
burst into laughter; whereupon Donn Piatt, then secretary
of the legation at Paris and afterward editor of the
``Capital'' at Washington, said:  ``Why, Greeley, you
don't improve a bit; you knew beans yesterday.''

This restaurant of Madame Busque's had been, for
some years, a place of resort for American students and
their traveling friends.  The few dishes served, though
simple, were good; all was plain; there were no table-
cloths; but the place was made attractive by the portraits
of various American artists and students who had frequented
the place in days gone by, and who had left these
adornments to the good old madame.

It was a simple crmerie in the Rue de la Michodire,
a little way out of the Boulevard des Italiens; and its
success was due to the fact that Madame Busque, the kindest
old lady alive, had learned how to make sundry American
dishes, and had placed a sign in the window as follows:
``Aux Amricains.  Spcialit de Pumpkin Pie et
de Buckwheat Cakes.''  Never was there a more jolly
restaurant.  One met there, not only students and artists,
but some of the most eminent men in American public
life.  The specialties as given on the sign-board were well
prepared; and many were the lamentations when the dear
old madame died, and the restaurant, being transferred
to another part of Paris, became pretentious and fell into
oblivion.

Another occurrence at the exposition dwells vividly in
my memory.  One day, in going through the annex in which
there was a show of domestic animals, I stopped for a moment
to look at a wonderful goat which was there tethered.
He was very large, with a majestic head, spreading horns,
and long, white, curly beard.  Presently a party of French
gentlemen and ladies, evidently of the higher class, came
along and joined the crowd gazing at the animal.  In a
few moments one of the ladies, anxious to hurry on, said
to the large and dignified elderly gentleman at the head of
the party, ``Mais viens donc ''; to which he answered,
``Non, laisse moi le regarder; celui-l ressemble tant au
bon Dieu.''

This remark, which in Great Britain or the United States
would have aroused horror as blasphemy, was simply
answered by a peal of laughter, and the party passed on;
yet I could not but reflect on the fact that this attitude
toward the Supreme Being was possible after a fifteen
hundred years' monopoly of teaching by the church which
insists that to it alone should be intrusted the religious
instruction of the French people.

After staying a few weeks at the French capital, I left
for a short tour in Switzerland.  The only occurrence on
this journey possibly worthy of note was at the hospice
of the Great St. Bernard.  On a day early in September I
had walked over the Tte Noire with two long-legged
Englishmen, and had so tired myself that the next morning
I was too late to catch the diligence from Martigny;
so that, on awaking toward noon, there was nothing left
for me but to walk, and I started on that rather toilsome
journey alone.  After plodding upward some miles along
the road toward the hospice, I was very weary indeed, but
felt that it would be dangerous to rest, since the banks of
snow on both sides of the road would be sure to give me
a deadly chill; and I therefore kept steadily on.  Presently
I overtook a small party, apparently English, also
going up the pass; and, at some distance in advance of
them, alone, a large woman with a very striking and even
masculine face.  I had certainly seen the face before, but
where I could not imagine.  Arriving finally at the hospice,
very tired, we were, after some waiting, invited out
to a good dinner by the two fathers deputed for the
purpose; and there, among the guests, I again saw the
lady, and was again puzzled to know where I had
previously seen her.  As the dinner went on the two monks
gave accounts of life at the hospice, rescues from
avalanches, and the like, and various questions were asked;
but the unknown lady sat perfectly still, uttering not a
word, until suddenly, just at the close of the dinner, she
put a question across the table to one of the fathers.  It
came almost like a peal of thunder-deep, strong, rolling
through the room, startling all of us, and fairly taking the
breath away from the good monk to whom it was addressed;
but he presently rallied, and in a rather faltering
tone made answer.  That was all.  But on this I at once
recognized her: it was Fanny Kemble Butler, whom, years
before, I had heard interpreting Shakspere.

Whether this episode had anything to do with it or not,
I soon found myself in rather a bad way.  The fatigues of
the two previous days had been too much for me.  I felt
very wretched, and presently one of the brothers came up
to me and asked whether I was ill.  I answered that I
was tired; whereupon he said kindly, ``Come with me.''
I went.  He took me to a neat, tidy little cell; put me into
bed as carefully as my grandmother had ever done; tucked
me in; brought me some weak, hot tea; and left me
with various kind injunctions.  Very early in the morning
I was aroused by the singing of the monks in the chapel,
but dozed on until eight or nine o'clock, when, feeling
entirely rested, I rose and, after breakfast, left the
monastery, with a party of newly made American friends, in as
good condition as ever, and with a very grateful feeling
toward my entertainers.  Against monks generally I must
confess to a prejudice; but the memory of these brothers
of St. Bernard I still cherish with a real affection.

Stopping at various interesting historic places, and
especially at Eisenach, whence I made the first of my many
visits to the Wartburg, I reached Berlin just before the
beginning of the university term, and there settled as a
student.  So, as I then supposed, ended my diplomatic
career forever.



CHAPTER XXVIII

AS COMMISSIONER TO SANTO DOMINGO--1871

Returning from Russia and Germany, I devoted
myself during thirteen years, first, to my professorial
duties at the University of Michigan; next, to political
duties in the State Senate at Albany; and, finally, to
organizing and administering Cornell University.  But in the
early winter of 1870-71 came an event which drew me out
of my university life for a time, and engaged me again in
diplomatic work.  While pursuing the even tenor of my
way, there came a telegraphic despatch from Mr. William
Orton, president of the Western Union Telegraph Company,
a devoted supporter of the administration, asking me
whether I had formed any definite opinion against the
annexation of the island of Santo Domingo to the United
States.  This question surprised me.  A proposal regarding
such an annexation had been for some time talked about.
The newly elected President, General Grant, having been
besought by the authorities of that republic to propose
measures looking to annexation, had made a brief
examination; and Congress had passed a law authorizing the
appointment of three commissioners to visit the island, to
examine and report upon its desirability, from various
points of view, and to ascertain, as far as possible, the
feeling of its inhabitants; but I had given no attention
to the matter, and therefore answered Mr. Orton that I
had no opinion, one way or the other, regarding it.  A
day or two afterward came information that the President
had named the commission, and in the following order:
Ex-Senator Benjamin F. Wade of Ohio, Andrew D.
White of New York, and Samuel G. Howe of Massachusetts.
On receiving notice of my appointment, I went to
Washington, was at once admitted to an interview with the
President, and rarely have I been more happily disappointed.
Instead of the taciturn man who, as his enemies
insisted, said nothing because he knew nothing, had
never cared for anything save military matters, and was
entirely absorbed in personal interests, I found a quiet,
dignified public officer, who presented the history of
the Santo Domingo question, and his view regarding it, in
a manner large, thoughtful, and statesmanlike.  There
was no special pleading; no attempt at converting me:
his whole effort seemed given to stating candidly the
history of the case thus far.

There was much need of such statement.  Mr. Charles
Sumner, the eminent senator from Massachusetts, had
completely broken with the President on this and other
questions; had attacked the policy of the administration
violently; had hinted at the supremacy of unworthy
motives; and had imputed rascality to men with whom the
President had close relations.  He appeared, also, as he
claimed, in the interest of the republic of Haiti, which
regarded with disfavor any acquisition by the United
States of territory on the island of which that quasi-
republic formed a part; and all his rhetoric and oratory
were brought to bear against the President's ideas.  I had
long been an admirer of Mr. Sumner, with the feeling
which a young man would naturally cherish toward an
older man of such high character who had given him
early recognition; and I now approached him with especial
gratitude and respect.  But I soon saw that his view of the
President was prejudiced, and his estimate of himself
abnormal.  Though a senator of such high standing and so
long in public affairs, he took himself almost too
seriously; and there had come a break between him, as
chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs, and
President Grant's Secretary of State, Mr. Fish, who had
proved himself, as State senator, as Governor of New
York, as United States senator, and now as Secretary of
State, a man of the highest character and capacity.

The friends of the administration claimed that it had
become impossible for it to have any relations with Senator
Sumner; that he delayed, and indeed suppressed, treaties
of the greatest importance; that his egotism had become
so colossal that he practically assumed to himself
the entire conduct of foreign affairs; and the whole matter
reached a climax when, in a large social gathering, Mr.
Fish meeting Senator Sumner and extending his hand to
him, the latter deliberately rejected the courtesy and coldly
turned away.

Greatly admiring all these men, and deeply regretting
their divisions, which seemed sure to prove most injurious
to the Republican party and to the country, I wrote to
Mr. Gerrit Smith, urging him to come at once to Washington
and, as the lifelong friend of Senator Sumner and the
devoted supporter of General Grant, to use his great powers
in bringing them together.  He came and did his best;
but a few days afterward he said to me:  ``It is impossible;
it is a breach which can never be healed.''

Mr. Sumner's speeches I had always greatly admired,
and his plea for international peace, delivered before I
was fairly out of my boyhood, had made a deep
impression upon me.  Still greater was the effect of his
speeches against the extension of slavery.  It is true
that these speeches had little direct influence upon the
Senate; but they certainly had an immense effect upon
the country, and this effect was increased by the assault
upon him by Preston Brooks of South Carolina, which
nearly cost him his life, and from which he suffered
physically as long as he lived.  His influence was exercised
not only in the Senate, but in his own house.  In his
library he discussed, in a very interesting way, the main
questions of the time; and at his dinner-table one met
interesting men from all parts of the world.  At one of his
dinners I had an opportunity to observe one of the
difficulties from which our country suffers most--namely, that
easy-going facility in slander which is certain to be
developed in the absence of any effective legal responsibility
for one's utterances.  At the time referred to there was
present an Englishman eminent in parliamentary and
business circles.  I sat next him, and near us sat a
gentleman who had held a subordinate position in the United
States navy, but who was out of employment, and apparently
for some reason which made him sore.  On being
asked by the Englishman why the famous American Collins
Line of transatlantic steamers had not succeeded, this
American burst into a tirade, declaring that it was all due
to the fact that the Collins company had been obliged to
waste its entire capital in bribing members of Congress
to obtain subsidies; that it had sunk all its funds in doing
this, and so had become bankrupt.  This I could not bear,
and indignantly interposed, stating the simple facts--
namely, that the ships of the company were built in the
most expensive manner, without any sufficient data as to
their chances of success; that the competition of the
Cunard company had been destructive to them; that, to cap
the climax, two out of their fleet of five had been, at an early
period in the history of the company, lost at sea; and I
expressed my complete disbelief in any cause of failure
like that which had been named.  As a matter of fact, the
Collins company, in their pride at the beauty of their
first ship, had sent it up the Potomac to Washington and
given a collation upon it to members of Congress; but
beyond this there was not the slightest evidence of anything
of the sort which the slanderer of his country had
brought forward.

As regards the Santo Domingo question, I must confess
that Mr. Sumner's speeches did not give me much light;
they seemed to me simply academic orations tinged by anger.

Far different was it with the speeches made on the same
side by Senator Carl Schurz.  In them was a restrained
strength of argument and a philosophic dealing with the
question which appealed both to reason and to patriotism.
His argument as to the danger of extending the
domain of American institutions and the privileges of
American citizenship over regions like the West Indies
carried great weight with me; it was the calm, thoughtful
utterance of a man accustomed to look at large public
questions in the light of human history, and, while reasoning
upon them philosophically and eloquently, to observe
strict rules of logic.

I also had talks with various leading men at Washington
on the general subject.  Very interesting was an evening
passed with Admiral Porter of the navy, who had already
visited Santo Domingo, and who gave me valuable points
as to choosing routes and securing information.  Another
person with whom I had some conversation was Benjamin
Franklin Butler, previously a general in the Civil War,
and afterward governor of Massachusetts--a man of
amazing abilities, but with a certain recklessness in the use
of them which had brought him into nearly universal
discredit.  His ideas regarding the annexation of Santo
Domingo seemed to resolve themselves, after all, into a
feeling of utter indifference,--his main effort being to
secure positions for one or two of his friends as attachs
of the commission.

At various times I talked with the President on this and
other subjects, and was more and more impressed, not only
by his patriotism, but by his ability; and as I took leave
of him, he gave me one charge for which I shall always
revere his memory.

He said:  `` Your duties are, of course, imposed upon you
by Congress; I have no right as PRESIDENT to give you
instructions, but as a MAN I have a right in this matter.  You
have doubtless noticed hints in Congress, and charges in
various newspapers, that I am financially interested in the
acquisition of Santo Domingo.  Now, as a man, as your
fellow-citizen, I demand that on your arrival in the island,
you examine thoroughly into all American interests
there; that you study land titles and contracts with the
utmost care; and that if you find anything whatever which
connects me or any of my family with any of them, you
expose me to the American people.''  The President uttered
these words in a tone of deep earnestness.  I left him,
feeling that he was an honest man; and I may add that the
closest examination of men and documents relating to
titles and concessions in the island failed to reveal any
personal interest of his whatsoever.

Arriving next day in New York, I met the other commissioners,
with the secretaries, interpreters, attachs, and
various members of the press who were authorized to
accompany the expedition.  Most interesting of all to me
were the scientific experts.  It is a curious example of the
happy-go-lucky ways which prevail so frequently at Washington,
that although the resolutions of Congress required
the commissioners to examine into the mining and agricultural
capacities of the island, its meteorological characteristics,
its harbors and the possibilities of fortifying them,
its land tenures, and a multitude of other subjects
demanding the aid of experts, no provision was made for any
such aid, and the three commissioners and their secretaries,
not one of whom could be considered as entitled to hold
a decisive opinion on any of these subjects, were the only
persons expected to conduct the inquiry.  Seeing this, I
represented the matter to the President, and received his
permission to telegraph to presidents of several of our
leading universities asking them to secure for us active
young scientific men who would be willing to serve on the
expedition without salary.  The effort was successful.
Having secured at the Smithsonian Institution two or
three good specialists in sundry fields, I obtained from
Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Cornell, and other universities
the right sort of men for various other lines of investigation,
and on the 17th of January, 1871, we all embarked
on the steam-frigate Tennessee, under the command of
Commodore Temple.

It fell to my lot to take a leading part in sending forth
our scientific experts into all parts of the republic.
Fourteen different expeditions were thus organized and
despatched, and these made careful examinations and reports
which were wrought into the final report of the
commission.  It is doubtful whether any country was ever so
thoroughly examined in so short a time.  One party visited
various harbors with reference to their value for naval or
military purposes; another took as its subject the necessary
fortifications; another, agriculture; another, the coal
supply; another, the precious metals; another, the prevailing
epidemics and diseases of the country; while the commission
itself adjourned from place to place, taking testimony
on land tenures and on the general conditions and
disposition of the people.

I became much attached to my colleagues.  The first of
these, Senator Wade of Ohio, was bluff, direct, shrewd,
and well preserved, though over seventy years of age.
He was a rough diamond, kindly in his judgments unless
his feeling of justice was injured; then he was implacable.
Many sayings of his were current, among them a dry answer
to a senator from Texas who, having dwelt in high-
flown discourse on the superlative characteristics of the
State he represented, wound up all by saying, ``All that
Texas needs to make it a paradise is water and good society,''
to which Wade instantly replied, ``That 's all they
need in hell.''  The nimbleness and shrewdness of some
public men he failed to appreciate.  On his saying
something to me rather unfavorable to a noted statesman of
New England, I answered him, ``But, senator, he made an
admirable Speaker of the House of Representatives.''  To
which he answered, ``So would a squirrel if he could talk.''

Dr. Howe was a very different sort of man--a man of
the highest cultivation and of wide experience, who had
devoted his whole life to philanthropic efforts.  He had been
imprisoned in Spandau for attempting to aid the Poles;
had narrowly escaped with his life while struggling in
Greece against Turkey; and had braved death again and
again while aiding the free-State men against the pro-
slavery myrmidons of Kansas.  He told me that of all
these three experiences, he considered the last as by far
the most dangerous.  He had a high sense of personal
honor, and was devoted to what he considered the interests
of humanity.

Our main residence was at the city of Santo Domingo,
and our relations with the leading officials of the republic
were exceedingly pleasant.  The president, Baez, was a
man of force and ability, and, though a light mulatto, he
had none of the characteristics generally attributed in the
United States to men of mixed blood.  He had rather the
appearance of a swarthy Spaniard, and in all his conduct
he showed quiet self-reliance, independence, and the tone of
a high-spirited gentleman.  His family was noted in the history
of the island, and held large estates, near the capital
city, in the province of Azua.  He had gone through various
vicissitudes, at times conquering insurgents and at times
being driven out by them.  During a portion of his life he
had lived in Spain, and had there been made a marshal of
that kingdom.  There was a quiet elegance in his manners
and conversation which would have done credit to any
statesman in any country, and he had gathered about him
as his cabinet two or three really superior men who
appeared devoted to his fortunes.  I have never doubted that
his overtures to General Grant were patriotic.  As long as
he could remember, he had known nothing in his country
but a succession of sterile revolutions which had destroyed
all its prosperity and nearly all its population.  He took
very much to heart a passage in one of Mr. Sumner's
orations against the annexation project, in which the senator
had spoken of him as a man who wished to sell his country.
Referring to this, President Baez said to me:  ``How could
I sell my country?  My property is here; my family is
here; my friends are here; all my interests are here:
how could I sell my country and run away and enjoy the
proceeds as Mr. Sumner thinks I wish to do?  Mr. Sumner
gives himself out to be the friend of the colored race; but
I also am a colored man,'' and with that Baez ran his hand
through his crisp hair and said, ``This leaves no doubt on
that point.''

We discussed at various times the condition of his
country and the relations which he desired to establish with
the United States, and I became more and more convinced
that his dominant motives were those of a patriot.  As a
matter of fact, the country under the prevailing system
was a ruin.  West of it was the republic of Haiti, more
than twice as populous, which from time to time
encroached upon its weaker sister.  In Santo Domingo itself
under one revolutionist after another, war had raged over
the entire territory of the republic year after year for
generations.  Traveling through the republic, it is a simple
fact that I never, in its entire domain, saw a bridge, a
plow, a spade, a shovel, or a hoe; the only implement we
saw was the machete--a heavy, rude instrument which
served as a sword in war and a spade in peace.  Everywhere
among the mountains I found magnificent squared
logs of the beautiful mahogany of the country left just
where the teams which had been drawing them had been
seized by revolutionists.

In one of the large interior towns there had been,
indeed, one evidence of civilization to which the people of
that region had pointed with pride--a steam-engine for
sawing timber; but sometime before my arrival one of
the innumerable petty revolutions had left it a mere mass
of rusty scraps.

Under the natural law of increase the population of the
republic should have been numbered in millions; but close
examination, in all parts of its territory, showed us that
there were not two hundred thousand inhabitants left, and
that of these about one half were mulattos, the other half
being about equally divided between blacks and whites.

Since my visit business men from the United States
have developed the country to some extent; but revolutions
have continued, each chieftain getting into place by
orating loudly about liberty, and then holding power by
murdering not only his enemies, but those whom he
thought likely to become his enemies.

The late president, Heureaux, was one of the most mon-
strous of these creatures who have found their breeding-
bed in Central American politics.  He seems to have
murdered, as far as possible, not only all who opposed him,
but all who, he thought, MIGHT oppose him, and even
members of their families.

It was not at all surprising that Baez, clear-sighted and
experienced as he was, saw an advantage to his country
in annexation to the United States.  He probably expected
that it would be, at first, a Territory of which he, as
the foremost man in the island, would become governor,
and that later it would come into the Union as a State
which he would be quite likely to represent in the United
States Senate.  At a later period, when I saw him in New
York, on his way to visit the President at Washington,
my favorable opinion of him was confirmed.  He was
quiet, dignified, manly, showing himself, in his conversation
and conduct, a self-respecting man of the world, accustomed
to manage large affairs and to deal with strong
men.

The same desire to annex the island to the United States
was evident among the clergy.  This at first surprised me,
for some of them were exceedingly fanatical, and one
of them, who was especially civil to us, had endeavored, a
few months before our arrival, to prevent the proper
burial of a charming American lady, the wife of the
American geologist of the government, under the old
Spanish view that, not being a Catholic, she should be
buried outside the cemetery upon the commons, like a dog.
But the desire for peace and for a reasonable development
of the country, even under a government considered
heretical, was everywhere evident.

It became my duty to discuss the question of church
property with the papal nuncio and vicar apostolic.  He
was an archbishop who had been sent over to take temporary
charge of ecclesiastical matters; of course a most
earnest Roman Catholic, but thoroughly devoted to the
annexation of the island to the United States, and the
reason for his opinion was soon evident.  Throughout the
entire island one constantly sees great buildings and other
church property which have been confiscated and sold for
secular purposes.  In the city itself the opera-house was
a former church, which in its day had been very imposing,
and everywhere one saw monastery estates in private
hands.  The authorities in Santo Domingo had simply
pursued the policy so well known in various Latin countries,
and especially in France, Italy, and Spain, of allowing
the religious orders to absorb large masses of property,
and then squeezing it out of them into the coffers
of the state.

In view of this, I said to the papal nuncio that it was
very important for the United States, in considering the
question of annexing the island, to know what the church
claimed; that if the church demanded the restoration of
all that had been taken from her, this would certainly
greatly diminish the value of the island in the eyes of our
public men.  To this he answered that in case of annexation
the church would claim nothing whatever beyond
what it was absolutely and actually occupying and using
for its own purposes, and he offered to give me guarantees
to that effect which should be full and explicit.

It was perfectly clear that the church authorities
preferred to be under a government which, even though they
regarded it as Protestant, could secure them their property,
rather than to be subject to a Roman Catholic republic
in which they were liable to constantly recurring
spoliation.  This I found to be the spirit of the clergy of
every grade in all parts of the island: they had discovered
that under the Constitution of the United States confiscation
without compensation is impossible.

It also fell to my lot, as the youngest man in the
commission, to conduct an expedition across the mountains
from the city of Santo Domingo on the south coast to
Puerto Plata on the north.

During this journey, on which I was about ten days in
the saddle, it was my duty to confer with the principal
functionaries, and this gave me novel experiences.  When-
ever our cavalcade approached a town, we halted, a
messenger was sent forward, and soon the alcalde, the priests,
and other men of light and leading, with a long train of
functionaries, came dashing out on horseback to greet us;
introductions then took place, and, finally, there was a
wild gallop into the town to the house of the alcalde,
where speeches were made and compliments exchanged in
the high Spanish manner.

At the outset there was a mishap.  As we were organizing
our expedition, the gentlemen charged with purchasing
supplies assured me that if we wished to secure proper
consideration of the annexation question by the principal
men of the various towns, we must exercise a large if
simple hospitality, and that social gatherings without rum
punch would be offensive rather than propitiatory.  The
order to lay in a sufficient spirituous supply was reluctantly
given, and in due time we started, one of our train
of pack-horses having on each side of the saddle large
demijohns of the fluid which was to be so potent for
diplomatic purposes.  At the close of the first day's travel,
just as our hammocks had been swung, I heard a scream
and saw the people of our own and neighboring huts
snatching cups and glasses and running pell-mell toward
the point where our animals were tethered.  On examination
I found that the horse intrusted with the precious
burden, having been relieved of part of his load, had felt
warranted in disporting himself, and had finally rolled
over, crushing all the demijohns.  It seemed a serious
matter, but I cannot say that it afflicted me much; we
propitiated the local functionaries by other forms of
hospitality, and I never found that the absence of rum punch
seriously injured our diplomacy.

Civil war had been recently raging throughout the republic,
and in one of the interior towns I was one day notified
that a well-known guerrilla general, who had shown
great bravery in behalf of the Baez government, wished
a public interview.  The meeting took place in the large
room of the house which had been assigned me.  The
mountain chieftain entered, bearing a rifle, and, the first
salutations having been exchanged, he struck an oratorical
attitude, and after expressing, in a loud harangue, his
high consideration for the United States, for its representative,
and for all present, he solemnly tendered the rifle
to me, saying that he had taken it in battle from Luperon,
the arch-enemy of his country, and could think of no other
bestowal so worthy of it.  This gift somewhat disconcerted
me.  In the bitterness of party feeling at home regarding
the Santo Domingo question, how would it look
for one of the commissioners to accept such a present?
President Grant had been held up to obloquy throughout
the whole length and breadth of the land for accepting a
dog; what, then, would happen to a diplomatic representative
who should accept a rifle?  Connected with the expedition
were some twenty or thirty representatives of the
press, and I could easily see how my acceptance of such
a gift would alarm the sensitive consciences of many of
them and be enlarged and embroidered until the United
States would resound with indignant outcry against a
commission which accepted presents and was probably won
over by contracts for artillery.  My first attempt was to
evade the difficulty.  Rifle in hand, I acknowledged my
appreciation of the gift, but declared to the general that my
keeping such a trophy would certainly be a wrong to his
family; that I would therefore accept it and transmit it
to his son, to be handed down from generation to generation
of his descendants as an heirloom and a monument
of bravery and patriotism.  I was just congratulating
myself on this bit of extemporized diplomacy, when a cloud
began to gather on the general's face, and presently he
broke forth, saying that he regretted to find his present
not good enough to be accepted; that it was the best he
had; that if he had possessed anything better he would
have brought it.  At this, two or three gentlemen in our
party pressed around me, and, in undertones, advised me
by all means to accept it.  There was no alternative; I
accepted the rifle in as sonorous words as I could muster
--``IN BEHALF OF THE GOVERNMENT OF THE UNITED STATES'';
had it placed immediately in a large box with the words
``War Department'' upon it, in very staring letters; and
so the matter ended.  Fortunately the commission, though
attacked for a multitude of sins, escaped censure in this
matter.

One part of our duty was somewhat peculiar.  The
United States, a few years before, had been on the point
of concluding negotiations with Denmark for the purchase
of St. Thomas, when a volcanic disturbance threw an
American frigate in the harbor of that island upon the
shore, utterly wrecking both the vessel and the treaty.
This experience it was which led to the insertion of a
clause in the Congressional instructions to the commission
requiring them to make examinations regarding the frequency
and severity of earthquakes.  This duty we discharged
faithfully, and on one occasion with a result
interesting both to students of history and of psychology.
Arriving at the old town of Cotuy, among the mountains,
and returning the vicar's call, after my public reception, I
asked him the stereotyped question regarding earthquakes,
and was answered that about the year 1840 there had
been one of a very terrible sort; that it had shaken and
broken his great stone church very badly; that he had
repaired the whole structure, except the gaping crevice
above the front entrance; ``and,'' said the good old padre,
``THAT I left as a warning to my people, thinking that it
might have a good influence upon them.''  On visiting the
church, we found the crevice as the padre had described it;
but his reasoning was especially interesting, because it
corroborated the contention of Buckle, who, but a few
years before, in his ``History of Civilization in England,''
had stated that earthquakes and volcanoes had aided the
clergy of southern countries in maintaining superstition,
and who had afterward defended this view with great
wealth of learning when it was attacked by a writer in the
``Edinburgh Review.''  Certainly this Santo Domingo
example was on the side of the historian.

Another day brought us to Vega, noted as the point
where Columbus reared his standard above the wonderful
interior valley of the island; and there we were welcomed,
as usual, by the officials, and, among them, by a tall, ascetic-
looking priest who spoke French.  Returning his call next
day, I was shown into his presence in a room utterly bare
of all ornament save a large and beautiful photograph of
the Cathedral of Tours.  It had happened to me, just after
my college days, to travel on foot through a large part of
northern, western, and middle France, especially interesting
myself in cathedral architecture; and as my eye caught
this photograph I said, ``Father, what a beautiful picture
you have of the Church of St. Gatien!''  The countenance
of the priest, who had at first received me very ceremoniously
and coldly, was instantly changed; he looked at me
for a moment, and then threw his arms about me.  It was
pathetic: of all who had ever entered his door I was
probably the only one who had recognized the picture of
the cathedral where he had been ordained; and, above all,
by a curious inspiration which I cannot to this hour
account for, I had recognized it by the name of the saint to
whom it is dedicated.  Why I did not speak of it simply
as the Cathedral of Tours I know not; how I came to
remember that it was dedicated to St. Gatien I know not--
but this fact evidently loosened the cords of the father's
heart, and during my stay at Vega he was devoted to me;
giving me information of the greatest value regarding
the people, their habits, their diseases, and the like, much
of which, up to that moment, the commission and its
subordinates had vainly endeavored to secure.

And here I recall one thing which struck me as
significant.  This ascetic French priest was very severe in
condemnation of the old Spanish priesthood of the island.
When I asked him regarding the morals of the people he
answered, ``How can you expect good morals in them
when their pastors set such bad examples?''  It was
evident that the church authorities at Rome were of his
opinion; for in nearly every town I found not only a
jolly, kindly, easy-going old Spanish padre, surrounded
by ``nephews'' and ``nieces,'' but a more austere ecclesiastic
recently arrived from France or Italy.

In the impressions made upon me by this long and
tedious journey across the island, pleasure and pain were
constantly mingled.  On one hand was the wonderful
beauty of the scenery, the luxuriance of the vegetation,
and the bracing warmth of the climate, while the United
States were going through a winter more than usually
bitter.

But, on the other hand, the whole condition of the
country seemed to indicate that the early Spanish rulers had
left a curse upon it from which it had never recovered.
Its inhabitants, in revolution after revolution, had
destroyed all industry and industrial appliances, and had
virtually eaten up each other; generation after generation
had thus been almost entirely destroyed.

Finally, after nearly a fortnight of clambering over
mountains, pushing through tropical thickets, fording
streams, and negotiating in palm huts, we approached the
sea; and suddenly, on the north side of the island, at the
top of the mountain back of Puerto Plata, we looked far
down upon its beautiful harbor, in the midst of which,
like a fly upon a mirror, lay our trim little frigate
Nantasket.

The vice-president of the republic, surrounded by the
representatives of the city, having welcomed us with the
usual speeches, we pushed forward to the vice-presidential
villa, where I was to be lodged.

Having no other dress with me than my traveler's outfit,
of which the main features were a flaming red flannel
shirt, a poncho, and a sombrero, and having been invited
to dine that evening at the house of my host, with the
various consuls and other leaders of the place, I ordered
two of my men to hurry down the mountain, and out to
the frigate, to bring in my leather trunk containing a
costume more worthy of the expected ceremony; and
hardly were we comfortably established under the roof of
the vice-president, when two sailors came in, bringing the
precious burden.

Now came a catastrophe.  Turning the key, I noticed
that the brass fittings of the lock were covered with verdigris,
and, as the trunk opened, I shrank back in horror.  It
was filled, apparently, with a mass of mossy white-and-
green mold from which cockroaches of enormous size
darted in all directions.

Hastily pulling down the cover, I called a council of
war; the main personages in it being my private secretary,
Professor Crane, since acting president of Cornell
University, and sundry of the more important men in the
expedition.  To these I explained the situation.  It seemed
bad enough to lose all means of presenting a suitable
appearance at the approaching festivity, but this was
nothing compared with the idea that I had requited the
hospitality of my host by spreading through his house this
hideous entomological collection.

But as I exposed this latter feature of the situation, I
noticed a smile coming over the faces of my Dominican
attendants, and presently one of them remarked that the
cockroaches I had brought would find plenty of companions;
that the house was doubtless already full of them.
This was a great relief to my conscience.  The trunk was
removed, and presently the clothing, in which I was to
be arrayed for the evening, was brought in.  It seemed in
a fearful condition, but, curiously enough, while boots,
shoes, and, above all, a package of white gloves carefully
reserved for grand ceremonies, had been nearly devoured,
the garments of various sorts had escaped fairly
well.

The next thing in order being the preparation of my
apparel for use, the men proceeded first to deluge it with
carbolic acid; and then, after drying it on the balconies
in front of the vice-president's house, to mitigate the
invincible carbolic odor by copious drenchings of Florida
water.  All day long they were thus at work making
ready for the evening ceremony.  In due time it arrived;
and, finally, after a sumptuous entertainment, I
stood before the assembled consuls and other magnates.
Probably no one of them remembers a word of my
discourse; but doubtless every survivor will agree that no
speaker, before or since, ever made to him an appeal of
such pungency.  I pervaded the whole atmosphere of the
place; indeed, the town itself seemed to me, as long as I
remained in it, to reek of that strange mixture of carbolic
acid and Florida water; and as soon as possible after
reaching the ship, the contents of the trunk were thrown
overboard, and life became less a burden.

Having been duly escorted to the Nantasket, and
received heartily by Commander McCook, I was assigned
his own cabin, but soon thought it expedient to get out of
it and sleep on deck.  The fact was that the companions
of my cockroaches had possession of the ship, and, to all
appearance, their headquarters were in the captain's
room.  I therefore ordered my bed on deck; and, though
it was February, passed two delightful nights in that
balmy atmosphere of the tropical seas while we skirted
the north side of the island until, at Port-au-Prince, I
rejoined the other commissioners, who had come in the
Tennessee along the southern coast.

At the Haitian capital our commission had interviews
with the president, his cabinet, and others, and afterward
we had time to look about us.  Few things could be more
dispiriting.  The city had been burned again and again, and
there had arisen a tangle of streets displaying every sort
of cheap absurdity in architecture.  The effects of the
recent revolution--the latest in a long series of civic
convulsions, cruel and sterile--were evident on all sides.  On
the slope above the city had stood the former residence of
the French governor: it had been a beautiful palace, and,
being so far from the sea, had, until the recent revolution,
escaped unharmed; but during that last effort a squad
of miscreants, howling the praises of liberty, having got
possession of a small armed vessel in the harbor and found
upon it a rifled cannon of long range, had exercised their
monkeyish passion for destruction by wantonly firing
upon this beautiful structure.  It now lay in ruins.  In its
main staircase an iron ring was pointed out to us, and we
were given the following chronicle.

During the recent revolution the fugitive President
Salnave had been captured, a leathern thong had been
rudely drawn through a gash in his hand, and, attached
by this to a cavalryman, he had been dragged up the hill
to the palace, through the crowd which had but recently
hurrahed for him, but which now jeered and pelted him.
Arriving upon the scene of his former glory, he was
attached by the thong to this iron ring and shot.

Opposite the palace was the ruin of a mausoleum, and
in the street were scattered fragments of marble
sarcophagi beautifully sculptured: these had contained the
bodies of former rulers, but the revolutionists of Haiti,
imitating those of 1793 in France, as apes imitate men,
had torn the corpses out of them and had then scattered
these, with the fragments of their monuments, through the
streets.

In the markets of the city we had ample experience
of the advantage arising from unlimited paper money.
Successive governments had kept themselves afloat by new
issues of currency, until its purchasing power was reduced
almost to nothing.  Preposterous sums were demanded for
the simplest articles: hundreds of dollars for a basket of
fruit, and thousands of dollars for a straw hat.

With us as one of our secretaries was Frederick
Douglass, the gifted son of an eminent Virginian and a slave
woman,--one of the two or three most talented men of color I
have ever known.  Up to this time he had cherished many
hopes that his race, if set free, would improve; but it was
evident that this experience in Santo Domingo discouraged
and depressed him.  He said to one of us, ``If this is
the outcome of self-government by my race, Heaven help us!''

Another curious example bearing on the same subject
was furnished us in Jamaica, whither we went after leav-
ing Haiti.  Our wish was to consult, on our way home, the
former president of the Haitian republic, Geffrard,--
who was then living in exile near Kingston.  We found
him in a beautiful apartment, elegantly furnished; and in
every way he seemed superior to the officials whom we
had met at Port-au-Prince.  He was a light mulatto,
intelligent, quiet, dignified, and able to state his views
without undue emphasis.  His wife was very agreeable, and
his daughter, though clearly of a melancholic temperament,
one of the most beautiful young women I have ever
seen.  The reason for her melancholy was evident to any
one who knew her father's history.  He had gone through
many political storms before he had fled from Haiti, and
in one of these his enemies had fired through the windows
of his house and killed his other daughter.

He calmly discussed with us the condition of the island,
and evidently believed that the only way to save it from
utter barbarism was to put it under the control of some
civilized power.

Interesting as were his opinions, he and his family, as
we saw them in their daily life, were still more so.  It
was a revelation to us all of what the colored race might
become in a land where it is under no social ban.  For
generations he and his had been the equals of the best
people they had met in France and in Haiti; they had
been guests at the dinners of ministers and at the soires
of savants in the French capital; there was nothing about
them of that deprecatory sort which one sees so constantly
in men and women with African blood in their veins in
lands where their race has recently been held in servitude.

And here I may again cite the case of President Baez--
a man to whom it probably never occurred that he was not
the equal socially of the best men he met, and who in any
European country would be at once regarded as a man
of mark, and welcomed at any gathering of notables.

Among our excursions, while in Jamaica, was one to
Spanish Town, the residence of the British governor.
In the drawing-room of His Excellency's wife there was
shown us one rather curious detail.  Not long before our
visit, the legislature had been abolished and the island
had been made a crown colony ruled by a royal governor
and council; therefore it was that, there being no further
use for it, the gorgeous chair of ``Mr. Speaker,'' a huge
construction apparently of carved oak, had been transferred
to her ladyship's drawing-room, and we were informed
that in this she received her guests.

From Kingston we came to Key West, and from that
point to Charleston, where, as our frigate was too large to
cross the bar, we were taken off, and thence reached
Washington by rail.

One detail regarding those latter days of our
commission is perhaps worthy of record as throwing light on a
seamy side of American life.  From first to last we had
shown every possible civility to the representatives of the
press who had accompanied us on the frigate, constantly
taking them with us in Santo Domingo and elsewhere,
and giving them every facility for collecting information.
But from time to time things occurred which threw a new
and somewhat unpleasant light on the way misinformation
is liberally purveyed to the American public.  One day
one of these gentlemen, the representative of a leading
New York daily, talking with me of the sort of news his
paper required, said, ``The managers of our paper don't
care for serious information, such as particulars regarding
the country we visit, its inhabitants, etc., etc.; what they
want, above all, is something of a personal nature, such as
a quarrel or squabble, and when one occurs they expect us
to make the most of it.''

I thought no more of this until I arrived at Port-au-
Prince, where I found that this gentleman had suddenly
taken the mail-steamer for New York on the plea of urgent
business.  The real cause of his departure was soon
apparent.  His letters to the paper he served now began
to come back to us, and it was found that he had exercised
his imagination vigorously.  He had presented a
mass of sensational inventions, but his genius had been
especially exercised in trumping up quarrels which had
never taken place; his masterpiece being an account of a
bitter struggle between Senator Wade and myself.  As
a matter of fact, there had never been between us the
slightest ill-feeling; the old senator had been like a father
to me from first to last.

The same sort of thing was done by sundry other press
prostitutes, both during our stay in the West Indies and
at Washington; but I am happy to say that several of the
correspondents were men who took their duties seriously,
and really rendered a service to the American public by
giving information worth having.

Our journey from Charleston to Washington had one
episode perhaps worthy of recording, as showing a peculiarity
of local feeling at that time.  Through all the long
day we had little or nothing to eat, and looked forward
ravenously to the dinner on board the Potomac steamer.
But on reaching it and entering the dining-room, we found
that our secretary, Mr. Frederick Douglass, was absolutely
refused admittance.  He, a man who had dined
with the foremost statesmen and scholars of our Northern
States and of Europe,--a man who by his dignity, ability,
and elegant manners was fit to honor any company,--was,
on account of his light tinge of African blood, not thought
fit to sit at meat with the motley crowd on a Potomac
steamer.  This being the case, Dr. Howe and myself
declined to dine, and so reached Washington, about
midnight, almost starving, thus experiencing, at a low price,
the pangs and glories of martyrdom.

One discovery made by the commission on its return
ought to be mentioned here, for the truth of history.  Mr.
Sumner, in his speeches before the Senate, had made a
strong point by contrasting the conduct of the United
States with that of Spain toward Santo Domingo.  He
had insisted that the conduct of Spain had been far more
honorable than that of the United States; that Spain had
brought no pressure to bear upon the Dominican republic;
that when Santo Domingo had accepted Spanish rule,
some years before, it had done so of its own free will; and
that ``not a single Spanish vessel was then in its waters,
nor a single Spanish sailor upon its soil.''  On the other
hand, he insisted that the conduct of the United States had
been the very opposite of this; that it had brought pressure
to bear upon the little island republic; and that when
the decision was made in favor of our country, there were
American ships off the coast and American soldiers upon
the island.  To prove this statement, he read from a speech
of the Spanish prime minister published in the official
paper of the Spanish government at Madrid.  To our
great surprise, we found, on arriving at the island, that
this statement was not correct; that when the action in
favor of annexation to Spain took place, Spanish ships
were upon the coast and Spanish soldiers upon the
island; and that there had been far more appearance
of pressure at that time than afterward, when the little
republic sought admission to the American Union.  One
of our first efforts, therefore, on returning, was to
find a copy of this official paper, for the purpose of
discovering how it was that the leader of the Spanish
ministry had uttered so grave an untruth.  The Spanish
newspaper was missing from the library of Congress;
but at last Dr. Howe, the third commissioner, a life-
long and deeply attached friend of Mr. Sumner, found it
in the library of the senator.  The passage which Mr.
Sumner had quoted was carefully marked; it was simply
to the effect that when the FIRST proceedings looking toward
annexation to Spain were initiated, there were no Spanish
ships in those waters, nor Spanish soldiers on shore.  This
was, however, equally true of the United States; for when
proceedings were begun in Santo Domingo looking to
annexation, there was not an American ship off the coast, nor
an American soldier on the island.

But the painful thing in the matter was that, had Mr
Sumner read the sentence immediately following that
which he quoted, it would have shown simply and distinctly
that his contention was unfounded; that, at the time
when the annexation proceedings WERE formally initiated
and accomplished, there were Spanish ships off those
shores and Spanish soldiers on the island.

I recall vividly the deep regret expressed at the time by
Dr. Howe that his friend Senator Sumner had been so
bitter in his opposition to the administration that he had
quoted the first part of the Spanish minister's speech and
suppressed the second part.  It was clear that if Mr. Sumner
had read the whole passage to the Senate it would have
shown that the conduct of the United States had not been
less magnanimous than that of Spain in the matter, and
that no argument whatever against the administration
could be founded upon its action in sending ships and
troops to the island.

In drawing up our report after our arrival, an amicable
difference of opinion showed itself.  Senator Wade, being
a ``manifest-destiny'' man, wished it expressly to recommend
annexation; Dr. Howe, in his anxiety to raise the
status of the colored race, took a similar view; but I
pointed out to them the fact that Congress had asked, not
for a recommendation, but for facts; that to give them
advice under such circumstances was to expose ourselves to a
snub, and could bring no good to any cause which any of
us might wish to serve; and I stated that if the general
report contained recommendations, I must be allowed to
present one simply containing facts.

The result was that we united in the document presented,
which is a simple statement of facts, and which, as
I believe, remains to this day the best general account of
the resources of Santo Domingo.

The result of our report was what I had expected.  The
Spanish part of that island is of great value from an
agricultural and probably from a mining point of view.  Its
valleys being swept by the trade-winds, its mountain slopes
offer to a white population summer retreats like those
afforded by similar situations to the British occupants of
India.  In winter it might also serve as a valuable
sanatorium.  I remember well the answer made to me by a man
from Maine, who had brought his family to the neighborhood
of Samana Bay in order to escape the rigors of the
New England winter.  On my asking him about the diseases
prevalent in his neighborhood, he said that his entire
household had gone through a light acclimating fever, but
he added:  ``We have all got through it without harm; and
on looking the whole matter over, I am persuaded that, if
you were to divide the people of any New England State
into two halves, leaving one half at home and sending the
other half here, there would in ten years be fewer deaths in
the half sent here, from all the diseases of this country,
than in the half left in New England, from consumption
alone.''

A special element in the question of annexation was the
value of the harbor of Samana in controlling one of the
great passages from Europe to the Isthmus.  It is large
enough to hold any fleet, is protected by a mountain-range
from the northern winds, is easily fortified, and is the
natural outlet of the largest and most fertile valley in the
islands.  More than this, if the experiment of annexing an
outlying possession was to be tried, that was, perhaps, the
best of opportunities, since the resident population to be
assimilated was exceedingly small.

But the people of the United States, greatly as they
honored General Grant, and much as they respected his
recommendations, could not take his view.  They evidently
felt that, with the new duties imposed upon them
by the vast number of men recently set free and admitted
to suffrage in the South, they had quite enough to do
without assuming the responsibility of governing and
developing this new region peopled by blacks and mulattos;
and as a result of this very natural feeling the whole
proposal was dropped, and will doubtless remain in abeyance
until the experiments in dealing with Porto Rico
and the Philippines shall have shown the people of the
United States whether there is any place for such
dependencies under our system.



CHAPTER XXIX

AS COMMISSIONER TO THE PARIS EXPOSITION OF 1878

My next experience was of a quasi-diplomatic sort, in
connection with the Paris Exposition of 1878, and
it needs some preface.

During the Centennial Exposition of 1876 at Philadelphia,
I had been appointed upon the educational jury, and,
as the main part of the work came during the university
long vacation, had devoted myself to it, and had thus been
brought into relations with some very interesting men.

Of these may be named, at the outset, the Emperor Dom
Pedro of Brazil.  I first saw him in a somewhat curious
way.  He had landed at New York in the morning, and
early in the afternoon he appeared with the Empress and
their gentlemen and ladies in waiting at Booth's Theater.
The attraction was Shakspere's ``Henry V,'' and no sooner
was he seated in his box than he had his Shakspere open
before him.  Being in an orchestra stall, I naturally
observed him from time to time, and at one passage light
was thrown upon his idea of his duties as a monarch.  The
play was given finely, by the best American company of
recent years, and he was deeply absorbed in it.  But
presently there came the words of King Henry--the noted
passage:

   ``And what have kings, that privates have not too,
     Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
     And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?''

Whereupon the Emperor and Empress, evidently moved
by the same impression, turned their heads from the stage,
looked significantly at each other, and his majesty very
earnestly nodded to his wife several times, as if
thoroughly assenting.

The feeling thus betrayed was undoubtedly sincere.  His
real love was for science, literature, and art; but above
all for science.  Some years before, at the founding of
Cornell University, Agassiz had shown me private letters
from him revealing his knowledge of natural history, and
the same thirst for knowledge which he showed then was
evident now.  From dawn till dusk he was hard at work,
visiting places of interest and asking questions which,
as various eminent authorities both in the United States
and France have since assured me, showed that he kept
himself well abreast of the most recent scientific
investigations.

On the following morning he invited me to call upon
him, and on my doing so, he saluted me with a multitude
of questions regarding our schools, colleges, and universities,
which I answered as best I could, though many of
them really merited more time than could be given during
a morning interview.  His manner was both impressive
and winning.  He had clearly thought much on educational
problems, and no man engaged in educational work could
fail to be stimulated by his questions and comments.  In
his manner there was nothing domineering or assuming.
I saw him at various times afterward, and remember
especially his kindly and perfectly democratic manner at
a supper given by the late Mr. Drexel of Philadelphia,
when he came among us, moving from group to group,
recognizing here one old friend and there another, and
discussing with each some matter of value.

Republican as I am, it is clear to me that his
constitutional sovereignty was a government far more free,
liberal, and, indeed, republican, than the rule of the
demagogue despots who afterward drove him from his throne
ever has been or ever will be.

Another very interesting person was a Spanish officer,
Don Juan Marin, who has since held high commands both
in his own country and in the West Indies.  We were upon
the same jury, and I came to admire him much.  One day,
as we sat in our committee-room discussing various subjects
brought before us, there appeared in the street leading
to the main entrance of the grounds a large body
of soldiers with loud drumming and fifing.  On his asking
what troops these were, I answered that they were
the most noted of our American militia regiments--the
New York Seventh; and on his expressing a wish to see
them, we both walked out for that purpose.  Presently
the gates were thrown open, and in marched the regiment,
trim and brisk, bearing aloft the flag of the United
States and the standard of the State of New York.

At the moment when the standard and flag were abreast
of us, Colonel Marin, who was in civil dress, drew himself
up, removed his hat, and bowed low with simple dignity.
The great crowd, including myself, were impressed by this
action.  It had never occurred to any one of the rest of us
to show such a tribute to the flag under which so many
good and true men had fought and died for us; and, as one
of the crowd very justly remarked afterward, ``The Spaniard
cheapened the whole lot of us.''  With a single exception,
it was the finest exhibition of manners I have ever
seen.[11]


[11] See the chapter on my attachship in Russia.


Still another delegate was Professor Levasseur, of the
College of France and the French Institute.  His quickness
in ascertaining what was of value in a politico-economical
view, and his discussions of geographical matters,
interested and instructed all who had to do with him.

With him was Rn Millet, an example of the most
attractive qualities of a serious Frenchman--qualities
which have since been recognized in his appointments as
minister and ambassador to Sweden and to Tunis.  Both
these gentlemen afterward made me visits at Cornell
which I greatly enjoyed.

At this time, too, I made a friendship which became
precious to me--that of Gardner Hubbard, one of the
best, truest, and most capable men, in whatever he undertook,
that I have ever seen.  The matter which interested
him then has since interested the world.  His son-in-law
Mr. Alexander Graham Bell, was exhibiting what appeared
to be a toy,--a toy which on one occasion he
showed to Dom Pedro and to others of us, and which
enabled us to hear in one of the buildings of the exposition a
violin played in another building.  It was regarded as
an interesting plaything, and nothing more.  A controlling
right in its use might have been bought for a very moderate
sum--yet it was the beginning of the telephone!

In connection with these and other interesting men, I
had devoted myself to the educational exhibits of the
exposition; and the result was that, during the following
year, I was appointed by the Governor of the State of
New York one of two honorary commissioners to the Paris
Exposition; the other being Mr. Morton, afterward Minister
to France, Vice-President of the United States, and
Governor of the State of New York.

I was not inclined, at first, to take my appointment very
seriously, but went to Paris simply to visit the exposition,
hoping that my honorary function would give me good
opportunities.  But on arriving I found the commissioner-
general of the United States, Governor McCormick, hard
pressed by his duties, and looking about for help.  A large
number of regular commissioners had been appointed, but
very few of them were of the slightest use.  Hardly one
of them could speak French, and very few of them really
took any interest in the duties assigned them.  The main
exception, a very noble one, was my old friend President
Barnard of Columbia College, and he had not yet arrived.
Under these circumstances, I yielded to the earnest
request of Governor McCormick and threw myself heartily
into the work of making our part of the exposition a
success.

The American representation at the Vienna Exposition
a few years before had resulted in a scandal which had
resounded through Europe, and this scandal had arisen
from the fact that a subordinate, who had gained the
confidence of our excellent commissioner-general at that post,
had been charged, and to all appearance justly, with
receiving money for assigning privileges to bar-keepers
and caterers.  The result was that the commissioner-general
was cruelly wounded, and that finally he and his
associates were ignominiously removed, and the American
minister to Austria put in his place until a new commission
could be formed.  Of course every newspaper in Europe
hostile to republican ideas, and they were very many,
made the most of this catastrophe.  One of them in Vienna
was especially virulent; it called attention to the model
of an American school-house in the exposition, and said
that ``it should be carefully observed as part of the
machinery which trains up such mercenary wretches as have
recently disgraced humanity at the exposition.''

To avoid scandals, to negotiate with the French
commissioners on one side, and the crowd of exhibitors on
the other, and especially to see that in all particulars the
representatives of American industry were fully recognized,
was a matter of much difficulty; but happily all
turned out well.

Among the duties of my position was membership of the
upper jury--that which, in behalf of the French Republic,
awarded the highest prizes.  Each day, at about nine in
the morning, we met, and a remarkable body it was.  At
my right sat Meissonier, then the most eminent of French
painters, and beyond him Quintana, the Spanish poet.  Of
the former of these two I possess a curious memento.  He
was very assiduous in attendance at our sessions, and the
moment he took his seat he always began drawing, his
materials being the block of letter-paper and the pencils,
pens, and ink lying before him.  No matter what was
under discussion, he kept on with his drawing.  While
he listened, and even while he talked, his pencil or pen
continued moving over the paper.  He seemed to bring
every morning a mass of new impressions caught during
his walk to the exposition, which he made haste to trans-
fer to paper.  Sometimes he used a pencil, sometimes, a
quill pen, and not infrequently he would plunge the
feather end of the quill into his inkstand and rapidly put
into his work broader and blacker strokes.  As soon as
he had finished a drawing he generally tore it into bits
and threw them upon the floor, but occasionally he would
fold the sketches carefully and put them into his pocket.
This being the case, no one dared ask him for one of them.

But one morning his paper gave out, and for lack of it
he took up a boxwood paper-knife lying near and began
work on it.  First he decorated the handle in a sort of
rococo way, and then dashed off on the blade, with his pen,
a very spirited head--a bourgeois physiognomy somewhat
in Gavarni's manner.  But as he could not tear the
paper-knife into bits, and did not care to take it away, he
left it upon the table.  This was my chance.  Immediately
after the session I asked the director-general to allow me
to carry it off as a souvenir; he assented heartily, and so
I possess a picture which I saw begun, continued, and
ended by one of the greatest of French painters.

At my left was Tresca, director of the French National
Conservatory of Arts and Trades; and next him, the
sphinx of the committee--the most silent man I ever saw
the rector of the Portuguese University of Coimbra.  During
the three months of our session no one of us ever
heard him utter a word.  Opposite was Jules Simon, eminent
as an orator, philosopher, scholar, and man of letters;
an academician who had held positions in various cabinets,
and had even been prime minister of the republic.
On one side of him was Tullo Massarani, a senator of the
Italian kingdom, eminent as a writer on the philosophy of
art; on the other, Boussingault, one of the foremost chemists
of the century; and near him, Wischniegradsky, director
of the Imperial Technical Institute at Moscow, whom I
afterward came to know as minister of finance at St.
Petersburg.  Each afternoon we devoted to examining the
greater exhibits which were to come before us in competition
for the grands prix on the following morning.

At one of our sessions a curious difficulty arose.  The
committee on the award of these foremost prizes for
advanced work in electricity brought in their report, and, to
my amazement, made no award to my compatriot Edison,
who was then at the height of his reputation.  Presently
Tresca, who read the report, and who really lamented the
omission, whispered to me the reason of it.  Through the
negligence of persons representing Edison, no proper
exhibition of his inventions had been made to the committee.
They had learned that his agent was employed in showing
the phonograph in a distant hall on the boulevards to
an audience who paid an admission fee; but, although they
had tried two or three times to have his apparatus shown
them, they had been unsuccessful, until at last, from a
feeling of what was due their own self-respect, they passed
the matter over entirely.  Of course my duty was to do
what was possible in rectifying this omission, and in as
good French as I could muster I made a speech in Edison's
behalf, describing his career, outlining his work,
and saying that I should really be ashamed to return to
America without some recognition of him and of his
inventions.  This was listened to most courteously, but my
success was insured by a remark of a less serious character,
which was that if Edison had not yet made a sufficient
number of inventions to entitle him to a grand prize,
he would certainly, at the rate he was going on, have done
so before the close of the exposition.  At this there was a
laugh, and my amendment was unanimously carried.

Many features in my work interested me, but one had
a melancholy tinge.  One afternoon, having been summoned
to pass upon certain competing works in sculpture,
we finally stood before the great bronze entrance-
doors of the Cathedral of Strasburg, which, having been
designed before the Franco-Prussian War, had but just
been finished.  They were very beautiful; but I could see
that my French associates felt deeply the changed situation
of affairs which this exhibit brought to their minds.

In order to promote the social relations which go for
so much at such times, I had taken the large apartment
temporarily relinquished by our American minister,
Governor Noyes of Ohio, in the Avenue Josephine; and there,
at my own table, brought together from time to time a
considerable number of noted men from various parts of
Europe.  Perhaps the most amusing occurrence during
the series of dinners I then gave was the meeting between
Story, the American sculptor at Rome, and Judge Brady
of New York.  For years each had been taken for the other,
in various parts of the world, but they had never met.
In fact, so common was it for people to mistake one for
the other that both had, as a rule, ceased to explain the
mistake.  I was myself present with Story on one occasion
when a gentleman came up to him, saluted him as Judge
Brady, and asked him about their friends in New York:
Story took no trouble to undeceive his interlocutor, but
remarked that, so far as he knew, they were all well, and
ended the interview with commonplaces.

These two Dromios evidently enjoyed meeting, and
nothing could be more amusing than their accounts of
various instances in which each had been mistaken for the
other.  Each had a rich vein of humor, and both presented
the details of these occurrences with especial zest.

Another American, of foreign birth, was not quite so
charming.  He was a man of value in his profession; but
his desire for promotion outran his discretion.  Having
served as juror at the Vienna Exposition, he had now
been appointed to a similar place in Paris; and after one
of my dinners he came up to a group in which there were
two or three members of the French cabinet, and said:
``Mr. Vite, I vish you vould joost dell dese zhentlemen vat
I am doing vor Vrance.  I vas on de dasting gommittee
for vines und peers at Vien, and it 'most killed me; and
now I am here doing de same duty, and my stomach has
nearly gone pack on me.  Tell dese zhentlemen dat de
French Government zurely ought to gonfer ubon me de
Legion of Honor.''  This was spoken with the utmost
seriousness, and was embarrassing, since, of all subjects,
that which a French minister least wishes to discuss
publicly is the conferring of the red ribbon.

Embarrassing also was the jubilation of some of our
American exhibitors at our celebration of the Fourth of
July in the Bois de Boulogne.  Doubtless they were
excellent citizens, but never was there a better
exemplification of Dr. Arnold's saying that ``a traveller is a
self-constituted outlaw.''  A generous buffet had been
provided, after the French fashion, with a sufficiency of
viands and whatever wine was needed.  To my amazement,
these men, who at home were most of them, probably,
steady-going ``temperance men,'' were so overcome with
the idea that champagne was to be served ad libitum, that
the whole thing came near degenerating into an orgy.  A
European of the same rank, accustomed to drinking wine
moderately with his dinner, would have simply taken a
glass or two and thought no more of it; but these gentlemen
seemed to see in it the occasion of their lives.  Bottles
were seized and emptied, glass after glass, down the
throats of my impulsive fellow-citizens: in many cases
a bottle and more to a man.  Then came the worst of it.
It had been arranged that speeches should be made under
a neighboring tent by leading members of the French
cabinet who had accepted invitations to address us.  But
when they proceeded to do this difficulties arose.  A number
of our compatriots, unduly exhilarated, and understanding
little that was said, first applauded on general
principles, but at the wrong places, and finally broke out
into apostrophes such as ``Speak English, old boy!''
``Talk Yankee fashion!''  ``Remember the glorious
Fourth!''  ``Give it to the British!''  ``Make the eagle
scream!'' and the like.  The result was that we were
obliged to make most earnest appeals to these gentlemen,
begging them not to disgrace our country; and, finally, the
proceedings were cut short.

Nor was this the end.  As I came down the Champs
lyses afterward, I met several groups of these
patriots, who showed by their walk and conversation that
they were decidedly the worse for their celebration of the
day; and the whole thing led me to reflect seriously on the
drink problem, and to ask whether our American solution
of it is the best.  I have been present at many large
festive assemblages, in various parts of Europe, where wine
was offered freely as a matter of course; but never have
I seen anything to approach this performance of my
countrymen.  I have been one of four thousand people at
the Htel de Ville in Paris on the occasion of a great
ball, at other entertainments almost as large in other
Continental countries, and at dinner parties innumerable
in every European country; but never, save in one
instance, were the festivities disturbed by any man on
account of drink.

The most eminent of American temperance advocates
during my young manhood, Mr. Delavan, insisted that he
found Italy, where all people, men, women, and children,
drink wine with their meals, if they can get it, the most
temperate country he had ever seen; and, having made
more than twelve different sojourns in Italy, I can confirm
that opinion.

So, too, again and again, when traveling in the old days
on the top of a diligence through village after village in
France, where the people were commemorating the patron
saint of their district, I have passed through crowds of
men, women, and children seated by the roadside drinking
wine, cider, and beer, and, so far as one could see, there
was no drunkenness; certainly none of the squalid, brutal,
swinish sort.  It may indeed be said that, in spite of light
stimulants, drunkenness has of late years increased in
France, especially among artisans and day laborers.  If
this be so, it comes to strengthen my view.  For the main
reason will doubtless be found in the increased prices of
light wines, due to vine diseases and the like, which have
driven the poorer classes to seek far more noxious beverages.

So, too, in Germany.  Like every resident in that
country, I have seen great crowds drinking much beer,
and, though I greatly dislike that sort of guzzling, I never
saw anything of the beastly, crazy, drunken exhibitions
which are so common on Independence Day and county-
fair day in many American towns where total abstinence is
loudly preached and ostensibly practised.  Least of all do
I admire the beer-swilling propensities of the German
students, and still I must confess that I have never seen
anything so wild, wicked, outrageous, and destructive to soul
and body as the drinking of distilled liquors at bars
which, in my student days, I saw among American students.
But I make haste to say that within the last twenty
or thirty years American students have improved immensely
in this respect.  Athletics and greater interest in
study, caused by the substitution of the students' own
aims and tastes for the old cast-iron curriculum, are
doubtless the main reasons for this improvement.[12]


[12] Further reasons for this improvement I have endeavored to
give more in detail elsewhere.


Yet, in spite of this redeeming thing, the fact remains
that one of the greatest curses of American life is the
dram-drinking of distilled liquors at bars; and one key of
the whole misery is the American habit of ``treating,''--a
habit unknown in other countries.  For example, in America,
if Tom, Dick, and Harry happen to meet at a hotel,
or in the street, to discuss politics or business, Tom
invites Dick and Harry to drink with him, which, in
accordance with the code existing among large classes of
our fellow-citizens, Dick and Harry feel bound to do.
After a little more talk Dick invites Harry and Tom to
drink; they feel obliged to accept; and finally Harry
invites Tom and Dick, with like result; so that these three
men have poured down their throats several glasses of
burning stimulants, perhaps in the morning, perhaps just
before the midday meal, or at some other especially
unsuitable time, with results more or less injurious to each
of them, physically and morally.

The European, more sensible, takes with his dinner,
as a rule, a glass or two of wine or beer, and is little, if
at all, the worse for it.  If he ever takes any distilled
liquor, he sips a very small glass of it after his dinner,
to aid digestion.

It is my earnest conviction, based upon wide observation
in my own country as well as in many others during
about half a century, that the American theory and practice
as regards the drink question are generally more
pernicious than those of any other civilized nation.  I
am not now speaking of TOTAL ABSTINENCE--of that, more
presently.  But the best TEMPERANCE workers among us
that I know are the men who brew light, pure beer, and
the vine-growers in California who raise and sell at a very
low price wines pleasant and salutary, if any wines can be so.

As to those who have no self-restraint, beer and wine,
like many other things, promote the ``survival of the
fittest,'' and are, like many other things, ``fool-killers,''
aiding to free the next generation from men of vicious
propensities and weak will.

I repeat it, the curse of American social life, among a
very considerable class of our people, is ``perpendicular
drinking''--that is, the pouring down of glass after glass
of distilled spirits, mostly adulterated, at all sorts of
inopportune times, and largely under the system of ``treating.''

The best cure for this, in my judgment, would be for
States to authorize and local authorities to adopt the
``Swedish system,'' which I found doing excellent service
at Gothenburg in Sweden a few years since, and
which I am sorry to see the fanatics there have recently
wrecked.  Under this plan the various towns allowed a
company to open a certain number of clean, tidy drinking-
places; obliged them to purchase pure liquors; forbade
them, under penalties, to sell to any man who had already
taken too much; made it also obligatory to sell something
to eat at the same time with something to drink; and, best
of all, restricted the profits of these establishments to a
moderate percentage,--seven or eight per cent., if I re-
member rightly,--all the surplus receipts going to public
purposes, and especially to local charities.  The main point
was that the men appointed to dispense the drinks had no
motive to sell adulterated drinks, or any more liquor than
was consistent with the sobriety of the customer.

I may add that, in my opinion, the worst enemies of real
temperance in America, as in other countries, have been
the thoughtless screamers against intemperance, who have
driven vast numbers of their fellow-citizens to drink in
secret or at bars.  Of course I shall have the honor of
being railed at and denounced by every fanatic who reads
these lines, but from my heart I believe them true.

I remember that some of these people bitterly attacked
Governor Stanford of California for the endowment of
Stanford University, in part, from the rent of his vineyards.
People who had not a word to say against one
theological seminary for accepting the Daniel Drew
endowment, or against another for accepting the Jay Gould
endowment, were horrified that the Stanford University
should receive revenue from a vineyard.  The vineyards
of California, if their product were legally protected from
adulteration, could be made one of the most potent influences
against drunkenness that our country has seen.  The
California wines are practically the only pure wines
accessible to Americans.  They are so plentiful that there is
no motive to adulterate them, and their use among those
of us who are so unwise as to drink anything except water
ought to be effectively advocated as supplanting the
drinking of beer poisoned with strychnine, whisky poisoned
with fusel-oil, and ``French claret'' poisoned with
salicylic acid and aniline.

The true way to supplant the ``saloon'' and the barroom,
as regards working-men who obey their social instincts
by seeking something in the nature of a club, and
therefore resorting to places where stimulants are sold,
is to take the course so ably advocated by Bishop Potter:
namely, to furnish places of refreshment and amusement
which shall be free from all tendency to beastliness, and
which, with cheerful open fireplaces, games of various
sorts, good coffee and tea, and, if necessary, light beer
and wine, shall be more attractive than the ``saloons''
and ``dives'' which are doing our country such vast harm.

My advice to all men is to drink nothing but water.
That is certainly the wisest way for nine men out of ten
--and probably for all ten.  Indeed, one reason why
the great body of our people accomplish so much more in
a given time than those of any other country, and why the
average American working-man ``catches on'' and ``gits
thar'' more certainly and quickly than a man of the same
sort in any other country (and careful comparison between
various other countries and our own has shown that
this is the case), is that a much larger proportion of our
people do not stupefy themselves with stimulants.

In what I have said above I have had in view the
problem as it really stands: namely, the existence of a very
large number of people who WILL have stimulants of
some kind.  In such cases common sense would seem to
dictate that, in the case of those who persist in using
distilled liquors, something ought to be done to substitute
those which are pure for those which are absolutely
poisonous and maddening; and, in the case of those who
merely seek a mild stimulant, to substitute for distilled
liquors light fermented beverages; and, in the case of
those who seek merely recreation after toil, to substitute
for beverages which contain alcohol, light beverages like
coffee, tea, and chocolate.

This is a long digression, but liberavi animam meam,
and now I return to my main subject.

The American commissioners were treated with great
kindness by the French authorities.  There were exceedingly
interesting receptions by various ministers, and at
these one met the men best worth knowing in France:
the men famous in science, literature, and art, who redeem
France from the disgrace heaped upon her by the wretched
creatures who most noisily represent her through sensational
newspapers.

Of the men who impressed me most was Henri Martin,
the eminent historian.  He discussed with me the history
of France in a way which aroused many new trains of
thought.  Jules Simon, eminent both as a scholar and a
statesman, did much for me.  On one occasion he took
me about Paris, showing me places of special interest
connected with the more striking scenes of the Revolutionary
period; on another, he went with me to the distribution of
prizes at the French Academy--a most striking scene;
and on still another he piloted me through his beautiful
library, pointing out various volumes in which were
embedded bullets which the communards had fired through
his windows from the roof of the Madeleine just opposite.

Another interesting experience was a breakfast with the
eminent chemist Sainte-Claire Deville, at which I met
Pasteur, who afterward took me through his laboratories,
where he was then making some of his most important
experiments.  In one part of his domain there were cages
containing dogs, and on my asking about them he said
that he was beginning a course of experiments bearing
on the causes and cure of hydrophobia.  Nothing could be
more simple and modest than this announcement of one
of the most fruitful investigations ever made.

Visits to various institutions of learning interested me
much, among these a second visit to the Agricultural
College at Grignon and the wonderful Conservatoire des Arts
et Mtiers, which gave me new ideas for the similar
departments at Cornell, and a morning at the cole Normale,
where I saw altogether the best teaching of a Latin classic
that I have ever known.  As I heard Professor Desjardins
discussing with his class one of Cicero's letters in the
light of modern monuments in the Louvre and of recent
archaeological discoveries, I longed to be a boy again.

Among the statesmen whom I met at that time in France,
a strong impression was made upon me by one who had
played a leading part in the early days of Napoleon III,
but who was at this time living in retirement, M. Drouyn
de Lhuys.  He had won distinction as minister of foreign
affairs, but, having retired from politics, had given
himself up in his old age to various good enterprises,
among these, to the great Reform School at Mettray.
This he urged me to visit, and, although it was at a
considerable distance from Paris, I took his advice, and was
much interested in it.  The school seemed to me well
deserving thorough study by all especially interested in the
problem of crime in our own country.

There is in France a system under which, when any
young man is evidently going all wrong,--squandering his
patrimony and bringing his family into disgrace,--a family
council can be called, with power to place the wayward
youth under restraint; and here, in one part of the
Mettray establishment, were rooms in which such youths were
detained in accordance with the requests of family councils.
It appeared that some had derived benefit from these
detentions, for there were shown me one or two letters
from them: one, indeed, written by a young man on the
bottom of a drawer, and intended for the eye of his successor
in the apartment, which was the most contrite yet
manly appeal I have ever read.

Another man of great eminence whom I met in those
days was Thiers.  I was taken by an old admirer of
his to his famous house in the Place St. Georges, and
there found him, in the midst of his devotees, receiving
homage.

He said but little, and that little was commonplace; but
I was not especially disappointed: my opinion of him was
made up long before, and time has but confirmed it.  The
more I have considered his doings as minister or
parliamentarian, and the more I have read his works, whether
his political pamphlet known as the ``History of the
French Revolution,'' which did so much to arouse sterile
civil struggles, or his ``History of the Consulate and of the
Empire,'' which did so much to revive the Napoleonic
legend, or his speeches under the constitutional monarchy
of Louis Philippe, under the Republic, and under the Second
Empire, which did so much to promote confusion and
anarchy, the less I admire him.  He seems to me eminently
an architect of ruin.

It is true that when France was wallowing in the misery
into which he and men like him had done so much to
plunge her, he exerted himself wonderfully to accomplish
her rescue; but when the history of that country during
the last century shall be fairly written, his career, brilliant
as it once appeared, will be admired by no thinking patriot.

I came to have far more respect for another statesman
whom I then met--Duruy, the eminent historian of
France and of Rome, who had labored so earnestly under
the Second Empire, both as a historian and a minister of
state, to develop a basis for rational liberty.

Seated next me at dinner, he made a remark which
threw much light on one of the most serious faults of the
French Republic.  Said he, ``Monsieur, I was minister of
public instruction under the Empire for seven years; since
my leaving that post six years have elapsed, and in that
time I have had seven successors.''

On another occasion he discoursed with me about the
special difficulties of France; and as I mentioned to him
that I remembered his controversy with Cardinal de
Bonnechose, in which the latter tried to drive him out of
office because he did not fetter scientific teaching in the
University of Paris, he spoke quite freely with me.  Although
not at all a radical, and evidently willing to act
in concert with the church as far as possible, he gave
me to understand that the demands made by ecclesiastics
upon every French ministry were absolutely unendurable;
that France never could yield to these demands; and that,
sooner or later, a great break must come between the
church and modern society.  His prophecy now seems
nearing fulfilment.

Among the various meetings which were held in
connection with the exposition was a convention of literary
men for the purpose of securing better international
arrangements regarding copyright.  Having been elected
a member of this, I had the satisfaction of hearing most
interesting speeches from Victor Hugo, Tourgueneff, and
Edmond About.  The latter made the best speech of all,
and by his exquisite wit and pleasing humor fully showed
his right to the name which his enemies had given him--
``the Voltaire of the nineteenth century.''

The proceedings of this convention closed with a banquet
over which Victor Hugo presided; and of all the trying
things in my life, perhaps the most so was the speech
which I then attempted in French, with Victor Hugo looking
at me.

There were also various educational congresses at the
Sorbonne, in which the discussions interested me much;
but sundry receptions at the French Academy were far
more attractive.  Of all the exquisite literary performances
I have ever known, the speeches made on those occasions
by M. Charles Blanc, M. Gaston Boissier, and the
members who received them were the most entertaining.
To see these witty Frenchmen attacking each other in the
most pointed way, yet still observing all the forms of
politeness, and even covering their adversaries with
compliments, gives one new conceptions of human ingenuity.
But whether it is calculated to increase respect for the
main actors is another question.

The formal closing of the exposition was a brilliant
pageant.  Various inventors and exhibitors received gifts
and decorations from the hand of the President of the
Republic, and, among them, Dr. Barnard, Story, and myself
were given officers' crosses of the Legion of Honor
which none of us has ever thought of wearing; but,
alas! my Swiss-American friend who had pleaded so
pathetically his heroic services in ``Dasting de vines und
peers'' for France did not receive even the chevalier's
ribbon, and the expression of his disappointment was loud
and long.

Nor was he the only disappointed visitor.  It was my
fortune one day at the American legation to observe one
difficulty which at the western capitals of Europe has
become very trying, and which may be mentioned to show
that an American representative has sometimes to meet.
As I was sitting with our minister, Governor Noyes of
Ohio, there was shown into the room a lady, very stately,
and dressed in the height of fashion.  It was soon evident
that she was on the war-path.  She said, ``Mr.
Minister, I have come to ask you why it is that I do not
receive any invitations to balls and receptions given by
the cabinet ministers?''  Governor Noyes answered very
politely, ``Mrs. ----, we have placed your name on the list
of those whom we would especially like to have invited,
and have every hope that it will receive attention.''  She
answered, ``Why is it that you can do so much less than
your predecessor did at the last exposition?  THEN I
received a large number of invitations; NOW I receive none.''
The minister answered, ``I am very sorry indeed, madam;
but there are perhaps twenty or thirty thousand Americans
in Paris; the number of them invited on each occasion
cannot exceed fifty or sixty; and the French authorities
are just now giving preference to those who have come
from the United States to take some special part in the
exposition as commissioners or exhibitors.''  At this the
lady was very indignant.  She rose and said, ``I will give
you no more trouble, Mr. Minister; but I am going back
to America, and shall tell Senator Conkling, who gave
me my letter of introduction to you, that either he has
very little influence with you, or you have very little
influence with the French Government.  Good morning!''
And she flounced out of the room.

This is simply an indication of what is perhaps the
most vexatious plague which afflicts American representatives
in the leading European capitals,--a multitude of
people, more or less worthy, pressing to be presented at
court or to be invited to official functions.  The whole
matter has a ridiculous look, and has been used by sundry
demagogues as a text upon which to orate against
the diplomatic service and to arouse popular prejudice
against it.  But I think that a patriotic American may
well take the ground that while there is so much snobbery
shown by a certain sort of Americans abroad, it is
not an unwise thing to have in each capital a man who
in the intervals of his more important duties, can keep this
struggling mass of folly from becoming a scandal and a
byword throughout Europe.  No one can know, until he
has seen the inner workings of our diplomatic service,
how much duty of this kind is quietly done by our
representatives, and how many things are thus avoided which
would tend to bring scorn upon our country and upon
republican institutions.



CHAPTER XXX

AS MINISTER TO GERMANY--1879-1881

In the spring of 1879 I was a third time brought into
the diplomatic service, and in a way which surprised me.
The President of the United States at that period was Mr.
Hayes of Ohio.  I had met him once at Cornell University,
and had an interesting conversation with him, but never
any other communication, directly or indirectly.  Great,
then, was my astonishment when, upon the death of Bayard
Taylor just at the beginning of his career as minister
to Germany, there came to me an offer of the post thus
made vacant.

My first duty after accepting it was to visit Washington
and receive instructions.  Calling upon the Secretary
of State, Mr. Evarts, and finding his rooms filled with
people, I said:  ``Mr. Secretary, you are evidently very
busy; I can come at any other time you may name.''
Thereupon he answered:  ``Come in, come in; there are
just two rules at the State Department: one is that no
business is ever done out of office hours; and the other is, that
no business is ever done IN office hours.''  It was soon
evident that this was a phrase to put me at ease, rather
than an exact statement of fact; and, after my conference
with him, several days were given to familiarizing myself
with the correspondence of my immediate predecessors,
and with the views of the department on questions then
pending between the two countries.

Dining at the White House next day, I heard Mr. Evarts
withstand the President on a question which has always
interested me--the admission of cabinet ministers to
take part in the debates of Congress.  Mr. Hayes
presented the case in favor of their admission cogently; but
the Secretary of State overmatched his chief.  This
greatly pleased me; for I had been long convinced that
next to the power given the Supreme Court, the best
thing in the Constitution of the United States is that
complete separation of the executive from the legislative
power which prevents every Congressional session becoming
a perpetual gladiatorial combat or, say, rather,
a permanent game of foot-ball.  Again and again I have
heard European statesmen lament that their constitution-
makers had adopted, in this respect, the British rather
than the American system.  What it is in France, with
cabals organized to oust every new minister as soon as he
is appointed, and to provide for a ``new deal'' from the
first instant of an old one, with an average of one or two
changes of ministry every year as a result, we all know;
and, with the exception of the German parliament, Continental
legislatures generally are just about as bad; indeed,
in some respects the Italian parliament is worse.
The British system would have certainly excluded such
admirable Secretaries of State as Thomas Jefferson and
Hamilton Fish; possibly such as John Quincy Adams,
Seward, and John Hay.  In Great Britain, having been
evolved in conformity with its environment, it is
successful; but it is successful nowhere else.  I have always
looked back with great complacency upon such men as
those above named in the State Department, and such as
Hamilton, Gallatin, Chase, Stanton, and Gage in other
departments, sitting quietly in their offices, giving calm
thought to government business, and allowing the heathen
to rage at their own sweet will in both houses of
Congress.  Under the other system, our Republic might
perhaps have become almost as delectable as Venezuela
with its hundred and four revolutions in seventy years[13]


[13] See Lord Lansdowne's speech, December, 1902.


On the day following I dined with the Secretary of
State, and found him in his usual pleasant mood.  Noting
on his dinner-service the words, ``Facta non verba,'' I
called his attention to them as a singular motto for an
eminent lawyer and orator; whereupon he said that, two
old members of Congress dining with him recently, one of
them asked the other what those words meant, to which
the reply was given, ``They mean, `Victuals, not talk.' ''

On the way to my post, I stopped in London and was
taken to various interesting places.  At the house of my
old friend and Yale classmate, George Washburn Smalley,
I met a number of very interesting people, and among
these was especially impressed by Mr. Meredith Townshend,
whose knowledge of American affairs seemed amazingly
extensive and preternaturally accurate.  At the
house of Sir William Harcourt I met Lord Ripon, about
that time Viceroy of India, whose views on dealings with
Orientals interested me much.  At the Royal Institution
an old acquaintance was renewed with Tyndall and Huxley;
and during an evening with the eminent painter, Mr.
Alma-Tadema, at his house in the suburbs, and especially
when returning from it, I made a very pleasant acquaintance
with the poet Browning.  As his carriage did not
arrive, I offered to take him home in mine; but hardly had
we started when we found ourselves in a dense fog, and
it shortly became evident that our driver had lost his
way.  As he wandered about for perhaps an hour, hoping
to find some indication of it, Browning's conversation was
very agreeable.  It ran at first on current questions, then
on travel, and finally on art,--all very simply and naturally,
with not a trace of posing or paradox.  Remembering
the obscurity of his verse, I was surprised at the
lucidity of his talk.  But at last, both of us becoming
somewhat anxious, we called a halt and questioned the
driver, who confessed that he had no idea where he was.
As good, or ill, luck would have it, there just then emerged
from the fog an empty hansom-cab, and finding that its
driver knew more than ours, I engaged him as pilot, first
to Browning's house, and then to my own.

One old friend to whom I was especially indebted was
Sir Charles Reed, who had been my fellow-commissioner
at the Paris and Philadelphia expositions.  Thanks to
him, I was invited to the dinner of the lord mayor at the
Guildhall.  As we lingered in the library before going
to the table, opportunity was given to study various eminent
guests.  First came Cairns, the lord chancellor, in
all the glory of official robes and wig; then Lord Derby;
then Lord Salisbury, who, if I remember rightly, was
minister of foreign affairs; then, after several other
distinguished personages, most interesting of all, Lord
Beaconsfield, the prime minister.  He was the last to arrive,
and immediately after his coming he presented his arm to
the lady mayoress, and the procession took its way toward
the great hall.  From my seat, which was but a little
way from the high table, I had a good opportunity to
observe these men and to hear their speeches.

All was magnificent.  Nothing of its kind could be more
splendid than the massive gold and silver plate piled
upon the lord mayor's table and behind it, nothing more
sumptuous than the dinner, nothing more quaint than
the ceremonial.  Near the lord mayor, who was arrayed
in his robes, chain, and all the glories of his office, stood
the toastmaster, who announced the toasts in a manner
fit to make an American think himself dreaming,--something,
in fact, after this sort, in a queer singsong way,
with comical cadences, brought up at the end with a sharp
snap:  ``Me lawds, la-a-a-dies and gentleme-e-e-n, by
commawnd of the Right Honorable the Lawrd Marr, I
cha-a-awrge you fill your glawse-e-e-s and drink to the
health of the Right Honorable the Ur-r-rll of Beck'nsfield.''

A main feature of the ceremony was the loving-cup.
Down each long table a large silver tankard containing
a pleasing beverage, of which the foundation seemed to
be claret, was passed; and, as it came, each of us in turn
arose, and, having received it solemnly from his neighbor,
who had drunk to his health, drank in return, and then,
turning to his next neighbor, drank to him; the latter
then received the cup, returned the compliment, and in the
same way passed it on.

During the whole entertainment I had frequently turned
my eyes toward the prime minister, and had been much
impressed by his apparent stolidity.  When he presented
his arm to the lady mayoress, when he walked with her, and
during all the time at table, he seemed much like a wooden
image galvanized into temporary life.  When he rose to
speak, there was the same wooden stiffness and he went
on in a kind of mechanical way until, suddenly, he darted
out a brilliant statement regarding the policy of the
government that aroused the whole audience; then, after more
of the same wooden manner and mechanical procedure,
another brilliant sentence; and so on to the end of the
speech.

All the speeches were good and to the point.  There
were none of those despairing efforts to pump up fun
which so frequently make American public dinners
distressing.  The speakers evidently bore in mind the fact
that on the following day their statements would be
pondered in the household of every well-to-do Englishman,
would be telegraphed to foreign nations, and would be
echoed back from friends and foes in all parts of the world.

After the regular speeches came a toast to the diplomatic
corps, and the person selected to respond was our
representative, the Honorable Edwards Pierpont.  This
he did exceedingly well, and in less than five minutes.
Sundry American papers had indulged in diatribes
against fulsome speeches at English banquets by some of
Mr. Pierpont's predecessors, and he had evidently
determined that no such charge should be established against
him.

Much was added to my pleasure by my neighbors at
the table--on one side, Sir Frederick Pollock, the eminent
father of the present Sir Frederick; and on the other,
Mr. Rolf, the ``remembrancer'' of the City of London.

This suggests the remark that, in my experience among
Englishmen, I have found very little of the coldness and
stiffness which are sometimes complained of.  On the
contrary, whenever I have been thrown among them, whether
in Great Britain or on the Continent, they have generally
proved to be agreeable conversationists.  One thing has
seemed to me at times curious and even comical: they will
frequently shut themselves up tightly from their
compatriots,--even from those of their own station,--and yet
be affable, and indeed expansive, to any American they
chance to meet.  The reason for this is, to an American,
even more curious than the fact.  I may discuss it later.

My arrival in Berlin took place just at the beginning of
the golden-wedding festivities of the old Emperor
William I.  There was a wonderful series of pageants: historic
costume balls, gala operas, and the like, at court;
but most memorable to me was the kindly welcome extended
to us by all in authority, from the Emperor and
Empress down.  The cordiality of the diplomatic corps
was also very pleasing, and during the presentations to
the ruling family of the empire I noticed one thing especially:
the great care with which they all, from the monarch
to the youngest prince, had prepared themselves to
begin a conversation agreeable to the new-comer.  One
of these high personages started a discussion with me upon
American shipping; another, on American art; another, on
scenery in Colorado; another, on our railways and steamers;
still another, on American dentists and dentistry;
and, in case of a lack of other subjects, there was Niagara,
which they could always fall back upon.

The duty of a prince of the house of Hohenzollern is
by no means light; it involves toil.  In my time, when
the present emperor, then the young Prince William,
brought his bride home, in addition to their other receptions
of public bodies, day after day and hour after hour,
they received the diplomatic corps, who were arranged
at the palace in a great circle, the ladies forming one half
and the gentlemen the other.  The young princess,
accompanied by her train, beginning with the ladies, and
the young prince, with his train, beginning with the gentlemen,
each walked slowly around the interior of the entire
circle, stopping at each foreign representative and
speaking to him, often in the language of his own country,
regarding some subject which might be supposed to
interest him.  It was really a surprising feat, for which, no
doubt, they had been carefully prepared, but which would
be found difficult even by many a well-trained scholar.

An American representative, in presenting his letter of
credence from the President of the United States to the
ruler of the German Empire, has one advantage in the fact
that he has an admirable topic ready to his hand, such as
perhaps no other minister has.  This boon was given us
by Frederick the Great.  He, among the first of Continental
rulers, recognized the American States as an independent
power; and therefore every American minister since,
including myself, has found it convenient, on presenting the
President's autograph letter to the King or Emperor, to
recall this event and to build upon it such an oratorical
edifice as circumstances may warrant.  The fact that the
great Frederick recognized the new American Republic,
not from love of it, but on account of his detestation of
England, provoked by her conduct during his desperate
struggle against his Continental enemies, is, of course,
on such occasions diplomatically kept in the background.

The great power in Germany at that time was the
chancellor, Prince Bismarck.  Nothing could be more
friendly and simple than his greeting; and however stately
his official entertainments to the diplomatic corps might
be, simplicity reigned at his family dinners, when his
conversation was apparently frank and certainly delightful.

To him I shall devote another chapter.

In those days an American minister at Berlin was
likely to find his personal relations with the German
minister of foreign affairs cordial, but his official
relations continuous war.  Hardly a day passed without some
skirmish regarding the rights of ``German-Americans''
in their Fatherland.  The old story constantly recurred
in new forms.  Generally it was sprung by some man who
had left Germany just at the age for entering the army,
had remained in America just long enough to secure
naturalization, and then, without a thought of discharging
any of his American duties, had come back to claim
exemption from his German duties, and to flaunt his
American citizen papers in the face of the authorities of the
province where he was born.  This was very galling
to these authorities, from the fact that such Americans
were often inclined to glory over their old schoolmates
and associates who had not taken this means of escaping
military duty; and it was no wonder that these brand-
new citizens, if their papers were not perfectly regular,
were sometimes held for desertion until the American
representative could intervene.

Still other cases were those where fines had been
imposed upon men of this class for non-appearance when
summoned to military duty, and an American minister
was expected to secure their remission.

In simple justice to Germany, it ought to be said that
there is no foreign matter of such importance so little
understood in the United States as this.  The average
American, looking on the surface of things, cannot see
why the young emigrant is not allowed to go and come as
he pleases.  The fact is that German policy in this
respect has been evolved in obedience to the instinct of
national self-preservation.  The German Empire, the
greatest Continental home of civilization, is an open camp,
perpetually besieged.  Speaking in a general way, it has
no natural frontiers of any sort--neither mountains nor
wide expanses of sea.  Eastward are one hundred and
thirty millions of people fanatically hostile as regards
race, religion, and imaginary interests; westward is
another great nation of forty millions, with a hatred on all
these points intensified by desire for revenge; northward
is a vigorous race estranged by old quarrels; and south
is a power which is largely hostile on racial, religious, and
historic grounds, and at best a very uncertain reliance.
Under such circumstances, universal military service in
Germany is a condition of its existence, and evasion of
this is naturally looked upon as a sort of treason.  The
real wonder is that Germany has been so moderate in her
dealing with this question.  The yearly ``budgets of military
cases'' in the archives of the American Embassy bear
ample testimony to her desire to be just and even lenient.

To understand the position of Germany, let us suppose
that our Civil War had left our Union--as at one time
seemed likely--embracing merely a small number of Middle
States and covering a space about as large as Texas,
with a Confederacy on our southern boundary bitterly
hostile, another hostile nation extending from the west
bank of the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains; a Pacific
confederation jealous and faultfinding; British dominions
to the northward vexed by commercial and personal
grievances; and New England a separate and doubtful
factor in the whole situation.  In that case we too would
have established a military system akin to that of Germany;
but whether we would have administered it as
reasonably as Germany has done is very doubtful.

Fortunately for the United States and for me, there was
in the ministry of foreign affairs, when I arrived, one of
the most admirable men I have ever known in such a
position:  Baron von Blow.  He came of an illustrious
family, had great influence with the old Emperor William,
with Parliament, and in society; was independent, large
in his views, and sincerely devoted to maintaining the
best relations between his country and ours.  In cases such
as those just referred to he was very broad-minded; and
in one of the first which I had to present to him, when
I perhaps showed some nervousness, he said, ``Mr.
Minister, don't allow cases of this kind to vex you; I had
rather give the United States two hundred doubtful cases
every year than have the slightest ill-feeling arise between
us.''  This being the fact, it was comparatively easy to
deal with him.  Unfortunately, he died early during my
stay, and some of the ministers who succeeded him had
neither his independence nor his breadth of view.

It sometimes seemed to me, while doing duty at the
German capital in those days as minister, and at a more
recent period as ambassador, that I could not enter my
office without meeting some vexatious case.  One day it
was an American who, having thought that patriotism
required him, in a crowded railway carriage, roundly to
denounce Germany, the German people, and the imperial
government, had passed the night in a guard-house;
another day, it was one who, feeling called upon, in a
restaurant, to proclaim very loudly and grossly his
unfavorable opinion of the Emperor, had been arrested; on still
another occasion it was one of our fellow-citizens who,
having thought that he ought to be married in Berlin as
easily as in New York, had found himself entangled in a
network of regulations, prescriptions, and prohibitions.

Of this latter sort there were in my time several curious
cases.  One morning a man came rushing into the
legation in high excitement and exclaimed, ``Mr. Minister,
I am in the worst fix that any decent man was ever
in; I want you to help me out of it.''  And he then went
on with a bitter tirade against everybody and everything
in the German Empire.  When his wrath had effervesced
somewhat, he stated his case as follows:  ``Last year, while
traveling through Germany, I fell in love with a young
German lady, and after my return to America became
engaged to her.  I have now come for my bride; the wedding
is fixed for next Thursday; our steamer passages are
taken a day or two later; and I find that the authorities
will not allow me to marry unless I present a multitude
of papers such as I never dreamed of; some of them it
will take months to get, and some I can never get.  My
intended bride is in distress; her family evidently distrust
me; the wedding is postponed indefinitely; and my business
partner is cabling me to come back to America as
soon as possible.  I am asked for a baptismal certificate--
a Taufschein.  Now, so far as I know, I was never
baptized.  I am required to present a certificate showing the
consent of my parents to my marriage--I, a man thirty
years old and in a large business of my own!  I am asked
to give bonds for the payment of my debts in Germany.  I
owe no such debts; but I know no one who will give
such a bond.  I am notified that the banns must be
published a certain number of times before the wedding.
What kind of a country is this, anyhow?''

We did the best we could.  In an interview with the
minister of public worship I was able to secure a
dispensation from the publishing of the banns; then a bond was
drawn up which I signed and thus settled the question
regarding possible debts in Germany.  As to the baptismal
certificate, I ordered inscribed, on the largest possible
sheet of official paper, the gentleman's affidavit that, in
the State of Ohio, where he was born, no Taufschein, or
baptismal certificate, was required at the time of his birth,
and to this was affixed the largest seal of the legation, with
plenty of wax.  The form of the affidavit may be judged
peculiar; but it was thought best not to startle the
authorities with the admission that the man had not been
baptized at all.  They could easily believe that a State like
Ohio, which some of them doubtless regarded as still in
the backwoods and mainly tenanted by the aborigines,
might have omitted, in days gone by, to require a Taufschein;
but that an unbaptized Christian should offer himself
to be married in Germany would perhaps have so
paralyzed their powers of belief that permission for the
marriage could never have been secured.

In this and various other ways we overcame the
difficulties, and, though the wedding did not take place upon
the appointed day, and the return to America had to be
deferred, the couple, at last, after marriage first before
the public authorities, and then in church, were able to
depart in peace.

Another case was typical.  One morning a gentleman
came into the legation in the greatest distress; and I soon
learned that this, too, was a marriage case--but very
different from the other.  This gentleman, a naturalized
German-American in excellent standing, had come over
to claim his bride.  He had gone through all the
formalities perfectly, and, as his business permitted it, had
decided to reside a year abroad in order that he might take
the furniture of his apartment back to America free of
duty.  This apartment, a large and beautiful suite of
rooms, he had already rented, had furnished it very fully,
and then, for the few days intervening before his marriage,
had put it under care of his married sister.  But, alas! this
sister's husband was a bankrupt, and hardly had she taken
charge of the apartment when the furniture was seized by
her husband's creditors, seals placed upon its doors by
the authorities, ``and,'' said the man, in his distress,
``unless you do something it will take two years to reach the
case on the calendar; meantime I must pay the rent of the
apartment and lose the entire use of it as well as of the
furniture.''  ``But,'' said I, ``what can be done?''  He
answered, ``My lawyer says that if you will ask it as a
favor from the judge, he will grant an order bringing the
case up immediately.''  To this I naturally replied that
I could hardly interfere with a judge in any case before
him; but his answer was pithy.  Said he, ``You are the
American minister, and if you are not here to get Americans
out of scrapes, I should like to know what you ARE
here for.''  This was unanswerable, and in the afternoon
I drove in state to the judge, left an official card upon him,
and then wrote, stating the case carefully, and saying that,
while I could not think of interfering in any case before
him, still, that as this matter appeared to me one of especial
hardship, if it could be reached at once the ends of justice
would undoubtedly be furthered thereby.  That my
application was successful was shown by the fact that the
man thus rescued never returned to thank his benefactor.

A more important part of a minister's duty is in
connection with the commercial relations between the two
nations.  Each country was attempting, by means of its
tariffs, to get all the advantage possible, and there resulted
various German regulations bearing heavily on some
American products.  This started questions which had to
be met with especial care, requiring many interviews with
the foreign office and with various members of the
imperial cabinet.

In looking after commercial relations, a general
oversight of the consuls throughout the empire was no small
part of the minister's duty.  The consular body was good
--remarkably good when one considers the radically
vicious policy which prevails in the selection and retention
of its members.  But the more I saw of it, the stronger
became my conviction that the first thing needed is that,
when our government secures a thoroughly good man in
a consular position, it should keep him there; and, moreover,
that it should establish a full system of promotions
for merit.  Under the present system the rule is that, as
soon as a man is fit for the duties, he is rotated out of office
and supplanted by a man who has all his duties to learn.
I am glad to say that of late years there have been many
excellent exceptions to this rule; and one of my most
earnest hopes, as a man loving my country and desirous of its
high standing abroad, is that, more and more, the tendency,
both as regards the consular and diplomatic service,
may be in the direction of sending men carefully fitted for
positions, and of retaining them without regard to changes
in the home administration.

Still another part of the minister's duty was the careful
collection of facts regarding important subjects, and the
transmission of them to the State department.  These were
embodied in despatches.  Such subjects as railway
management, the organization and administration of city
governments, the growth of various industries, the creation
of new schools of instruction, the development of public
libraries, and the like, as well as a multitude of other
practical matters, were thus dwelt upon.

It was also a duty of the minister to keep a general
oversight of the interests of Americans within his
jurisdiction.  There are always a certain number of Americans
in distress,--real, pretended, or imaginary,--and these
must be looked after; then there are American statesmen
seeking introductions or information, American scholars
in quest of similar things in a different field, American
merchants and manufacturers seeking access to men and
establishments which will enable them to build up their
own interests and those of their country, and, most
interesting of all, American students at the university and
other advanced schools in Berlin and throughout
Germany.  To advise with these and note their progress
formed a most pleasing relief from strictly official matters.

Least pleasing of all duties was looking after fugitives
from justice or birds of prey evidently seeking new
victims.  On this latter point, I recall an experience which
may throw some light on the German mode of watching
doubtful persons.  A young American had appeared in
various public places wearing a naval uniform to which
he was not entitled, declaring himself a son of the President
of the United States, and apparently making ready
for a career of scoundrelism.  Consulting the minister of
foreign affairs one day, I mentioned this case, asking him
to give me such information as came to him.  He
answered, ``Remind me at your next visit, and perhaps I
can show you something.''  On my calling some days later,
the minister handed me a paper on which was inscribed
apparently not only every place the young man had
visited, but virtually everything he had done and said during
the past week, his conversations in the restaurants being
noted with especial care; and while the man was evidently
worthless, he was clearly rather a fool than a
scoundrel.  On my expressing surprise at the fullness of
this information, the minister seemed quite as much
surprised at my supposing it possible for any good
government to exist without such complete surveillance of
suspected persons.

Another curious matter which then came up was the
selling of sham diplomas by a pretended American university.
This was brought to my notice in sundry letters, and
finally by calls from one or two young Germans who were
considering the advisability of buying a doctorate from a
man named Buchanan, who claimed to be president of the
``University of Philadelphia.''  Although I demonstrated
to them the worthlessness of such sham degrees of a non-
existent institution, they evidently thought that to obtain
one would aid them in their professions, and were inclined
to make a purchase.  From time to time there were slurs
in the German papers upon all American institutions of
learning, based upon advertisements of such diplomas;
and finally my patriotic wrath was brought to a climax
by a comedy at the Royal Theater, in which the rascal of
the piece, having gone through a long career of scoundrelism,
finally secures a diploma from the ``University
of PENNSYLVANIA''!

In view of this, I wrote not only despatches to the Secretary
of State, but private letters to leading citizens of
Philadelphia, calling their attention to the subject, and
especially to the injury that this kind of thing was doing
to the University of Pennsylvania, an institution of which
every Philadelphian, and indeed every American, has a
right to be proud.  As a result, the whole thing was broken
up, and, though it has been occasionally revived, it has not
again inflicted such a stigma upon American education.

But perhaps the most annoying business of all arose
from presentations at court.  The mania of many of our
fellow-citizens for mingling with birds of the finest feather
has passed into a European proverb which is unjust to the
great body of Americans; but at present there seems to
be no help for it, the reputation of the many suffering for
the bad taste of the few.  Nothing could exceed the
pertinacity shown in some cases.  Different rules prevail at
different courts, and at the imperial court of Germany
the rule for some years has been that persons eminent
in those walks of life that are especially honored will
always be welcome, and that the proper authority, on being
notified of their presence, will extend such invitations
as may seem warranted.  Unfortunately, while some of
the most worthy visitors did not make themselves known,
some persons far less desirable took too much pains to
attract notice.  A satirist would find rich material in the
archives of our embassies and legations abroad.  I have
found nowhere more elements of true comedy and even
broad farce than in some of the correspondence on this
subject there embalmed.

But while this class of applicants is mainly made up of
women, fairness compels me to say that there is a similar
class of men.  These are persons possessed of an insatiate
and at times almost insane desire to be able, on their
return, to say that they have talked with a crowned head.

Should the sovereign see one in ten of the persons from
foreign nations who thus seek him, he would have no time
for anything else.  He therefore insists, like any private
person in any country, on his right not to give his time to
those who have no real claim upon him, and some very
good fellow-citizens of ours have seemed almost inclined
to make this feeling of his Majesty a casus belli.

On the other hand there are large numbers of Americans
making demands, and often very serious demands, of time
and labor on their diplomatic representative which it is
an honor and pleasure to render.  Of these are such as,
having gained a right to do so by excellent work in their
respective fields at home, come abroad, as legislators
or educators or scientific investigators or engineers or
scholars or managers of worthy business enterprises, to
extend their knowledge for the benefit of their country.
No work has been more satisfactory to my conscience than
the aid which I have been able to render to men and women
of this sort.

Still, one has to make discriminations.  I remember
especially a very charming young lady of, say, sixteen
summers, who came to me saying that she had agreed to write
some letters for a Western newspaper, and that she wished
to visit all the leading prisons, reformatory institutions,
and asylums of Germany.  I looked into her pretty face,
and soon showed her that the German Government would
never think of allowing a young lady like herself to
inspect such places as those she had named, and that in my
opinion they were quite right; but I suggested a series
of letters on a multitude of things which would certainly
prove interesting and instructive, and which she might
easily study in all parts of Germany.  She took my advice,
wrote many such letters, and the selection which she
published proved to be delightful.

But at times zeal for improvements at home goes
perilously far toward turning the activity of an ambassador
or minister from its proper channels.  Scores of people
write regarding schools for their children, instructors in
music, cheap boarding-houses, and I have had an excellent
fellow-citizen ask me to send him a peck of turnips.
But if the applications are really from worthy persons,
they can generally be dealt with in ways which require no
especial labor--many of them through our consuls, to
whom they more properly belong.

Those who really ask too much, insisting that the
embassy shall look after their private business, may be
reminded that the rules of the diplomatic service forbid
such investigations, in behalf of individuals, without
previous instructions from the State Department.

Of the lesser troublesome people may be named, first,
those who are looking up their genealogies.  A typical
letter made up from various epistles, as a ``composite''
portrait is made out of different photographs, would run
much as follows:


SIR:  I have reason to suppose that I am descended from an
old noble family in Germany.  My grandfather's name was Max
Schulze.  He came, I think, from some part of Austria or Bavaria
or Schleswig-Holstein.  Please trace back my ancestry and let me
know the result at your earliest convenience.
                       Yours truly,
                            MARY SMITH.


Another more troublesome class is that of people seeking
inheritances.  A typical letter, compounded as above,
would run somewhat as follows:


SIR: I am assured that a fortune of several millions of marks
left by one John Mller, who died in some part of Germany two
or three centuries ago, is held at the imperial treasury awaiting
heirs.  My grandmother's name was Miller.  Please look the
matter up and inform me as to my rights.
                       Yours truly,
                            JOHN MYERS.


P.S.  If you succeed in getting the money, I will be glad to pay
you handsomely for your services.


Such letters as this are easily answered.  During this
first sojourn of mine at Berlin as minister, I caused a
circular, going over the whole ground, to be carefully
prepared and to be forwarded to applicants.  In this occur
the following words:  ``We have yearly, from various parts
of the United States, a large number of applications for
information or aid regarding great estates in Germany
supposed to be awaiting heirs.  They are all more or less
indefinite, many sad, and some ludicrous. . . .  There are
in Germany no large estates, awaiting distribution to
unknown heirs, in the hands of the government or of anybody,
and all efforts to discover such estates that the legation
has ever made or heard of have proved fruitless.''

Among the many odd applications received at that
period, one revealed an American superstition by no means
unusual.  The circumstances which led to it were as follows:

An ample fund, said to be forty or fifty thousand
dollars, had been brought together in Philadelphia for the
erection of an equestrian statue to Washington, and it had
been finally decided to intrust the commission to Professor
Siemering, one of the most eminent of modern German
sculptors.  One day there came to me a letter from
an American gentleman whom I had met occasionally
many years before, asking me to furnish him with a full
statement regarding Professor Siemering's works and
reputation.  As a result, I made inquiries among the leading
authorities on modern art, and, everything being most
favorable, I at last visited his studio, and found a large
number of designs and models of works on which he
was then engaged,--two or three being of the highest
importance, among them the great war monument at
Leipsic.

I also found that, although he had executed and was
executing important works for various other parts of
Germany, he had not yet put up any great permanent
work in Berlin, though the designs of the admirable
temporary statues and decorations on the return of the troops
from the Franco-Prussian War to the metropolis had
been intrusted largely to him.

These facts I stated to my correspondent in a letter, and
in due time received an answer in substance as follows:


SIR:  Your letter confirms me in the opinion I had formed.
The intrusting of the great statue of Washington to a man like
Siemering is a job and an outrage.  It is clear that he is a mere
pretender, since he has erected no statue as yet in Berlin.  That
statue of the Father of our Country ought to have been intrusted
to native talent.  I have a son fourteen years old who has
already
greatly distinguished himself.  He has modeled a number of
figures in butter and putty which all my friends think are most
remarkable.  I am satisfied that he could have produced a work
which, by its originality and power, would have done honor to
our country and to art.
                    Yours very truly,
                         ---- ----.


Curious, too, was the following:  One morning the mail
brought me a large packet filled with little squares of
cheap cotton cloth.  I was greatly puzzled to know their
purpose until, a few days later, there came a letter which,
with changes of proper names, ran as follows:

                            PODUNK, ----, 1880.

SIR:  We are going to have a fancy fair for the benefit of the
---- Church in this town, and we are getting ready some autograph
bed-quilts.  I have sent you a package of small squares of
cotton cloth, which please take to the Emperor William and his
wife, also to Prince Bismarck and the other princes and leading
persons of Germany, asking them to write their names on them
and send them to me as soon as possible.
                         Yours truly,
                            ---- ----.


P.S. Tell them to be sure to write their names in the middle
of the pieces, for fear that their autographs may get sewed in.


My associations with the diplomatic corps I found
especially pleasing.  The dean, as regarded seniority, was
the Italian ambassador, Count Delaunay, a man of large
experience and kindly manners.  He gave me various
interesting reminiscences of his relations with Cavour, and
said that when he was associated with the great Italian
statesman, the latter was never able to get time for him,
except at five o'clock in the morning, and that this was
their usual hour of work.

Another very interesting person was the representative
of Great Britain--Lord Odo Russell.  He was full of
interesting reminiscences of his life at Washington, at Rome,
and at Versailles with Bismarck.  As to Rome, he gave me
interesting stories of Pope Pius IX, who, he said, was
inclined to be jocose, and even to speak in a sportive way
regarding exceedingly serious subjects.[14]  As to Cavour,
he thought him a greater man even than Bismarck; and
this from a man so intimate with the German chancellor
was a testimony of no small value.


[14] One of these reminiscences I have given elsewhere.


As to his recollections of Versailles, he was present at
the proclamation of the Empire in the Galerie des Glaces,
and described the scene to me very vividly.

His relations with Bismarck were very close, and the
latter once paid him a compliment which sped far; saying
that, as a rule, he distrusted an Englishman who spoke
French very correctly, but that there was one exception--
Lord Odo Russell.

At the risk of repeating a twice-told tale, I may refer
here to his visit to Bismarck when the latter complained
that he was bothered to death with bores who took his
most precious time, and asked Lord Odo how he got rid
of them.  After making some reply, the latter asked
Bismarck what plan he had adopted.  To this the chancellor
answered that he and Johanna (the princess) had hit
upon a plan, which was that when she thought her husband
had been bored long enough, she came in with a bottle
and said, ``Now, Otto, you know that it is time for you
to take your medicine.''  Hardly were the words out of
his mouth, when in came the princess with the bottle and
repeated the very words which her husband had just
given.  Both burst into titanic laughter, and parted on
the best of terms.

At court festivities, Lord Odo frequently became very
weary, and as I was often in the same case, we from time
to time went out of the main rooms together and sat
down in some quiet nook for a talk.  On one of these
occasions, just after he had been made a peer with the
title of Baron Ampthill, I said to him, ``You must allow
me to use my Yankee privilege of asking questions.''
On his assenting to this pleasantly, I asked, ``Why is it
that you are willing to give up the great historic name
of Russell and take a name which no one ever heard of?''
He answered, ``I have noticed that when men who have
been long in the diplomatic service return to England,
they become in many cases listless and melancholy, and
wander about with no friends and nothing to do.  They
have been so long abroad that they are no longer in touch
with leading men at home, and are therefore shelved.
Entrance into the House of Lords gives a man something
to do, with new friends and pleasing relations.  As to the
name, I would gladly have retained my own, but had no
choice; in fact, when Lord John Russell was made an
earl, his insisting on retaining his name was not
especially liked.  Various places on the Russell estates were
submitted to me for my choice, and I took Ampthill.''

Alas! his plans came to nothing.  He died at his post
before his retirement to England.

Among those then connected with the British Embassy
at Berlin, one of the most interesting was Colonel (now
General) Lord Methuen, who, a few years since, took so
honorable a part in the South African War.  He was at
that time a tall, awkward man, kindly, genial, who always
reminded me of Thackeray's ``Major Sugarplums.''
He had recently lost his wife, and was evidently in deep
sorrow.  One morning there came a curious bit of news
regarding him.  A few days before, walking in some
remote part of the Thiergarten, he saw a working-man throw
himself into the river, and instantly jumped into the icy
stream after him, grappled him, pulled him out, laid him
on the bank, and rapidly walked off.  When news of
it got out, he was taxed with it by various members of
the diplomatic corps; but he awkwardly and blushingly
pooh-poohed the whole matter.

One evening, not long afterward, I witnessed a very
pleasant scene connected with this rescue.  As we were all
assembled at some minor festivity in the private palace
on the Linden, the old Emperor sent for the colonel, and
on his coming up, his Majesty took from his own coat
a medal of honor for life-saving and attached it to the
breast of Methuen, who received it in a very awkward
yet manly fashion.

The French ambassador was the Count de St. Vallier,
one of the most agreeable men I have ever met, who
deserved all the more credit for his amiable qualities
because he constantly exercised them despite the most
wretched health.  During his splendid dinners at the
French Embassy, he simply toyed with a bit of bread, not
daring to eat anything.

We were first thrown especially together by a
representation in favor of the double standard of value, which,
under instructions from our governments, we jointly
made to the German Foreign Office, and after that our
relations became very friendly.  Whenever the Fourth
of July or Washington's Birthday came round, he was
sure to remember it and make a friendly call.

My liking for him once brought upon me one of the
most embarrassing mishaps of my life.  It was at Nice,
and at the table d'hte of a great hotel on the Promenade
des Anglais, where I was seated next a French countess
who, though she had certainly passed her threescore
years and ten, was still most agreeable.  Day after day
we chatted together, and all went well; but one evening,
on our meeting at table as usual, she said, ``I am told that
you are the American minister at Berlin.''  I answered,
``Yes, madam.''  She then said, ``When I was a young
woman, I was well acquainted with the mother of the
present French ambassador there.''  At this I launched
out into praises of Count St. Vallier, as well I might;
speaking of the high regard felt for him at Berlin, the
honors he had received from the German Government,
and the liking for him among his colleagues.  The countess
listened in silence, and when I had finished turned
severely upon me, saying, ``Monsieur, up to this moment
I have believed you an honest man; but now I really don't
know what to think of you.''  Of course I was dumfounded,
but presently the reason for the remark occurred
to me, and I said, ``Madam, M. de St. Vallier serves
France.  Whatever his private opinions may be, he no
doubt feels it his duty to continue in the service of his
country.  It would certainly be a great pity if, at every
change of government in France, every officer who did
not agree with the new rgime should leave the diplomatic
service or the military service or the naval service, thus
injuring the interests of France perhaps most seriously.
Suppose the Comte de Chambord should be called to the
throne of France, what would you think of Orleanists
and republicans who should immediately resign their
places in the army, navy, and diplomatic service, thus
embarrassing, perhaps fatally, the monarchy and the
country?''  At this, to my horror, the lady went into
hysterics, and began screaming.  She cried out, ``Oui,
monsieur, il reviendra, Henri Cinq; il reviendra.  Dieu
est avec lui; il reviendra malgr tout,'' etc., etc., and
finally she jumped up and rushed out of the room.  The
eyes of the whole table were turned upon us, and I fully
expected that some gallant Frenchman would come up
and challenge me for insulting a lady; but no one moved,
and presently all went on with their dinners.  The next
day the countess again appeared at my side, amiable as
ever, but during the remainder of my stay I kept far
from every possible allusion to politics.

The Turkish ambassador, Sadoullah Bey, was a kindly
gentleman who wandered about, as the French expressively
say, ``like a damnd soul.''  Something seemed to
weigh upon him heavily and steadily.  A more melancholy
human being I have never seen, and it did not surprise
me, a few years later, to be told that, after one of the
palace revolutions at Constantinople, he had been executed
for plotting the assassination of the Sultan.

The Russian ambassador, M. de Sabouroff, was a very
agreeable man, and his rooms were made attractive by
the wonderful collection of Tanagra statuettes which he
had brought from Greece, where he had formerly been
minister.  In one matter he was especially helpful to me.
One day I received from Washington a cipher despatch
instructing me to exert all my influence to secure the
release of Madame ----, who, though married to a former
Russian secretary of legation, was the daughter of an
American eminent in politics and diplomacy.  The case
was very serious.  The Russian who had married this
estimable lady had been concerned in various shady
transactions, and, having left his wife and little children
in Paris, had gone to Munich in the hope of covering
up some doubtful matters which were coming to light.
While on this errand he was seized and thrown into jail
whereupon he telegraphed his wife to come to him.  His
idea, evidently, was that when she arrived she also would
be imprisoned, and that her family would then feel forced
to intervene with the money necessary to get them both
out.  The first part of the programme went as he had
expected.  His wife, on arriving in Munich, was at once
thrown into prison, and began thence sending to the
Secretary of State and to me the most distressing letters
and telegrams.  She had left her little children in Paris,
and was in agony about them.  With the aid of the
Russian ambassador, who acknowledged that his compatriot
was one of the worst wretches in existence, I obtained
the release of the lady from prison after long negotiations.
Unfortunately, I was obliged to secure that of her
husband at the same time; but as he died not long afterward,
he had no opportunity to do much more harm.

Of the ministers plenipotentiary, the chief was Baron
Nothomb of Belgium, noted as the ``Belgian father of
constitutional liberty.''  He was a most interesting old
man, especially devoted to the memory of my predecessor,
Bancroft, and therefore very kind to me.  Among
the reminiscences which he seemed to enjoy giving me
at his dinner-table were many regarding Talleyrand,
whom he had personally known.

Still another friend among the ministers was M. de
Rudhardt, who represented Bavaria.  He and his wife
were charming, and they little dreamed of the catastrophe
awaiting them when he should cross Bismarck's path.
The story of this I shall recount elsewhere.[15]


[15] See chapter on Bismarck.


Yet another good friend was Herr von Nostitz-Wallwitz,
representative of Saxony, who was able, on one
occasion, to render a real service to American education.
Two or three young ladies, one of whom is now the
admired head of one of the foremost American colleges for
women, were studying at the University of Leipsic.  I
had given them letters to sundry professors there, and
nothing could be better than the reports which reached
me regarding their studies, conduct, and social standing.
But one day came very distressing telegrams and letters,
and, presently, the ladies themselves.  A catastrophe had
come.  A decree had gone forth from the Saxon Government
at Dresden expelling all women students from the
university, and these countrywomen of mine begged me
to do what I could for them.  Remembering that my
Saxon colleague was the brother of the prime minister of
Saxony, I at once went to him.  On my presenting the
case, he at first expressed amazement at the idea of women
being admitted to the lecture-rooms of a German
university; but as I showed him sundry letters,
especially those from Professors Georg Curtius and Ebers,
regarding these fair students, his conservatism melted
away and he presently entered heartily into my view, the
result being that the decree was modified so that all lady
students then in the university were allowed to remain
until the close of their studies, but no new ones were to
be admitted afterward.  Happily, all this has been changed,
and to that, as to nearly all other German universities,
women are now freely admitted.

Very amusing at times were exhibitions of gentle sarcasm
on the part of sundry old diplomatists.  They had
lived long, had seen the seamy side of public affairs, and
had lost their illusions.  One evening, at a ball given by
the vice-chancellor of the empire which was extremely
splendid and no less tedious, my attention was drawn to
two of them.  There had been some kind of absurd
demonstration that day in one of the principal European
parliaments, and coming upon my two colleagues, I
alluded to it.

``Yes,'' said Baron Jauru of Brazil, ``that comes of the
greatest lie prevalent in our time--the theory that the
majority of mankind are WISE; now it is an absolute fact
which all history teaches, and to-day even more than ever,
that all mankind are FOOLS.''  ``What you say is true,''
replied M. de Quade, the Danish minister, ``but it is not
the WHOLE truth: constitutional government also goes
on the theory that all mankind are GOOD; now it is an
absolute fact that all mankind are bad, utterly BAD.'' ``Yes,''
said Jauru, ``I accept your amendment; mankind are
fools and knaves.''  To this I demurred somewhat, and
quoted Mr. Lincoln's remark, ``You can fool some of the
people all the time, and all of the people some of the time;
but you can't fool all the people all the time.''

This restored their good humor, and I left them smilingly
pondering over this nugget of Western wisdom.

Interesting to me was the contrast between my two
colleagues from the extreme Orient.  Then and since at
Berlin I have known the Japanese Minister Aoki.  Like all
other Japanese diplomatic representatives I have met,
whether there or elsewhere, he was an exceedingly
accomplished man: at the first dinner given me after my
arrival in Berlin he made an admirable speech in German,
and could have spoken just as fluently and accurately in
French or English.

On the other hand, Li Fong Pao, the Chinese representative,
was a mandarin who steadily wore his Chinese costume,
pigtail and all, and who, though jolly, could speak
only through an interpreter who was almost as difficult to
understand as the minister himself.

Thus far it seems the general rule that whereas the
Japanese, like civilized nations in general, train men
carefully for foreign service in international law, modern
languages, history, and the like, the Chinese, like
ourselves, do little, if anything, of the kind.  But I may add
that recently there have been some symptoms of change
on their part.  One of the most admirable speeches during
the Peace Conference at The Hague was made by a
young and very attractive Chinese attach.  It was in
idiomatic French; nothing could be more admirable either
as regarded matter or manner; and many of the older
members of the conference came afterward to congratulate
him upon it.  The ability shown by the Chinese Minister
Wu at Washington would also seem to indicate that China
has learned something as to the best way of maintaining
her interests abroad.

This suggests another incident.  In the year 1880 the
newspapers informed us that the wife of the Chinese minister
at Berlin had just sailed from China to join her
husband.  The matter seemed to arouse general interest,
and telegrams announced her arrival at Suez, then at
Marseilles, then at Cologne, and finally at Berlin.  On
the evening of her arrival at court the diplomatic corps
were assembled, awaiting her appearance.  Presently the
great doors swung wide, and in came the Chinese minister
with his wife: he a stalwart mandarin in the full attire
of his rank; she a gentle creature in an exceedingly pretty
Chinese costume, tripping along on her little feet, and
behind her a long array of secretaries, interpreters, and
the like, many in Chinese attire, but some in European
court costume.  After all of us had been duly presented
to the lady by his Chinese excellency, he brought her
secretaries and presented them to his colleagues.  Among
these young diplomatists was a fine-looking man,
evidently a European, in a superb court costume frogged
and barred with gold lace.  As my Chinese colleague
introduced him to me in German, we continued in that
language, when suddenly this secretary said to me in
English, ``Mr. White, I don't see why we should be talking
in German; I was educated at Rochester University under
your friend, President Anderson, and I come from Waterloo
in Western New York.''  Had he dropped through
the ceiling, I could hardly have been more surprised.
Neither Waterloo, though a thriving little town upon the New
York Central Railroad and not far from the city in which
I have myself lived, nor even Rochester with all the added
power of its excellent university, seemed adequate to
develop a being so gorgeous.  On questioning him, I found
that, having been graduated in America, he had gone to
China with certain missionaries, and had then been taken
into the Chinese service.  It gives me very great pleasure
to say that at Berlin, St. Petersburg, and The Hague,
where I have often met him since, he has proved to be
a thoroughly intelligent and patriotic man.  Faithful to
China while not unmindful of the interests of the United
States, in one matter he rendered a very great service
to both countries.

But a diplomatic representative who has a taste for
public affairs makes acquaintances outside the diplomatic
corps, and is likely to find his relations with the ministers
of the German crown and with members of the parliament
very interesting.  The character of German public
men is deservedly high, and a diplomatist fit to represent
his country should bring all his study and experience
to bear in eliciting information likely to be useful to his
country from these as well as from all other sorts and
conditions of men.  My own acquaintance among these
was large.  I find in my diaries accounts of conversations
with such men as Bismarck, Camphausen, Delbrck, Windthorst,
Bennigsen, George von Bunsen, Lasker, Treitschke,
Gneist, and others; but to take them up one after the
other would require far too much space, and I must be
content to jot down what I received from them wherever,
in the course of these reminiscences, it may seem
pertinent.



CHAPTER XXXI

MEN OF NOTE IN BERLIN AND ELSEWHERE--1879-1881

My acquaintance at Berlin extended into regions
which few of my diplomatic colleagues explored,
especially among members of the university faculty and
various other persons eminent in science, literature, and
art.

Writing these lines, I look back with admiration and
affection upon three generations of Berlin professors:
the first during my student days at the Prussian capital
in 1855-1856, the second during my service as minister,
1879-1881, and the third during my term as ambassador
1897-1902.

The second of these generations seems to me the most
remarkable of the three.  It was a wonderful body of men.
A few of them I had known during my stay in Berlin as a
student; and of these, first in the order of time, Lepsius,
the foremost Egyptologist of that period, whose lectures
had greatly interested me, and whose kindly characteristics
were the delight of all who knew him.

Ernst Curtius, the eminent Greek scholar and historian,
was also very friendly.  He was then in the midst of his
studies upon the famous Pergamon statues, which, by
skilful diplomacy, the German Government had obtained
from the Turkish authorities in Asia Minor, and brought
to the Berlin Museum.  He was also absorbed in the
excavations at Olympia, and above all in the sculptures found
there.  One night at court he was very melancholy, and on
my trying to cheer him, he told me, in a heartbroken tone,
that Bismarck had stopped the appropriations for the
Olympia researches; but toward the end of the evening he
again sought me, his face radiant, and with great glee told
me that all was now right, that he had seen the Emperor,
and that the noble old monarch had promised to provide
for the excavations from his own purse.

Still another friend was Rudolf von Gneist, the most
eminent authority of his time upon Roman law and the English
constitution.  He had acted, in behalf of the Emperor
William, as umpire between the United States and Great
Britain, with reference to the northwestern boundary, and
had decided in our favor.  In recognition of his labor, the
American Government sent over a large collection of valuable
books on American history, including various collections
of published state papers; and the first duty I ever
discharged as minister was to make a formal presentation
of this mass of books to him.  So began one of my most
cherished connections.

Especially prized by me was a somewhat close acquaintance
with the two most eminent professors of modern history
then at the university--Von Sybel and Droysen.
Each was a man of great ability.  One day, after I had
been reading Lanfrey's ``Histoire de Napolon,'' which
I then thought, and still think, one of the most eloquent and
instructive books of the nineteenth century, Von Sybel
happened to drop in, and I asked his opinion of it.  He
answered:  ``It does not deserve to be called a history; it
is a rhapsody.''  Shortly after he had left, in came
Droysen, and to him I put the same question, when he held up
both hands and said:  ``Yes, there is a history indeed!
That is a work of genius; it is one of the books which
throw a bright light into a dark time: that book will live.''

Professor Hermann Grimm was then at the climax of
his fame, and the gods of his idolatry were Goethe and
Emerson; but apparently he did not resemble them in
soaring above the petty comforts and vexations of life.
Any one inviting him to dine was likely to receive an
answer asking how the dining-room was lighted--whether
by gas, oil, or wax; also how the lights were placed--
whether high or low; and what the principal dishes were to be:
and on the answer depended his acceptance or declination.
Dining with him one night, I was fascinated by his wife; it
seemed to me that I had never seen a woman of such
wonderful and almost weird powers: there was something
exquisitely beautiful in her manner and conversation; and,
on my afterward speaking of this to another guest, he
answered:  ``Why, of course; she is the daughter of Goethe's
Bettina, to whom he wrote the `Letters to a Child.' ''

Another historian was Treitshke, eminent also as a
member of parliament--a man who exercised great power
in various directions, and would have been delightful but
for his deafness.  A pistol might have been fired beside
him, and he would never have known it.  Wherever he was,
he had with him a block of paper leaves and a pencil, by
means of which he carried on conversation; in parliament
he always had at his side a shorthand-writer who took
down the debates for him.

Some of the most interesting information which I
received regarding historical and current matters in Berlin
was from the biologist Du Bois-Reymond.  He was of
Huguenot descent, but was perhaps the most anti-Gallic
man in Germany.  Discussing the results of the expulsion
of the Huguenots under Louis XIV, the details he gave me
were most instructive.  Showing me the vast strength
which the Huguenots transferred from France to
Germany, he mentioned such men as the eminent lawyer
Savigny, the great merchant Raven, and a multitude of
other men of great distinction, who, like himself, had
retained their French names; and he added very many
prominent people of Huguenot descent who had changed
their French names into German.  He then referred to a
similar advantage given to various other countries, and
made a most powerful indictment against the intolerance
for which France has been paying such an enormous price
during more than two hundred years.

Interesting in another way were two men eminent in
physical science--Helmholtz and Hoffmann.  Meeting
them one evening at a court festivity, I was told by
Hoffmann of an experience of his in Scotland.  He had
arrived in Glasgow late on Saturday night, and on Sunday
morning went to call on Professor Sir William Thomson,
now Lord Kelvin.  The door-bell was answered by a woman
servant, of whom Hoffmann asked if Sir William was
at home.  To this the servant answered, ``Sir, he most
certainly is not.''  Hoffmann then asked, ``Could you tell
me where I might find him?''  She answered, ``Sir, you
will find him at church, where YOU ought to be.''

My acquaintance with university men was not confined
to Berlin; at Leipsic, Halle, Giessen, Heidelberg, and
elsewhere, I also found delightful professorial circles.  In my
favorite field, I was especially struck with the historian
Oncken.  As a lecturer he was perfect; and I have often
advised American historical students to pass a semester,
if not more, at Giessen, in order to study his presentation
of historical subjects.  As to manner, he was the best
lecturer on history I heard in Germany; and, with the
exception of Laboulaye at the Collge de France, Seelye at
English Cambridge, and Goldwin Smith at Cornell, the
best I ever heard anywhere.

Especially delightful were sundry men of letters.  Of
these I knew best Auerbach, whose delightful ``Dorfgeschichten''
were then in full fame.  He had been a warm
personal friend of Bayard Taylor, and this friendship I
inherited.  Many were the walks and talks we took
together in the Thiergarten, and he often lighted up my
apartment with his sunny temper.  But one day, as he
came in, returning from his long vacation, I said to him:
``So you have been having a great joy at the unveiling of
the Spinoza statue at The Hague.''  ``A great joy!'' he
said.  ``Bewahre! far from it; it was wretched--
miserable.''  I asked, ``How could that be?''  He answered,
``Renan, Kuno Fischer, and myself were invited to make
addresses at the unveiling of the statue; but when we
arrived at the spot, we found that the Dutch Calvinist domi-
nies and the Jewish rabbis had each been preaching to
their flocks that the judgments of Heaven would fall upon
the city if the erection of a statue to such a monstrous
atheist were permitted, and the authorities had to station
troops to keep the mob from stoning us and pulling down
the statue.  Think of such a charge against the
`Gottbetrunkener Mensch,' who gave new proofs of God's
existence, who saw God in everything!''

Another literary man whom I enjoyed meeting was
Julius Rodenberg; his ``Reminiscences of Berlin,'' which
I have read since, seem to me the best of their kind.

I also came to know various artists, one of them being
especially genial.  Our first meeting was shortly after my
arrival, at a large dinner, where, as the various guests were
brought up to be introduced to the new American minister,
there was finally presented a little, gentle, modest man as
``Herr Knaus.''  I never dreamed of his being the foremost
genre-painter in Europe; and, as one must say something,
I said, ``You are, perhaps, a relative of the famous
painter.''  At this he blushed deeply, seemed greatly
embarrassed, and said:  ``A painter I am; famous, I don't
know.  (Maler bin ich; berhmt, das weiss ich nicht.)''
So began a friendship which has lasted from that day to
this.  I saw the beginning, middle, and end of some of his
most beautiful pictures, and, above all, of the ``Hinter
den Coulissen,'' which conveys a most remarkable
philosophical and psychological lesson, showing how near mirth
lies to tears.  It is the most comic and most pathetic of
pictures.  I had hoped that it would go to America; but,
after being exhibited to the delight of all parts of
Germany, it was bought for the royal gallery at Dresden.

Very friendly also was Carl Becker.  His ``Coronation
of Ulrich von Hutten,'' now at Cologne, of which he allowed
me to have a copy taken, has always seemed to me
an admirable piece of historical painting.  In it there is
a portrait of a surly cardinal-bishop; and once, during an
evening at Becker's house, having noticed a study for this
bishop's head, I referred to it, when he said:  ``Yes, that
bishop is simply the sacristan of an old church in Venice,
and certainly the most dignified ecclesiastic I have ever
seen.''  The musical soires at Becker's beautiful
apartments were among the delights of my stay both then and
during my more recent embassy.

Very delightfully dwell in my memory, also, some
evenings at the palace, when, after the main ceremonies were
over, Knaus, Becker, and Auerbach wandered with me
through the more distant apartments and galleries,
pointing out the beauties and characteristics of various old
portraits and pictures.  In one long gallery lined with the
portraits of brides who, during the last three centuries,
had been brought into the family of Hohenzollern, we
lingered long.

Then began also my friendship with Anton von Werner.
He had been present at the proclamation of the Emperor
William I in the great ``Hall of Mirrors'' at Versailles, by
express invitation, in order that he might prepare his
famous painting of that historic scene.  I asked him whether
the inscription on the shield in the cornice of the Galerie
des Glaces, ``Passage du Rhin,'' which glorified one of the
worst outrages committed by Louis XIV upon Germany,
was really in the place where it is represented in his
picture.  He said that it was.  It seemed a divine prophecy
of retribution.

The greatest genius in all modern German art--Adolf
Menzel--I came to know under rather curious circumstances.
He was a little man, not more than four feet
high, with an enormous head, as may be seen by his bust
in the Berlin Museum.  On being presented to him during
an evening at court, I said to him:  ``Herr Professor, in
America I am a teacher of history; and of all works I
have ever seen on the history of Frederick the Great, your
illustrations of Kugler's history have taught me most.''
This was strictly true; for there are no more striking
works of genius in their kind than those engravings which
throw a flood of light into that wonderful period.  At this
he invited me to visit his studio, which a few days later I
did, and then had a remarkable exhibition of some of his
most curious characteristics.

Entering the room, I saw, just at the right, a large
picture, finely painted, representing a group of Frederick's
generals, and in the midst of them Frederick himself,
merely outlined in chalk.  I said, ``There is a picture
nearly finished.''  Menzel answered, ``No; it is not finished
and never will be.''  I asked, ``Why not?''  He said,
``I don't deny that there is some good painting in it.  But
it is on the eve of the battle of Leuthen; it is the
consultation of Frederick the Great with his generals just
before that terrible battle; and men don't look like that just
before a struggle in which the very existence of their
country is at stake, and in which they know that most of
them must lay down their lives.''

We then passed on to another.  This represented the
great Gens d'Armes Church at Berlin; at the side of it,
piled on scaffoldings, were a number of coffins all decked
with wreaths and flowers; and in the foreground a crowd
of beholders wonderfully painted.  All was finished except
one little corner; and I said, ``Here is one which you
will finish.''  He said, ``No; never.  That represents the
funeral of the Revolutionists killed here in the uprising of
1848.  Up to this point''--and he put his finger on the
unfinished corner--``I believed in it; but when I arrived at
this point, I said to myself, `No; nothing good can come
out of that sort of thing; Germany is not to be made by
street fights.'  I shall never finish it.''

We passed on to another.  This was finished.  It
represented the well-known scene of the great Frederick
blundering in upon the Austrian bivouac at the castle of Lissa,
when he narrowly escaped capture.  I said to him, ``There
at least is a picture which is finished.''  ``Yes,'' he said;
``but the man who ordered it will never get it.''  I saw
that there was a story involved, and asked, ``How is
that?''  He answered, ``That picture was painted on the
order of the Duke of Ratibor, who owns the castle.  When
it was finished he came to see it, but clearly thought it
too quiet.  What he wanted was evidently something in
the big, melodramatic style.  I said nothing; but meeting
me a few days afterward, he said, `Why don't you send
me my picture?'  `No,' I said; `Serene Highness, that
picture is mine.'  `No, said he; `you painted it for me; it is
mine.'  `No,' said I; `I shall keep it.'  His Highness shall
never have it.''

My principal recreation was in excursions to historical
places.  Old studies of German history had stimulated a
taste for them, and it was a delight to leave Berlin on
Saturday and stay in one of these towns over Sunday.
Frequently my guide was Frederick Kapp, a thoughtful
historian and one of the most charming of men.

A longer pilgrimage was made to the mystery-play at
Oberammergau.  There was an immense crowd; and, as
usual, those in the open, in front of our box, were drenched
with rain, as indeed were many of the players on the
stage.  I had ``come to scoff, but remained to pray.''
There was one scene where I had expected a laugh--
namely, where Jonah walks up out of the whale's belly.
But when it arrived we all remained solemn.  It was
really impressive.  We sat there from nine in the morning
until half-past twelve, and then from half-past one
until about half-past four, under a spell which banished
fatigue.  The main point was that the actors BELIEVED
in what they represented; there was nothing in it
like that vague, wearisome exhibition of ``religiosity''
which, in spite of its wonderful overture, gave me, some
years afterward, a painful disenchantment--the ``Parsifal''
at Bayreuth.

At the close of the Passion Play, I sought out some of
the principal actors, and found them kindly and interesting.
To the Christus I gave a commission for a carved
picture-frame, and this he afterward executed beautifully.
With the Judas, who was by far the best actor in the whole
performance, I became still better acquainted.  Visiting
his workshop, after ordering of him two carved statuettes I
said to him:  ``You certainly ought to have a double salary,
as the Judas had in the miracle-plays of the middle ages;
this was thought due him on account of the injury done
to his character by his taking that part.''  At this the
Oberammergau Judas smiled pleasantly, and said:  ``No;
I am content to share equally with the others; but the
same feeling toward the Judas still exists''; and he then
told me the following story:  A few weeks before, while
he was working at his carving-bench, the door of his
workshop opened, and a peasant woman from the mountains
came in, stood still, and gazed at him intently.  On his
asking her what she wanted, she replied:  ``I saw you in the
play yesterday; I wished to look at you again; you look
so like my husband.  He is dead.  HE, TOO, WAS A VERY BAD
MAN.''

Occasionally, under leave of absence from the State
Department, I was able to make more distant excursions,
and first of all into France.  The President during one of
these visits was M. Grvy.  Some years before I had heard
him argue a case in court with much ability; but now, on
my presentation to him at the palace of the lyse, he
dwelt less ably on the relations of the United States with
France, and soon fell upon the question of trade, saying, in
rather a reproachful way, ``Vous nous inondez de vos produits.''
To this I could only answer that this inundation of
American products would surely be of mutual benefit to
both nations, and he rather slowly assented.

Much more interesting to me was his minister of foreign
affairs, Barthlemy-Saint-Hilaire, a scholar, a statesman,
and a man of noble character.  We talked first of my
intended journey to the south of France; and on my telling
him that I had sent my eldest son to travel there, for the
reason that at Orange, Arles, Nmes, and the like, a better
idea of Roman power can be obtained than in Italy itself,
he launched out on that theme most instructively.

The conversation having turned toward politics, he
spoke much of Bismarck and Moltke, pronouncing the
name of the latter in one syllable.  He said that Bismarck
was very kind personally to Thiers during the terrible
negotiations; that if Bismarck could have had his way he
would have asked a larger indemnity,--say, seven
milliards,--and would have left Alsace-Lorraine to France;
that France would gladly have paid a much larger sum
than five milliards if she could have retained Alsace-
Lorraine; that Bismarck would have made concessions; but
that ``Molkt'' would not.  He added that Bismarck told
``Molkt'' that he--the latter--had, by insisting on territory,
made peace too difficult.  Saint-Hilaire dwelt long on
the fearful legacy of standing armies left by the policy
which Germany finally adopted, and evidently considered
a great international war as approaching.[16]


[16] December, 1880.


Dining afterward at the Foreign Office with my old
friend Millet, who was second in command there, I met
various interesting Frenchmen, but was most of all
pleased with M. Ribot.  Having distinguished himself by
philosophical studies and made a high reputation in the
French parliament, he was naturally on his way to the
commanding post in the ministry which he afterward
obtained.  His wife, an American, was especially attractive.

It is a thousand pities that a country possessing such
men is so widely known to the world, not by these, but by
novelists and dramatists largely retailing filth, journalists
largely given to the invention of sensational lies, politicians
largely obeying either atheistic demagogues or clerical
intriguers; and all together acting like a swarm of
obscene, tricky, mangy monkeys chattering, squealing,
and tweaking one another's tails in a cage.  Some of these
monkeys I saw performing their antics in the National
Assembly then sitting at Versailles; and it saddened me
to see the nobler element in that assemblage thwarted by
such featherbrained creatures.[16]


[16] December, 1880.


Another man of note, next whom I found myself at a
dinner-party, was M. de Lesseps.  I still believe him to
have been a great and true man, despite the cloud of
fraud which the misdeeds of others drew over his latter
days.  Among sundry comments on our country, he said
that he had visited Salt Lake City, and thought a policy
of force against the Mormons a mistake.  In this I feel
sure that he was right.  Years ago I was convinced by
Bishop Tuttle of the Protestant Episcopal Church, who
had been stationed for some years at Salt Lake City, that
a waiting policy, in which proper civilization can be
brought to bear upon the Mormons, is the true course.

On the following Sunday I heard Pre Hyacinthe
preach, as at several visits before; but the only thing at
all memorable was a rather happy application of Voltaire's
remark on the Holy Roman Empire, ``Ni Saint, ni
Empire, ni Romain.''

At the salon of Madame Edmond Adam, eminent as a
writer of review articles and as a hater of everything
Teutonic, I was presented to a crowd of literary men who,
though at that moment striking the stars with their lofty
heads, have since dropped into oblivion.  Among these I
especially remember mile de Girardin, editor, spouter,
intriguer--the ``Grand mile,'' who boasted that he
invented and presented to the French people a new idea
every day.  This futile activity of his always seemed to me
best expressed in the American simile:  ``Busy as a bee in
a tar-barrel.''  There was, indeed, one thing to his credit:
he had somehow inspired his former wife, the gifted Delphine
Gay, with a belief in his greatness; and a pretty
story was current illustrating this.  During the revolution
of 1848, various men of note, calling on Madame Girardin,
expressed alarm at the progress of that most foolish of
overturns, when she said, with an air of great solemnity,
and pointing upward, ``Gentlemen, there is one above who
watches over France.  (Il y a un l-haut qui veille sur la
France.)''  All were greatly impressed by this evidence
of sublime faith, until the context showed that it was not
the Almighty in whom she put her trust, but the great
mile, whose study was just above her parlor.

This reminds me that, during my student days at Paris,
I attended the funeral of this gifted lady, and in the crowd
of well-known persons present noticed especially Alexandre
Dumas.  He was very tall and large, with an African
head, thick lips, and bushy, crisp hair.  He evidently
intended to be seen.  His good-natured vanity was as
undisguised as when his famous son said of him in his
presence, ``My father is so vain that he is capable of
standing in livery behind his own carriage to make people
think he sports a negro footman.''

Going southward, I stopped at Bourges, and was
fascinated by the amazing stonework of the crypt.  How the
mediaeval cathedral-builders were able to accomplish such
intricate work with the means at their command is still
one of the great mysteries.  There is to-day in the United
States no group of workmen who could execute anything
approaching this work, to say nothing of such pieces as
the vaulting of Henry VII's Chapel at Westminster or of
King's College Chapel at Cambridge.

Thence we went to the Church of Brou, near Lyons--
exquisitely beautiful, and filled with monuments even
more inspiring than the church itself.  But it was entirely
evident, from a look at the church and its surroundings,
that Matthew Arnold had written his charming poem without
ever visiting the place.  Going thence to Nice, we
stopped at Turin; and at the grave of Silvio Pellico there
came back to me vivid memories of his little book, which
had seemed to make life better worth living.

At Genoa a decision had to be made.  A mass of letters
of introduction to leading Italians had been given me, and
I longed to make their acquaintance; but I was weary, and
suddenly decided to turn aside and go upon the Riviera,
where we settled for our vacation at Nice.  There we
found various interesting people, more especially those
belonging to the American colony and to the ship-of-war
Trenton, then lying at Villefranche, near by.  Shortly
after our arrival, Lieutenant Emery of the navy called,
bearing an invitation to the ship from Admiral Howell,
who was in command at that station; and, a day or two
later, on arriving in the harbor, though I saw a long-boat
dressed out very finely, evidently awaiting somebody, and
suspected that it was intended for me, I quietly evaded
the whole business by joining a party of Americans in a
steam-launch, so that I had been on board some little time
before the admiral realized the omission in his programme.
As a result, in order to quiet his conscientious
and patriotic feelings, I came again a day or two
afterward, was conveyed to the frigate with the regulation
pomp, and received the salutes due an American minister.
My stay on the ship was delightful; but, though the admiral
most kindly urged me to revisit him, I could never again
gather courage to cause so much trouble and make so much
noise.

Most interesting to me of all the persons in Nice at that
time was a young American about fourteen years of age,
who seemed to me one of the brightest and noblest and
most promising youths I had ever seen.  Alas! how many
hopes were disappointed in his death not long afterward!
The boy was young Leland Stanford.  The aspirations of
his father and mother were bound up in him, and the great
university at Palo Alto is perhaps the finest monument
ever dedicated by parents to a child.

During another of these yearly absences in Italy, I met
various interesting men, and, among these, at Florence the
syndic Ubaldino Peruzzi, a descendant of the great Peruzzis
of the middle ages, and one of the last surviving
associates of Cavour.  He was an admirable talker; but of all
he said I was most pleased with the tribute which he paid
to the American minister at Rome, Judge Stallo of Cincinnati.
He declared that at a recent conference of statesmen
and diplomatists, Judge Stallo had carried off all the honors--
speaking with ease, as might be necessary, in Italian,
French, and English, and finally drawing up a protocol
in Latin.

At Florence also I made an acquaintance which has
ever since been a source of great pleasure to me--that of
Professor Villari, senator of the kingdom, historian of
Florence, and biographer of Savonarola.  So began a
friendship which has increased the delights of many
Florentine visits since those days--a friendship not only
with him, but with his gifted and charming wife.

This reminds me that at Rome the name of the eminent
professor once brought upon me a curious reproof.

I had met at various times, in the Eternal City and
elsewhere, a rising young professor and officer of Harvard
University; and, being one morning in Loescher's famous
book-shop on the Corso, with a large number of purchases
about me, this gentleman came in and, looking them over,
was pleased to approve several of them.  Presently, on
showing him a volume just published and saying, ``There
is the new volume of Villari's history,'' I pronounced the
name of the author with the accent on the first syllable, as
any one acquainted with him knows that it ought to be
pronounced.  At this the excellent professor took the book,
but seemed to have something on his mind; and, having
glanced through it, he at last said, rather solemnly, ``Yes;
VillAri''--accenting strongly the second syllable--``is an
admirable writer.''  I accepted his correction meekly and
made no reply.  A thing so trivial would not be worth
remembering were it not one of those evidences, which
professors from other institutions in our country have not
infrequently experienced, of a ``certain condescension''
in sundry men who do honor to one or two of our oldest
and greatest universities.

Of all people at Rome I was most impressed by Marco
Minghetti.  A conversation with him I have given in
another chapter.

Reminiscences of that first official life of mine at Berlin
center, first of all, in Bismarck, and then in the two great
rulers who have since passed away--the old hero,
Emperor William I, and that embodiment of all qualities
which any man could ask for in a monarch, the crown
prince who afterward became the Emperor Frederick III.

Both were kindly, but the latter was especially winning.
At different times I had the pleasure of meeting and talking
with him on various subjects; but perhaps the most
interesting of these interviews was one which took place
when it became my duty to conduct him through the
American exhibit in the International Fisheries Exhibition
at Berlin.

He had taken great interest in developing the fisheries
along the northern coast of Germany, and this exhibition
was the result.  One day he sent the vice-chancellor of the
empire to ask me whether it was not possible to secure
an exhibit from the United States, and especially the loan
of our wonderful collections from the Smithsonian Institution
and from the Fisheries Institution of Wood's Holl {sic}.
To do this was difficult.  Before my arrival an attempt
had been made and failed.  Word had come from persons
high in authority at Washington that Congress could not
be induced to make the large appropriation required, and
that sending over the collections was out of the question.
I promised to do what I could; and, remembering that
Fernando Wood of New York was chairman of the Committee
of Ways and Means in the House, and that Governor
Seymour, then living in retirement near Utica, was
his old political associate, and especially interested in re-
stocking the waters of New York State with fish, I sent
the ex-governor a statement of the whole case, and urged
him to present it fully to Mr. Wood.  Then I wrote in the
same vein to Senator Conkling, and, to my great satisfaction,
carried the day.  The appropriation was made
by Congress; and the collections were sent over under the
control of Mr. Brown Goode of the Smithsonian, perhaps
the most admirable man who could have been chosen out
of the whole world for that purpose.  The prince was
greatly delighted with all he saw, showed remarkable
intelligence in his questions, and, thanks to Mr. Goode's
assistance, he received satisfactory answers.  The result was
that the American exhibit took the great prize--the silver-
gilt vase offered by the Emperor William, which is now
in the National Museum at Washington.

The prince showed a real interest in everything of
importance in our country.  I remember his asking me
regarding the Brooklyn Bridge--how it could possibly be
sustained without guy-ropes.  Of course it was easy to
show him that while in the first of our great suspension-
bridges--that at Niagara--guy-ropes were admissible, at
Brooklyn they were not: since ships of war as well as
merchant vessels of the largest size must pass beneath it; and
I could only add that Roebling, who built it, was a man of
such skill and forethought that undoubtedly, with the
weight he was putting into it and the system of trusses
he was placing upon it, no guy-ropes would be needed.

On many occasions the prince showed thoughtful kindness
to members of my family as well as to myself, and
the news of his death gave me real sorrow.  It was a vast
loss to his country; no modern monarch has shown so
striking a likeness to Marcus Aurelius.

Hardly less hearty and kindly was the Emperor then
reigning--William I.  Naturally enough, he remembered,
above all who had preceded me, Mr. Bancroft.  His
first question at court generally was, ``How goes it
with your predecessor?  (Wie geht es mit Ihrem
Vorgnger?)'' and I always knew that by my ``predecessor''
he meant Bancroft.  When I once told him that Mr.
Bancroft, who was not far from the old Kaiser's age, had
bought a new horse and was riding assiduously every
day, the old monarch laughed heartily and dwelt on his
recollections of my predecessor, with his long white beard,
riding through the Thiergarten.

Pleasant to me was the last interview, on the presentation
of my letter of recall.  It was at Babelsberg, the
Emperor's country-seat at Potsdam; and he detained me
long, talking over a multitude of subjects in a way which
showed much kindly feeling.  Among other things, he
asked where my family had been staying through the
summer.  My answer was that we had been at a hotel near
the park or palace of Wilhelmshhe above Cassel; and
that we all agreed that he had been very magnanimous in
assigning to the Emperor Napoleon III so splendid a
prison and such beautiful surroundings.  To this he
answered quite earnestly, ``Yes; and he was very grateful
for it, and wrote me to say so; but, after all, that is by
no means the finest palace in Germany.''  To this I
answered, ``Your Majesty is entirely right; that I saw on
visiting the palace of Wrzburg.''  At this he laughed
heartily, and said, ``Yes, I see that you understand it;
those old prince-bishops knew how to live.''  As a matter
of fact, various prince-bishops in the eighteenth century
impoverished their realms in building just such imitations
of Versailles as that sumptuous Wrzburg Palace.

He then asked me, ``On what ship do you go to
America?'' and I answered, ``On the finest ship in your
Majesty's merchant navy--the Elbe.''  He then asked me
something about the ship; and when I had told him how
beautifully it was equipped,--it being the first of the
larger ships of the North German Lloyd,--he answered,
``Yes; what is now doing in the way of shipbuilding is
wonderful.  I received a letter from my son, the crown
prince, this morning, on that very subject.  He is at
Osborne, and has just visited a great English iron-clad
man-of-war.  It is wonderful; but it cost a million pounds
sterling.''  At this he raised his voice, and, throwing up
both hands, said very earnestly, ``We can't stand it; we
can't stand it.''

After this and much other pleasant chat, he put out his
hand and said, ``Auf Wiedersehen''; and so we parted,
each to take his own way into eternity.

The other farewells to me were also gratifying.  The
German press was very kindly in its references to my
departure; and just before I left Berlin a dinner was
given me in the great hall of the Kaiserhof by leading men
in parliamentary, professional, literary, and artistic
circles.  Kindly speeches were made by Gneist, Camphausen,
Delbrck, George von Bunsen, and others--all forming a
treasure in my memory which, as long as life lasts, I can
never lose.



CHAPTER XXXII

MY RECOLLECTIONS OF BISMARCK--1879-1881

My first glimpse of Bismarck was obtained during one
of my journeys through middle Germany, about the
time, I think, of the Franco-Prussian War.  Arriving at
the Kissingen junction, we found a crowd gathered outside
the barriers, and all gazing at a railway-carriage
about to be attached to our train.  Looking toward this, I
recognized the face and form of the great North-German
statesman.  He was in the prime of life--sturdy, hearty,
and happy in the presence of his wife and children.  The
people at the station evidently knew what was needed; for
hardly had he arrived when waiters appeared, bearing
salvers covered with huge mugs of foaming beer.  Thereupon
Bismarck took two of the mugs in immediate succession;
poured their contents down his throat, evidently with
great gusto; and a burly peasant just back of me, unable
longer to restrain his admiration, soliloquized in a deep,
slow, guttural, reverberating rumble:  ``A-a-a-ber er sieht
sehr-r-r gut aus.''  So it struck me also; the waters of
Kissingen had evidently restored the great man, and he
looked like a Titan ready for battle.

My personal intercourse with him began in 1879, when,
as chancellor of the German Empire, he received me
as minister of the United States.  On my entering his
workroom, he rose; and it seemed to me that I had
never seen another man so towering save Abraham
Lincoln.  On either side of him were his two big, black
dogs, the Reichshunde; and, as he put out his hand
with a pleasant smile, they seemed to join kindly in the
welcome.

His first remark was that I seemed a young man to
undertake the duties of a minister, to which I made the
trite reply that time would speedily cure that defect.  The
conversation then ran, for a time, upon commonplace
subjects, but finally struck matters of interest to both our
countries.

There were then, as ever since, a great number of
troublesome questions between the two nations, and among
them those relating to Germans who, having gone over to
the United States just at the military age, had lived there
merely long enough to acquire citizenship, and had then
hastened back to Germany to enjoy the privileges of both
countries without discharging the duties of either.  These
persons had done great harm to the interests of bona-fide
German-Americans, and Bismarck evidently had an intense
dislike for them.  This he showed then and afterward;
but his tendencies to severity toward them were
tempted {sic} by the minister of foreign affairs, Von Blow,
one of the most reasonable men in public business with
whom I have ever had to do, and father of the present
chancellor, who greatly resembles him.

But Bismarck's feeling against the men who had
acquired American citizenship for the purpose of evading
their duties in both countries did not prevent his taking
a great interest in Germans who had settled in the United
States and, while becoming good Americans, had preserved
an interest in the Fatherland.  He spoke of these,
with a large, kindly feeling, as constituting a bond between
the two nations.  Among other things, he remarked that
Germans living in the United States become more tractable
than in the land of their birth; that revolutionists
thus become moderates, and radicals conservatives; that
the word Einigkeit (union) had always a charm for them;
that it had worked both ways upon them for good, the
union of States in America leading them to prize the
union of states in Germany, and the evils of disunion in
Germany, which had been so long and painful, leading
them to abhor disunion in America.

The conversation then fell into ordinary channels, and I
took leave after another hearty shake of the hand and
various kind assurances.  A few days later came an invitation
to dinner with him; and I prized this all the more because
it was not to be an official, but a family dinner, and
was to include a few of his most intimate friends in the
ministry and the parliament.  On the invitation it was
stated that evening dress was not to be worn; and on my
arrival, accompanied by Herr von Schltzer, at that time
the German minister in Washington, I found all the guests
arrayed in simple afternoon costume.  The table had a
patriarchal character.  At the head sat the prince; at his
side, in the next seat but one, his wife; while between them
was the seat assigned me, so that I enjoyed to the full the
conversation of both.  The other seats at the head of the
table were occupied by various guests; and then, scattered
along down, were members of the family and some personages
in the chancery who stood nearest the chief.  The
conversation was led by him, and soon took a turn
especially interesting.  He asked me whether there had ever
been a serious effort to make New York the permanent
capital of the nation.  I answered that there had not; that
both New York and Philadelphia were, for a short period
at the beginning of our national history, provisional
capitals; but that there was a deep-seated idea that the
permanent capital should not be a commercial metropolis, and
that unquestionably the placing of it at Washington was
decided, not merely by the central position of that city, but
also by the fact that it was an artificial town, never likely
to be a great business center; and I cited Thomas Jefferson's
saying, ``Great cities are great sores.''  He answered
that in this our founders showed wisdom; that the
French were making a bad mistake in bringing their
national legislature back from Versailles to Paris; that the
construction of the human body furnishes a good hint for
arrangements in the body politic; that, as the human brain
is held in a strong inclosure, and at a distance from the
parts of the body which are most active physically, so the
brain of the nation should be protected with the greatest
care, and should not be placed in the midst of a great,
turbulent metropolis.  To this I assented, but said that during
my attendance at sessions of the French legislative bodies,
both in my old days at Paris and more recently at Versailles,
it seemed to me that their main defects are those
of their qualities; that one of the most frequent occupations
of their members is teasing one another, and that
when they tease one another they are wonderfully witty;
that in the American Congress and in the British Parliament
members are more slow to catch a subtle comment or
scathing witticism; that the members of American and
British assemblies are more like large grains of cannon-
powder, through which ignition extends slowly, so that
there comes no sudden explosion; whereas in the French
Assembly the members are more like minute, bright
grains of rifle-powder, which all take fire at the same
moment, with instant detonation, and explosions sometimes
disastrous.  He assented to this, but insisted that the curse
of French assemblies had been the tyranny of city mobs,
and especially of mobs in the galleries of their assemblies;
that the worst fault possible in any deliberative body is
speaking to the galleries; that a gallery mob is sure to get
between the members and the country, and virtually
screen off from the assembly the interests of the country.
To this I most heartily assented.

I may say here that there had not then been fully
developed in our country that monstrous absurdity which
we have seen in these last few years--national conventions
of the two parties trying to deliberate in the midst of
audiences of twelve or fifteen thousand people; a vast
mob in the galleries, often noisy, and sometimes hysterical,
frequently seeking to throw the delegates off their
bearings, to outclamor them, and to force nominations
upon them.

A little later, as we discussed certain recent books, I re-
ferred to Jules Simon's work on Thiers's administration.
Bismarck said that Thiers, in the treaty negotiations at
Versailles, impressed him strongly; that he was a patriot;
that he seemed at that time like a Roman among Byzantines.

This statement astonished me.  If ever there existed a
man at the opposite pole from Bismarck, Thiers was certainly
that man.  I had studied him as a historian, observed
him as a statesman, and conversed with him as a
social being; and he had always seemed, and still seems,
to me the most noxious of all the greater architects of
ruin that France produced during the latter half of the
nineteenth century--and that is saying much.  His policy
was to discredit every government which he found existing,
in order that its ruins might serve him as a pedestal;
and, while he certainly showed great skill in mitigating
the calamities which he did so much to cause, his whole
career was damning.

By his ``History of the French Revolution'' he revived
the worst of the Revolution legend, and especially the
deification of destructiveness; by his ``History of the
Consulate and of the Empire,'' and his translation of the body of
Napoleon to France, he effectively revived the Napoleonic
legend.  The Queen of the French, when escaping from the
Tuileries in 1848, was entirely right in reproaching him
with undermining the constitutional monarchy of 1830;
and no man did more than he to arouse and maintain the
anti-German spirit which led to the Franco-Prussian War.

By his writings, speeches, and intrigues he aided in
upsetting, not only the rule of the Bourbons in 1830, but
the rule of Louis Philippe in 1848, the Second Republic
in 1851, and the Second Empire in 1870; and, had he
lived, he would doubtless have done the same by the present
Republic.

Louis Blanc, a revolutionist of another bad sort--so
common in France--who can ruin but NOT restore, once
said to me that Thiers's ``greatest power lay in his voicing
average, unthinking, popular folly; so that after one of his
speeches every fool in France would cry out with delight,
``Mais, voil mon opinion!''

Doubtless Bismarck was impressed, for the time being,
by Thiers's skill in negotiation; but it is perfectly evident,
from the recollections of various officials since published,
that his usual opinion of Thiers was not at all indicated
by his remark above cited.

Later the conversation fell upon travel; and, as he spoke
of his experiences in various parts of Europe, I recommended
America to him as a new field of observation--alluding
playfully to the city named after him, and suggesting
that he take his family with him upon a large steamer,
and, after seeing the more interesting things in the United
States, pass on around the world, calling at the Samoan
Islands, on which I had recently heard him speak in
parliament.  After some humorous objections to this plan,
he said that early in life he had a great passion for travel,
but that upon his father's death he was obliged to devote
himself to getting his estate in order; that ever since that
time his political duties had prevented his traveling much;
and that now he had lost the love of wandering, and in
place of it had gained a desire to settle down in the midst
of his family.

He spoke English so perfectly that I asked him how
much time he had spent in England.  He said, ``Very
little--in fact, only two or three days.''  He had made but
two short visits, one of them many years ago,--I think he
said in 1842,--the other during the exposition of 1862.  He
seemed much struck with the beauty of England, and said
that if his lot had been cast there he would have been very
happy as an English country gentleman; that he could not
understand how Englishmen are so prone to live outside
of their own country.  He spoke of various Englishmen,
and referred to Lord Dufferin, who had dined with him
the day before, as one of the most abstemious men he had
ever seen, drinking only a little claret and water.  Upon
my speaking of the great improvement which I had noted
in England during the last quarter of a century, so that
the whole country was becoming more and more like a
garden, he said that such a statement was hardly likely to
please thinking Englishmen; that they could hardly be
glad that England should become more and more like a
garden; ``for,'' he said, ``feeding a great nation from a
garden is like provisioning an army with plum cake.''

He then dwelt on the fact that Great Britain had become
more and more dependent for her daily bread on other
countries, and especially on the United States.

The conversation next turned to the management of
estates, and he remarked, in a bluff, hearty way, that his
father had desired him to become a clergyman; that there
was a pastor's living, worth, if I remember rightly, about
fifteen hundred thalers a year, which his father thought
should be kept in the family.  This led to some amusing
conversation between him and the princess on what his
life would have been under such circumstances, ending by
his saying jocosely to her, ``You probably think that if I
had become a pastor I would have been a better man.''  To
which she answered that this she would not say; that it
would not be polite.  ``But,'' she continued, ``I will say
this: that you would have been a happier man.''

He referred to some of my predecessors, speaking very
kindly of Bayard Taylor and George Bancroft; but both
he and the princess dwelt especially upon their relations
with Motley.  The prince told me of their life together at
Gttingen and at Berlin, and of Motley's visits since,
when he always became Bismarck's guest.  The princess
said that there was one subject on which it was always a
delight to tease Motley--his suppressed novel
``Merrymount''; that Motley defended himself ingeniously in
various ways until, at his last visit, being pressed hard, he
declared that the whole thing was a mere myth; that he
had never written any such novel.

The dinner being ended, our assembly was adjourned to
the terrace at the back of the chancellor's palace, looking
out upon the park in which he was wont to take his famous
midnight walks.  Coffee and cigars were brought, but for
Bismarck a pipe with a long wooden stem and a large
porcelain bowl.  It was a massive affair; and, in a jocose,
apologetic way, he said that, although others might smoke
cigars and cigarettes, he clung to the pipe--and in spite
of the fact that, at the Philadelphia Exposition, as he had
heard, a great German pipe was hung among tomahawks,
scalping-knives, and other relics of barbarism.  From time
to time a servant refilled his pipe, while he discoursed upon
various subjects--first upon the condition of America and
of Germany; then upon South American matters, and of
the struggle between Chile and other powers.  He showed
great respect for the Chileans, and thought that they manifested
really sterling qualities.

He spoke of ship-building, and showed, as it seemed to
me, rather a close knowledge of the main points involved.
He referred to the superiority of Russian ships, the wood
used being more suitable than that generally found elsewhere.
As to American ships, he thought they were built,
as a rule, of inferior woods, and that their reputation had
suffered in consequence.

The conversation again falling upon public men, a reference
of mine to Gladstone did not elicit anything like a
hearty response; but the mention of Disraeli seemed to
arouse a cordial feeling.

Among the guests was Lothar Bucher, whom Bismarck,
in earlier days, would have hanged if he had caught him,
but who had now become the chancellor's most confidential
agent; and, as we came out together, Bucher said:  ``Well,
what do you think of him?''  My answer was:  ``He seems
even a greater man than I had expected.''  ``Yes,'' said
Bucher; ``and I am one of those who have suffered much
and long to make him possible.''  I said:  ``The result is
worth it, is it not?''  ``Yes,'' was the reply; ``infinitely
more than worth it.''

My next visit was of a very peculiar sort.  One day
there arrived at the legation Mr. William D. Kelly of
Pennsylvania, anxious, above all things, to have a talk
with Bismarck, especially upon the tariff and the double
monetary standard, both of which were just then burning
questions.  I told Mr. Kelly that it was much easier to
present him to the Emperor than to the chancellor, but that
we would see what could be done.  Thereupon I wrote a
note telling Bismarck who Mr. Kelly was--the senior
member of the House of Representatives by term of service,
the leading champion therein of protection and of the
double standard of value; that he was very anxious to
discuss these subjects with leading German authorities;
and that, knowing the prince's interest in them, it had
seemed to me that he might not be sorry to meet Mr.
Kelly for a brief interview.  To this I received a hearty
response:  ``By all means bring Mr. Kelly over at four
o'clock.''  At four o'clock, then, we appeared at the palace,
and were received immediately and cordially.  When
we were seated the prince said:  ``I am very sorry; but the
new Prussian ministry is to meet here in twenty minutes,
and I must preside over it.''  The meaning of this was
clear, and the conversation began at once, I effacing
myself in order to enjoy it more fully.  In a few seconds they
were in the thick of the tariff question; and, as both were
high protectionists, they got along admirably.  Soon rose
the question of the double standard in coinage; and
on this, too, they agreed.  Notable was the denunciation
by the chancellor of those who differed from him; he
seemed to feel that, as captain of the political forces of
the empire, he was entitled to the allegiance of all honest
members of parliament, and on all questions.  The discussion
ran through various interesting phases, when, noticing
that the members of the Prussian ministry were gathering
in the next room, I rose to go; whereupon the
prince, who seemed greatly interested both in the presentation
of his own views and those of Mr. Kelly, said:  ``No,
no; let them wait.''  The new ministers therefore waited,
the argument on the tariff and the double standard being
more vigorously prosecuted than ever.  After fifteen or
twenty minutes more, I rose again; but Bismarck said:
``No, no; there's no hurry; let's go and take a walk.''
On this we rose and went into the garden.  As we stopped
for an instant to enable him to take down his military cap,
I noticed two large photographs with autographs beneath
them,--one of Lord Beaconsfield, and the other of King
Victor Emmanuel,--and, as I glanced at the latter, I
noticed an inscription beneath it:

          Al mio caro cugino Bismarck.
                       VITTORIO EMANUELE.

Bismarck, seeing me look at it, said:  ``He calls me `cousin'
because he has given me his Order of the Annunciata.''
This remark for a moment surprised me.  It was hard for
me to conceive that the greatest man in Europe could care
whether he was entitled to wear the Annunciata ribbon or
not, or whether any king called him ``cousin'' or not.  He
seemed, for a moment, to descend to a somewhat lower
plane than that upon which he had been standing; but, as
we came out into the open and walked up and down the
avenues in the park, he resumed his discussion of greater
things.  During this, he went at considerable length into
the causes which led to the partial demonetization of silver
in the empire; whereupon Mr. Kelly, interrupting him,
said:  ``But, prince, if you fully believed in using both the
precious metals, why did you allow the demonetization of
silver?''  ``Well,'' said Bismarck, ``I had a great many
things to think of in those days, and as everybody said that
Camphausen and ---- were great financiers, and that
they understood all about these questions, I allowed them
to go on; but I soon learned, as our peasants say of those
who try to impose upon their neighbors, that they had
nothing but hot water in their dinner-pots, after all.''  He
then went on discussing the mistakes of those and other
gentlemen before he himself had put his hand to the work
and reversed their policy.  There were curious allusions
to various individuals whose ideas had not suited him,
most of them humorous, but some sarcastic.  At last, after
a walk of about twenty minutes, bearing in mind the
ministers who had been so long waiting for their chief, I
insisted that we must go; whereupon the prince conducted
us to the gate, and most cordially took leave of us.

As we left the place, I said to Mr. Kelly, knowing that
he sometimes wrote letters for publication:  ``Of course, in
whatever you may write to America, you will be careful
not to mention names of persons.''  ``Certainly,'' he said;
``that, of course, I shall never think of doing.''  But alas
for his good resolutions!  In his zeal for protection and
the double standard, all were forgotten.  About a fortnight
later there came back by cable a full statement regarding
his interview, the names all given, and Bismarck's references
to his colleagues brought out vividly.  The result
was that a large portion of the German press was indignant
that Bismarck should have spoken in such a manner
to a foreigner regarding Germans of such eminence,
who had been his trusted colleagues, and who had rendered
to the country very great services; so that, for some
days, the ``Affaire Kelly'' made large demands upon
public attention.  It had hardly subsided when there came
notice to me from the State Department at Washington
that a very eminent American financier was about to be
sent to Berlin; and I was instructed to secure for him an
audience with the chancellor, in order that some arrangements
might be arrived at regarding the double standard
of value.  I must confess that, in view of the ``Affaire
Kelly,'' these instructions chilled me.  Fortunately,
Bismarck was just then taking his usual cure at Kissingen,
during which he always refused to consider any matter of
business; but, on his return to Berlin, I sent him a note
requesting an audience for this special American
representative.  This brought a very kind answer expressing
regret that the chancellor was so pressed with arrears of
business that he desired to be excused; but that the minister
of finance and various other members of the cabinet
had been instructed to receive the American agent and to
communicate with him to the fullest extent.  That was all
very well, but there were my instructions; and I felt
obliged to write again, making a more earnest request.
Thereupon came an answer that settled the question: the
chancellor regretted that he was too much overwhelmed
with work to meet the gentleman; but said that he would
gladly see the American minister at any time, and must,
for the present, be excused from meeting any unaccredited
persons.

Of course, after that there was nothing to be said; and
the special American agent was obliged to content himself
with what he could obtain in interviews with various
ministers.

Mr. Kelly urged, as his excuse for publishing personal
details in his letters, that it was essential that the whole
world should know just what the great chancellor had said
on so important a subject.  As it turned out, Mr. Kelly's
zeal defeated his purpose; for, had the special agent been
enabled to discuss the matter with the chancellor, there is
little doubt that Germany would have at least endeavored
to establish a permanent double standard of value.

Each year, during my stay, Bismarck gave a dinner to
the diplomatic corps on the Emperor's birthday.  The
table was set then, as now, in the great hall of the
chancellor's palace--the hall in which the Conference of
Berlin was held after the Russo-Turkish War.  The culminating
point of each dinner was near its close, when the
chancellor rose, and, after a brief speech in French,
proposed the health of the heads of all the states there
represented.  This was followed by a toast to the health of
the Emperor, given by the senior member of the diplomatic
corps, and shortly after came an adjournment for
coffee and cigars.  One thing was, at first sight, somewhat
startling; for, as Bismarck arose to propose the toast, the
big black head of a Danish dog appeared upon the table
on either side of him; but the bearing of the dogs was so
solemn that they really detracted nothing from the dignity
of the occasion.

In the smoking-room the guests were wont to gather in
squads, as many of them as possible in the immediate
neighborhood of our host.  During one of these assemblages
he asked me to explain the great success of Carl
Schurz in America.  My answer was that, before the Lincoln
presidential campaign, in which Schurz took so large
a part, slavery was always discussed either from a constitutional
or a philanthropic point of view, orators seeking to
show either that it was at variance with the fundamental
principles of our government or an offense against humanity;
but that Schurz discussed it in a new way, and mainly
from the philosophic point of view, showing, not merely
its hostility to American ideas of liberty and the wrong
it did to the slaves, but, more especially, the injury it
wrought upon the country at large, and, above all, upon
the slave States themselves; and that, in treating all public
questions, he was philosophic, eloquent, and evidently
sincere.  Bismarck heard what I had to say, and then
answered:  ``As a German, I am proud of Carl Schurz.''
This was indeed a confession; for it is certain that, if
Bismarck could have had his way with Carl Schurz in 1848
or 1849, he would have hanged him.

The chancellor's discussions at such times were
frequently of a humorous sort.  He seemed, most of all, to
delight in lively reminiscences of various public men in
Europe.  Nothing could be more cordial and hearty than
his bearing; but that he could take a different tone was
found out by one of my colleagues shortly after my
arrival.  This colleague was Herr von Rudhardt, the
diplomatic and parliamentary representative of Bavaria.  I
remember him well as a large, genial man; and the beauty
and cordial manner of his wife attracted general admiration.
One day this gentleman made a speech or cast a
vote which displeased Bismarck, and shortly afterward
went to one of the chancellor's parliamentary receptions.
As he, with his wife leaning on his arm, approached his
host, the latter broke out into a storm of reproaches,
denouncing the minister's conduct, and threatening to
complain of it to his royal master.  Thereupon the diplomatist
simply bowed, made no answer, returned home at once,
and sent his resignation to his government.  All the efforts
of the Emperor William were unable to appease
him, and he was shortly afterward sent to St. Petersburg
as minister at that court.  But the scene which separated
him from Berlin seemed to give him a fatal shock; he
shortly afterward lost his reason, and at last accounts was
living in an insane asylum.

On another occasion I had an opportunity to see how
the chancellor, so kind in his general dealings with men
whom he liked, could act toward those who crossed his
path.

Being one evening at a reception given by the Duke of
Ratibor, president of the Prussian House of Lords, he
said to me:  ``I saw you this afternoon in the diplomatic
box.  Our proceedings must have seemed very stupid.''  I
answered that they had interested me much.  On this he
put his lips to my ear and whispered:  ``Come to-morrow
at the same hour, and you will hear something of real
interest.''  Of course, when the time arrived, I was in my
seat, wondering what the matter of interest could be.
Soon I began to suspect that the duke had made some mistake,
for business seemed following the ordinary routine;
but presently a bill was brought in by one of the leading
Prussian ministers, a member of one of the most eminent
families in Germany, a man of the most attractive manners,
and greatly in favor with the Emperor William and
the crown prince, afterward the Emperor Frederick.  The
bill was understood to give a slight extension of suffrage
in the choice of certain leading elected officials.  The question
being asked by some one on the floor whether the head
of the ministry, Prince Bismarck, approved the bill, this
leading minister, who had introduced it, answered in the
affirmative, and said that, though Prince Bismarck had
been kept away by illness from the sessions in which it had
been discussed, he had again and again shown that he was
not opposed to it, and there could be no question on the
subject.  At this a member rose and solemnly denied the
correctness of this statement; declared that he was in
possession of information to the very opposite effect; and
then read a paper, claiming to emanate directly from the
chancellor himself, to the effect that he had nothing whatever
to do with the bill and disapproved it.  Upon Bismarck's
colleagues in the ministry, who thought that his
silence had given consent, this came like a thunderbolt;
and those who had especially advocated the measure saw
at once that they had fallen into a trap.  The general
opinion was that the illness of the chancellor had been a
stratagem; that his sudden disclaimer, after his leading
colleagues had thus committed themselves, was intended to
drive them from the ministry; and that he was determined
to prevent the minister who had most strongly
supported the bill from securing popularity by it.  This
minister, then, and the other members of the cabinet at
once resigned, giving place to men whom the chancellor
did not consider so likely to run counter to his ideas and
interests.

Indeed, it must be confessed that the great statesman
not infrequently showed the defects of his qualities.  As
one out of many cases may be cited his treatment of Eduard
Lasker.  This statesman during several years rendered
really important services.  Though an Israelite, he
showed none of the grasping propensities so often ascribed
to his race.  He seemed to care nothing for wealth or
show, lived very simply, and devoted himself to the public
good as he understood it.  Many capitalists, bankers, and
promoters involved in the financial scandals which followed
the Franco-Prussian War were of his race; but this
made no difference with him: in his great onslaught on the
colossal scoundrelism of that time, he attacked Jew and
Gentile alike; and he deserved well of his country for
aiding to cleanse it of all that fraud and folly.  On a
multitude of other questions, too, he had been very serviceable
to the nation and to Bismarck; but, toward the end of his
career, he had, from time to time, opposed some of the
chancellor's measures, and this seemed to turn the latter
completely against him.

At the opening of the Northern Pacific Railway, Lasker
was one of the invited guests, but soon showed himself
desperately ill; and, one day, walking along a street in
New York, suddenly dropped dead.

A great funeral was given him; and, of all the ceremonies
I have ever seen, this was one of the most remarkable
for its simplicity and beauty.  Mr. Carl Schurz and myself
were appointed to make addresses on the occasion in the
temple of the Israelites on Fifth Avenue; and we agreed
in thinking that we had never seen a ceremony of the kind
more appropriate to a great statesman.

At the next session of Congress, a resolution was
introduced condoling with the government of Germany on the
loss of so distinguished a public servant.  This resolution
was passed unanimously, and in perfect good faith, every
person present--and, indeed, every citizen in the whole
country who gave the matter any thought--supposing that
it would be welcomed by the German Government as a
friendly act.

But the result was astounding.  Bismarck took it upon
himself, when the resolution reached him, to treat it with
the utmost contempt, and to send it back without really
laying it before his government, thus giving the American
people to understand that they had interfered in a matter
which did not concern them.  For a time, this seemed
likely to provoke a bitter outbreak of American feeling;
but, fortunately, the whole matter was allowed to drift by.

Among the striking characteristics of Bismarck was his
evident antipathy to ceremonial.  He was never present
at any of the great court functions save the first reception
given at the golden wedding of the Emperor William
I, and at the gala opera a few evenings afterward.

The reason generally assigned for this abstention was
that the chancellor, owing to his increasing weight and
weakness, could not remain long on his feet, as people are
expected to do on such occasions.  Nor do I remember
seeing him at any of the festivities attending the marriage
of the present Emperor William, who was then merely
the son of the crown prince.  One reason for his absence,
perhaps, was his reluctance to take part in the Fackeltanz,
a most curious survival.  In this ceremony, the ministers
of Prussia, in full gala dress, with flaring torches in their
hands, precede the bride or the groom, as the case may be,
as he or she solemnly marches around the great white hall
of the palace, again and again, to the sound of solemn
music.  The bride first goes to the foot of the throne, and
is welcomed by the Emperor, who gravely leads her once
around the hall, and then takes his seat.  The groom then
approaches the throne, and invites the Empress to march
solemnly around the room with him in the same manner,
and she complies with his request.  Then the bride takes
the royal prince next in importance, who, in this particular
case, happened to be the Prince of Wales, at present King
Edward VII; the groom, the next princess; and so on, until
each of the special envoys from the various monarchs of
Europe has gone through this solemn function.  So it is
that the ministers, some of them nearly eighty years of
age, march around the room perhaps a score of times; and
it is very easy to understand that Bismarck preferred to
avoid such an ordeal.

From time to time, the town, and even the empire, was
aroused by news that he was in a fit of illness or ill
nature, and insisting on resigning.  On such occasions
the old Emperor generally drove to the chancellor's palace
in the Wilhelmstrasse, and, in his large, kindly, hearty
way, got the great man out of bed, put him in good humor,
and set him going again.  On one of these occasions,
happening to meet Rudolf von Gneist, who had been, during a
part of Bismarck's career, on very confidential terms with
him, I asked what the real trouble was.  ``Oh,'' said Gneist,
``he has eaten too many plover's eggs (Ach, er hat zu viel
Kibitzeier gegessen).''  This had reference to the fact
that certain admirers of the chancellor in the neighborhood
of the North Sea were accustomed to send him, each
year, a large basket of plovers' eggs, of which he was very
fond; and this diet has never been considered favorable
to digestion.

This reminds me that Gneist on one occasion told me
another story, which throws some light on the chancellor's
habits.  Gneist had especial claims on Americans.  As the
most important professor of Roman law at the university
he had welcomed a long succession of American students;
as a member of the imperial parliament, of the Prussian
legislature, and of the Berlin town council, he had shown
many kindnesses to American travelers; and as the
representative of the Emperor William in the arbitration
between the United States and Great Britain on our north-
western boundary, he had proved a just judge, deciding in
our favor.  Therefore it was that, on the occasion of one of
the great Thanksgiving dinners celebrated by the American
colony, he was present as one of the principal guests.
Near him was placed a bottle of Hermitage, rather a heavy,
heady wine.  Shortly after taking his seat, he said to me
with a significant smile, ``That is some of the wine I sent
to Bismarck, and it did not turn out well.''  ``How was
that?'' I asked.  ``Well,'' he said, ``one day I met
Bismarck and asked him about his health.  He answered, `It
is wretched; I can neither eat nor sleep.'  I replied, `Let
me send you something that will help you.  I have just
received a lot of Hermitage, and will send you a dozen
bottles.  If you take a COUPLE OF GLASSES each day with
your dinner, it will be the best possible tonic, and will
do you great good.'  Sometime afterward,'' continued
Gneist, ``I met him again, and asked how the wine agreed
with him.  `Oh,' said Bismarck, `not at all; it made me
worse than ever.'  `Why,' said I, `how did you take it?'
`Just as you told me,' replied Bismarck, `A COUPLE OF
BOTTLES each day with my dinner.' ''

Bismarck's constant struggle against the diseases which
beset him became pathetic.  He once asked me how I managed
to sleep in Berlin; and on my answering him he
said--``Well, I can never sleep in Berlin at night when it
is quiet; but as soon as the noise begins, about four o'clock
in the morning, I can sleep a little and get my rest for
the day.''

It was frequently made clear that the Emperor William
and the German officials were not the only ones to experience
the results of Bismarck's ill health: the diplomatic
corps, and among them myself, had sometimes to take it
into account.

Bismarck was especially kind to Americans, and, above
all, to the American diplomatic representatives.  To this
there was but one exception, my immediate successor, and
that was a case in which no fault need be imputed to
either side.  That Bismarck's feeling toward Americans
generally was good is abundantly proven, and especially
by such witnesses as Abeken, Sidney Whitman, and Moritz
Busch, the last of whom has shown that, while the chancellor
was very bitter against sundry German princes who
lingered about the army and lived in Versailles at the
public expense, he seemed always to rejoice in the presence
of General Sheridan and other compatriots of ours who
were attached to the German headquarters by a tie of
much less strength.

But, as I have already hinted, there was one thing which
was especially vexatious to him; and this was the evasion,
as he considered it, of duty to the German Fatherland
by sundry German-Americans.  One day I received a letter
from a young man who stated his case as follows:
He had left his native town in Alsace-Lorraine just
before arriving at the military age; had gone to the United
States; had remained there, not long enough to learn
English, but just long enough to obtain naturalization; and
had then lost no time in returning to his native town.  He
had been immediately thrown into prison; and thence he
wrote me, expressing his devotion to the American flag,
his pride in his American citizenship,--and his desire to
live in Germany.  I immediately wrote to the minister of
foreign affairs, stating the man's case, and showing that
it came under the Bancroft treaties, or at least under the
construction of them which the German Government up to
that time had freely allowed.  To this I received an
answer that the Bancroft treaties, having been made before
Alsace-Lorraine was annexed to the empire, did not apply
to these new provinces, and that the youth was detained as
a deserter.  To this I replied that, although the minister's
statement was strictly true, the point had been waived
long before in our favor; that in no less than eight cases
the German Government had extended the benefit of the
Bancroft treaties over Alsace-Lorraine; and that in one
of these cases the acting minister of foreign affairs had
declared the intention of the government to make this
extension permanent.

But just at this period, after the death of Baron von
Blow, who had been most kindly in all such matters, the
chancellor had fallen into a curious way of summoning
eminent German diplomatists from various capitals of
Europe into the ministry of foreign affairs for a limited
time--trying them on, as it were.  These gentlemen were
generally very agreeable; but on this occasion I had to
deal with one who had been summoned from service at
one of the lesser German courts, and who was younger
than most of his predecessors.  To my surprise, he brushed
aside all the precedents I had cited, and also the fact that
a former acting minister of foreign affairs had distinctly
stated that, as a matter of comity, the German Government
proposed to consider the Bancroft treaties as applying
permanently to Alsace-Lorraine.  Neither notes nor verbal
remonstrances moved him.  He was perfectly civil, and
answered my arguments, in every case, as if he were about
to yield, yet always closed with a ``but''--and did nothing.
He seemed paralyzed.  The cause of the difficulty was soon
evident.  It was natural that Bismarck should have a feeling
that a young man who had virtually deserted the German
flag just before reaching the military age deserved the
worst treatment which the law allowed.  His own sons had
served in the army, and had plunged into the thickest of
the fight, one of them receiving a serious wound; and that
this young Alsatian Israelite should thus escape service
by a trick was evidently hateful to him.  That the chancellor
himself gave the final decision in this matter was the
only explanation of the fact that this particular acting
minister of foreign affairs never gave me an immediate
answer.

The matter became more and more serious.  The letter
of the law was indeed on Bismarck's side; but the young
man was an American citizen, and the idea of an American
citizen being held in prison was anything but pleasant to
me, and I knew that it would be anything but pleasant
to my fellow-citizens across the water.  I thought on the
proud words, ``civis Romanus sum,'' and of the analogy
involved in this case.  My position was especially difficult,
because I dared not communicate the case fully to the
American State Department of that period.  Various private
despatches had got out into the world and made
trouble for their authors, and even so eminent a
diplomatist as Mr. George P. Marsh at Rome came very near
being upset by one.  My predecessor, Bayard Taylor, was
very nearly wrecked by another; and it was the escape
and publication of a private despatch which plunged my
immediate successor into his quarrel with Bismarck, and
made his further stay in Germany useless: I therefore
stopped short with my first notification to the State
Department--to the effect that a naturalized American had
been imprisoned for desertion in Alsace-Lorraine, and
that the legation was doing its best to secure his release.
To say more than this involved danger that the affair
might fall into the hands of sensation-mongers, and result
in howls and threats against the German Government and
Bismarck; and I knew well that, if such howls and threats
were made, Bismarck would never let this young Israelite
out of prison as long as he lived.

It seemed hardly the proper thing, serious as the case
was, to ask for my passports.  It was certain that, if this
were done, there would come a chorus of blame from both
sides of the Atlantic.  Deciding, therefore, to imitate the
example of the old man in the school-book, who, before
throwing stones at the boy in his fruit-tree, threw turf
and grass, I secured from Washington by cable a leave
of absence, but, before starting, saw some of my diplomatic
colleagues, who were wont to circulate freely and
talk much, stated the main features of the case to them,
and said that I was ``going off to enjoy myself''; that
there seemed little use for an American minister in a
country where precedents and agreements were so easily
disregarded.  Next day I started for the French Riviera.
The journey was taken leisurely, with interesting halts
at Cologne and Aix-la-Chapelle; and, as I reached the
hotel in Paris, a telegram was handed me--``Your man
in Alsace-Lorraine is free.''  It was evident that the
chancellor had felt better and had thought more leniently
of the matter, and I had never another difficulty of the sort
during the remainder of my stay.

The whole weight of testimony as regards Bismarck's
occasional severity is to the effect that, stern and
persistent as he was, he had much tenderness of heart; but
as to the impossibility of any nation, government, or press
scaring or driving him, I noticed curious evidences during
my stay.  It was well known that he was not unfriendly
to Russia; indeed, he more than once made declarations
which led some of the Western powers to think him too
ready to make concessions to Russian policy in the East;
but his relations to Prince Gortchakoff, the former Russian
chancellor, were not of the best; and after the Berlin
Conference the disappointment of Russia led to various
unfriendly actions by Russian authorities and individuals
of all sorts, from the Czar down.  There was a general
feeling that it was dangerous for Germany to resent
this, and a statesman of another mold would have deprecated
these attacks, or sought to mitigate them.  Not so
Bismarck: he determined to give as good as was sent;
and, for a very considerable time he lost no chance to show
that the day of truckling by Germany to her powerful
neighbor was past.  This became at last so marked that
bitter, and even defiant, presentation of unpalatable
truths regarding Russia, in the press inspired from the
chancery, seemed the usual form in which all Russian
statesmen, and especially members of the imperial house,
were welcomed in Berlin.  One morning, taking up my
copy of the paper most directly inspired by the chancellor,
I found an article on the shortcomings of Russia,
especially pungent--almost vitriolic.  It at once occurred
to me to look among the distinguished arrivals to see
what Muscovite was in town; and my search was rewarded
by the discovery that the heir to the imperial crown,
afterward Alexander III, had just arrived and was staying
a day or two in the city.

When Bismarck uttered his famous saying, ``We Germans
fear God and naught beside,'' he simply projected
into the history of Germany his own character.  Fearlessness
was a main characteristic of his from boyhood,
and it never left him in any of the emergencies of his
later life.

His activity through the press interested me much at
times.  It was not difficult to discern his work in many of
the ``inspired'' editorials and other articles.  I have in
my possession sundry examples of the originals of these,
--each page is divided into two columns,--the first the
work of one of his chosen scribes, the second copiously
amended in the chancellor's own hand, and always with
a gain in lucidity and pungency.

Of the various matters which arose between us, one is
perhaps worthy of mention, since it has recently given
rise to a controversy between a German-American journalist
and Bismarck's principal biographer.

One morning, as I sat in dismay before my work-table,
loaded with despatches, notes, and letters, besides futilities
of every sort, there came in the card of Lothar
Bucher.  Everything else was, of course, thrown aside.
Bucher never made social visits.  He was the pilot-fish of
the whale, and a visit from him ``meant business.''

Hardly had he entered the room when his business was
presented: the chancellor wished to know if the United
States would join Germany and Great Britain in representations
calculated to stop the injuries to the commerce
of all three nations caused by the war then going on
between Chile and Peru.

My answer was that the United States could not join
other powers in any such effort; that our government
might think it best to take separate action; and that it
would not interfere with any proper efforts of other
powers to secure simple redress for actual grievances; but that
it could not make common cause with other powers in any
such efforts.  To clinch this, I cited the famous passage
in Washington's Farewell Address against ``entangling
alliances with foreign powers'' as American gospel, and
added that my government would also be unalterably
opposed to anything leading to permanent occupation of
South American territory by any European power, and
for this referred him to the despatches of John Quincy
Adams and the declarations of President Monroe.

He seemed almost dumfounded at this, and to this day
I am unable to decide whether his surprise was real or
affected.  He seemed to think it impossible that we could
take any such ground, or that such a remote, sentimental
interest could outweigh material interests so pressing as
those involved in the monkey-and-parrot sort of war going
on between the two South American republics.  As he was
evidently inclined to dwell on what appeared to him the
strangeness of my answer, I said to him:  ``What I state
to you is elementary in American foreign policy; and to
prove this I will write, in your presence, a cable despatch
to the Secretary of State at Washington, and you shall see
it and the answer it brings.''

I then took a cable blank, wrote the despatch, and
showed it to him.  It was a simple statement of the
chancellor's proposal, and on that he left me.  In the
evening came the answer.  It was virtually my statement to
Bucher, and I sent it to him just as I had received it.
That was the last of the matter.  No further effort was
made in the premises, so far as I ever heard, either by
Germany or Great Britain.  It has recently been stated,
in an American magazine article, that Bismarck, toward
the end of his life, characterized the position taken by
Mr. Cleveland regarding European acquisition of South
American territory as something utterly new and unheard
of.  To this, Poschinger, the eminent Bismarck biographer,
has replied in a way which increases my admiration
for the German Foreign Office; for it would appear that
he found in the archives of that department a most exact
statement of the conversation between Bucher and myself,
and of the action which followed it.  So precise was his
account that it even recalled phrases and other minutiae
of the conversation which I had forgotten, but which I at
once recognized as exact when thus reminded of them.
The existence of such a record really revives one's child-
like faith in the opening of the Great Book of human deeds
and utterances at ``the last day.''

Perhaps the most interesting phase of Bismarck's life
which a stranger could observe was his activity in the
imperial parliament.

That body sits in a large hall, the representatives of the
people at large occupying seats in front of the president's
desk, and the delegates from the various states--known
as the Imperial Council--being seated upon an elevated
platform at the side of the room, right and left of the
president's chair.  At the right of the president, some
distance removed, sits the chancellor, and at his right hand
the imperial ministry; while in front of the president's
chair, on a lower stage of the platform, is the tribune from
which, as a rule, members of the lower house address the
whole body.

It was my good fortune to hear Bismarck publicly
discuss many important questions, and his way of speaking
was not like that of any other man I have ever heard.  He
was always clothed in the undress uniform of a Prussian
general; and, as he rose, his bulk made him imposing.
His first utterances were disappointing.  He seemed
wheezy, rambling, incoherent, with a sort of burdensome
self-consciousness checking his ideas and clogging his
words.  His manner was fidgety, his arms being thrown
uneasily about, and his fingers fumbling his mustache
or his clothing or the papers on his desk.  He puffed,
snorted, and floundered; seemed to make assertions without
proof and phrases without point; when suddenly he
would utter a statement so pregnant as to clear up a whole
policy, or a sentence so audacious as to paralyze a whole
line of his opponents, or a phrase so vivid as to run
through the nation and electrify it.  Then, perhaps after
more rumbling and rambling, came a clean, clear, historical
illustration carrying conviction; then, very likely, a
simple and strong argument, not infrequently ended by
some heavy missile in the shape of an accusation or taunt
hurled into the faces of his adversaries; then, perhaps at
considerable length, a mixture of caustic criticism and
personal reminiscence, in which sparkled those wonderful
sayings which have gone through the empire and settled
deeply into the German heart.  I have known many clever
speakers and some very powerful orators; but I have
never known one capable, in the same degree, of
overwhelming his enemies and carrying his whole country with
him.  Nor was his eloquence in his oratory alone.  There
was something in his bearing, as he sat at his ministerial
desk and at times looked up from it to listen to a speaker,
which was very impressive.

Twice I heard Moltke speak, and each time on the army
estimates.  Nothing could be more simple and straight-
forward than the great soldier's manner.  As he rose, he
looked like a tall, thin, kindly New England schoolmaster.
His seat was among the representatives, very nearly in
front of that which Bismarck occupied on the estrade.  On
one of these occasions I heard him make his famous
declaration that for the next fifty years Germany must be in
constant readiness for an attack from France.  He spoke
very rarely, was always brief and to the point, saying with
calm strength just what he thought it a duty to say--neither
more nor less.  So Caesar might have spoken.  Bismarck,
I observed, always laid down his large pencil and
listened intently to every word.

The most curious example of the eloquence of silence in
Bismarck's case, which I noted, was when his strongest
opponent, Windthorst, as the representative of the
combination of Roman Catholics and others generally in
opposition, but who, at that particular time, seemed to have
made a sort of agreement to support some of Bismarck's
measures, went to the tribune and began a long and very
earnest speech.  Windthorst was a man of diminutive
stature, smaller even than Thiers,--almost a dwarf,--and
his first words on this occasion had a comical effect.  He
said, in substance, ``I am told that if we enter into a
combination with the chancellor in this matter, we are
sure to come out second best.''  At this Bismarck raised
his head, turned and looked at the orator, the attention of
the whole audience being fastened upon both.  ``But,''
continued Windthorst, ``the chancellor will have to get
up very early in the morning to outwit us in this matter.''
There was a general outburst of laughter as the two
leaders eyed each other.  It reminded one of nothing so
much as a sturdy mastiff contemplating a snappish terrier.

As to his relations with his family, which, to some little
extent, I noticed when with them, nothing could be more
hearty, simple, and kindly.  He was beautifully devoted
to his wife, and evidently gloried in his two stalwart sons,
Prince Herbert and ``Count Bill,'' and in his daughter,
Countess von Rantzau; and they, in return, showed a
devotion to him not less touching.  No matter how severe
the conflicts which raged outside, within his family the
stern chancellor of ``blood and iron'' seemed to disappear;
and in his place came the kindly, genial husband, father,
and host.

The last time I ever saw him was at the Schnhausen
station on my way to Bremen.  He walked slowly from the
train to his carriage, leaning heavily on his stick.  He
seemed not likely to last long; but Dr. Schweninger's
treatment gave him a new lease of life, so that, on my
return to Berlin eighteen years later, he was still living.
In reply to a respectful message he sent me a kindly
greeting, and expressed the hope that he would, ere long,
be well enough to receive me; but he was even then sinking,
and soon passed away.  So was lost to mortal sight
the greatest German since Luther.



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ANDREW DICKSON WHITE

VOLUME II




TABLE OF CONTENTS


PART V-IN THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICE (Continued)

CHAPTER XXXIII. AS MINISTER TO RUSSIA--1892-1894

Appointment by President Harrison. My stay in
London Lord Rothschild; his view of Russian treatment of the
Jews. Sir Julian Goldschmidt; impression made by him. Paris; the
Vicomte de Vogue; funeral of Renan; the Duke de la Rochefoucauld.
Our Minister, William Walter Phelps, and others at Berlin; talk
with Count Shuvaloff. Arrival in St. Petersburg. Deadening
influences: paralysis of energy as seen on the railways; little
apparent change in externals since my former visit; change
wrought by emancipation of the serfs. Improvement in the
surroundings of the Emperor. Visit to the Foreign Office.
Presentation to Alexander III; his view of the Behring Sea
Question; his acquiescence in the American view; his allusion to
the Chicago Exposition. My conversation with the Archbishop of
Warsaw. Conversation with the Empress; her reference to the Rev.
Dr. Talmage. Impression made upon me by the Emperor. My
presentation to the heir to the Throne, now the Emperor Nicholas
II; his evident limitations; main cause of these. Presentation to
sundry Grand Dukes. A reminiscence of the Grand Duke Michael. The
Grand Dukes Vladimir and Alexis. The diplomatic corps. General
von Schweinitz. Sir Robert Morier; his victory over the United
States at the Paris Arbitration Tribunal; its causes; its
lessons.


CHAPTER XXXIV. INTERCOURSE WITH RUSSIAN STATESMEN--1892-1894

Last days of Sir Robert Morier at St. Petersburg; his last
appearance at Court. Count de Montebello. Husny Pasha.
Marochetti. Count Wolkenstein. Van Stoetwegen and his views
regarding peace in Europe. Pasitch, the Servian Minister; his two
condemnations to death. Contrast between the Chinese and Japanese
representatives. Character of Russian statesmen; their good
qualities; their main defects. Rarity of first-class men among
them; illustrations of this view from The Hague peace programme
and from Russian dealings with Finland and with the Baltic
Provinces. M. de Giers; his love of peace; strong impression made
by him on me. Weakness and worse of Russia in the Behring Sea
matter. Finance Minister De Witte; his strength; his early
history. Difference in view between De Witte and his predecessor
Wischniegradsky. Pobedonostzeff. Dournovo. My experience with the
latter. The shirking of responsibility by leading Russian
officials; their lack of enterprise. An exception; Plehve. One
good example set us by Russia; value placed on Russian, compared
with the cheapening and prostitution of American, citizenship.


CHAPTER XXXV. "ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN" IN
RUSSIA--1892-1894

The "Minister of Public Enlightenment," Delyanoff; his theory and
system. Hostility of sundry Russians to the Russian-Germans;
evident folly of this. Woronzoff-Daschkoff and General Annenkoff.
The Caucasian railways and the annexation of Bokhara. Galkin
Wraskoy and the prison system Orloff Davidoff, "the funniest
thing he saw in America." Professor Demetrieff's account of the
murder of Peter III and of the relation of Catherine II to it.
Prince Serge Wolkonsky; his ability and versatility; his tour de
force at the farewell dinner given me at St. Petersburg; his
lectures in the United States. Russian scientific men. Woeikoff.
Admiral Makharoff. Senator Semenoff and Prince Gregory Galitzin.
Mendeleieff. Two salons. Other attractions. General Ignatieff.
Princess Ourousoff and her answer to Alexander III. Princess
Radzivill. The copy-book used by Louis XIV when a child,
preserved in the Imperial Library; its historical importance. The
American colony at St. Petersburg. Mr. Prince; his reminiscences
of sundry American ministers. Mr. Buchanan's satire on spies, in
the Embassy Archives. Difficulties of the American Representative
arising from his want of a habitation. Diplomatic questions
between the two countries The Behring Sea Fisheries. My dealings
with the Commandant of the Russian Pacific Islands. Success of
Sir Robert Morier; how gained. Worldly wisdom of Great Britain.
Difficulties regarding Israelites; my long despatch on the
subject to Secretary Gresham. Adventurous Americans. Efforts to
prostitute American citizenship. Difficulties arising from the
complicated law of the Empire. Violations of the Buchanan Treaty.
Cholera at St. Petersburg; thorough measures taken by the
Government; death of Tschaikovsky; difficulty in imposing sanitary
regulations upon the peasantry.


CHAPTER XXXVI. MY RECOLLECTIONS OF POBEDONOSTZEFF--1892-1894

My desire to know Pobedonostzeff; his history; his power. Public
business which led to our meeting; his characteristics; reasons
for his course; his view of the relations of the Russo-Greek
Church to the Empire; his frankness in speaking of the Church.
His hostility to Western civilization. His discussion of
revolutionary efforts in Russia. His theory of Russian public
instruction. His ultra-reactionary views. His mingled feelings
regarding Tolstoi. His love for American literature; his
paradoxical admiration for Emerson, his translation of Emerson's
"Essays"; his literary gift. Feeling toward him in Russian
society. His religious character. His esthetic character. Charles
A. Dana's impression of him. Our discussion of possible relations
between the Russian and English Churches; his talks upon
introducing the "Holy Orthodox Church" into the United States.
His treatment of hostile articles in the English Reviews. His
professorial friends. His statements regarding Father Ivan;
miracles by the latter; proofs of their legendary character;
Pobedonostzeff's testimony on the subject.


CHAPTER XXXVII. WALKS AND TALKS WITH TOLSTOI--MARCH, 1894

Moscow revisited. Little change for the better. First visit to
Tolstoi. Curious arrangement of his household. Our first
discussions; condition of the peasants; his view of Quakers;
their "want of logic." His view of Russian religious and general
thought. Socrates as a saint in the Kremlin. His views of the
Jews; of Russian treatment of prisoners. His interest in American
questions. Our visit to the Moscow Museum; his remark on the
pictures for the Cathedral of Kieff; his love for realistic
religious pictures; his depreciation of landscape painting; deep
feeling shown by him before sundry genre pictures. His estimate
of Peter the Great. His acknowledgment of human progress. His
view of the agency of the Czar in maintaining peace. His ideas
regarding French literature; of Maupassant; of Balzac. His views
of American literature and the source of its strength; his
discussion of various American authors and leaders in
philanthropic movements; his amazing answer to my question as to
the greatest of American writers. Our walks together; his
indiscriminate almsgiving; discussion thereupon. His view of
travel. The cause of his main defects. Lack of interchange of
thought in Russia; general result of this. Our visit to the
Kremlin. His views of religion; questions regarding American
women; unfavorable view of feminine character. Our attendance at
a funeral; strange scenes. Further discussion upon religion.
Visit to an "Old Believer"; beauty of his house and its
adornments; his religious fanaticism; its effects on Tolstoi. His
views as to the duty of educated young men in Russia. Further
discussion of American literature. His hope for Russian progress.
His manual labor. His view of Napoleon. His easy-going theory of
warlike operations. Our farewell. Estimate of him. His great
qualities. His sincerity. Cause of his limitations. Personal
characteristics related to these. Evident evolution of his ideas.
Effect of Russian civilization on sundry strong men.


CHAPTER XXXVIII. OFFICIAL LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG--1892-1894

Difficulty in securing accurate information in Russia; the
censorship of newspapers and books; difficulty in ascertaining
the truth on any question; growth of myth and legend in the
Russian atmosphere of secrecy and repression. Difficulties of the
American Minister arising from too great proneness of Americans
to believe Russian stories; typical examples. American
adventurers; a musical apostle; his Russian career. Relation of
the Legation to the Chicago Exposition; crankish requests from
queer people connected with it; danger of their bringing the
Exposition into disrepute; their final suppression. Able and
gifted men and women scattered through Russian society. Russian
hospitality. Brilliant festivities at the Winter Palace; the
Blessing of the Waters; the "palm balls"; comparison of the
Russian with the German Court. Visit of Prince Victor Napoleon to
St. Petersburg; its curious characteristics. Visit of the Ameer
of Bokhara; singular doings of his son and heir. Marriage of the
Grand Duchess Xenia; kindness, at the Peterhof Palace, of an
American "Nubian." Funeral of the Grand Duchess Catherine;
beginnings of the Emperor's last illness then evident. Midnight
mass on Easter eve; beauty of the music. The opera. Midnight
excursions in the northern twilight. Finland and Helsingfors.
Moscow revisited. Visit to the Scandinavian countries.
Confidence reposed in me by President Cleveland. My resignation.


CHAPTER XXXIX. AS MEMBER OF THE VENEZUELAN COMMISSION--1895-1896

The Venezuelan Commission; curious circumstances of my nomination
to it by President Cleveland. Nature of the question to be
decided; its previous evolution. Mr. Cleveland's message. Attacks
upon him; his firmness. Sessions of the Commission; initial
difficulties; solution of them. The old question between the
Netherlands and Spain. Material at our command. Discreditable
features of the first British Blue Book on the subject; British
"fair play" in this and in the Behring Sea question. Distribution
of duties in the Commission. My increased respect for Lord
Aberdeen; boundary line accepted by him, striking confirmation of
his justice and wisdom by the Arbitration Tribunal at Paris.
Triumph of President Cleveland and Secretary Olney. Men whom I
met in Washington. Lord Panncefote. Secretary Carlisle, striking
tribute to him by an eminent Republican; his characteristics.
Vice-President Stevenson; his powers as a raconteur. Senator
Gray and Mr. Olney. Visit with the American Geographical Society
to Monticello; curious evidences there of Jefferson's
peculiarities; beauty of the place. Visit to the University of
Virginia. My increasing respect for the qualities of Mr.
Cleveland.


CHAPTER XL. AS AMBASSADOR TO GERMANY--1897-1903

Nomination by President McKinley. Light thrown upon his methods
by appointments of second secretary and military attache.
Secretary Sherman; his reference to President Johnson's
impeachment. Judge Harlan's reference to Dr. Burchard's
alliteration. Discussions with the German ambassador and others.
Change of the American legation into an embassy; its advantages
and disadvantages. First interview with Emperor William II;
subjects discussed. His reference to Frederick the Great's
musical powers. The Empress; happy change in the attitude of the
people toward her. The Chancellor of the Empire; Prince
Hohenlohe; his peculiarities; his references to Bismarck; his
opinion of Germans. Count von Bulow, Minister of Foreign Affairs,
resemblances between him and his father; his characteristics as
minister and as parliamentary leader. Ambassadorial receptions;
difficulties, mistaken policy of our government regarding
residences for its representatives. Change in German public
opinion toward the United States since my ministerial days; its
causes; evidences of it during Spanish War. Misrepresentations in
German and American papers, and their effects; our own
culpability as shown in the Fessenden case. International
questions; Haitian theory of the Monroe Doctrine. The Samoan
question; furor consularis; missionary squabbles;
reasonableness of Minister von Bulow. Attendance at Parliament;
its characteristics; notes on sundry members; Posadowski;
Richter, Bebel; Barth. The German Parliament House compared with
the New York State Capitol.


CHAPTER XLI. AMERICA, GERMANY, AND THE SPANISH WAR--1897-1903

The Chinese question; German part in it; my duties regarding it,
course of President McKinley and Secretary Hay. The exclusion of
American insurance companies; difficulties. American sugar
duties: our wavering policy. The "meat question"; American
illustration of defective German policy. The "fruit question" and
its adjustment. The Spanish-American War; attitude of the German
press; my course under instructions; importance of delaying the
war; conference in Paris with Ambassador Porter and Minister
Woodford; the destruction of the Maine and its effect;
conversation with the Emperor regarding it; his view of it. My
relations with the Spanish ambassador. Visit to Dresden to
present the President's congratulations to the Saxon king;
curious contretemps; festivities. Change in character of
European monarchs since Jefferson's letter to Langdon. The King
of Wurtemberg and Grand Duke of Baden. Notes on sundry pretenders
to European thrones. Course of German Government during our
Spanish War; arrest of Spanish vessel at Hamburg. Good news at
the Leipsic Fourth of July celebration. Difficulties arising in
Germany as the war progressed. The protection of American
citizens abroad; prostitution of American citizenship; examples;
strengthening of the rules against pretended Americans; baseless
praise of Great Britain at the expense of the United States. Duty
of the embassy toward American students; admission of women to
the German universities. Efforts of various compatriots to reach
the Emperor; psychological curiosities. Changes in Berlin since
my former official residence; disappearance of many strong men;
characteristics of sundry survivors; Mommsen; Harnack.


CHAPTER XLII. AMERICA, GERMANY, AND THE CHINESE WAR--1899-1902

Ex-President Harrison visits Berlin; attention shown him by the
Emperor and others; change in him since his Washington days.
Difficulty regarding embassy quarters; moral. Bicentenary of the
Royal Academy of Sciences--pomp and ceremony; picturesque
appearance of delegates, conversation with the Emperor on the
subject; his jocose statement of his theory of the monarchy.
Coming of age of the heir to the throne; reception of the Emperor
of Austria-Hungary; gala opera and opinion of the Chinese
minister regarding it; banquet; speeches of the two Emperors.
Characteristics of the Emperor Franz Josef; conversation with
him; his views of American questions; prospects of his Empire.
Visit from the German-American Kriegerverein. Outbreak of the
revolution in China; American policy; commendation of it from
foreign source; my duties relating to it. Fourth of July speech
at Leipsic in 1900. Visit to America; torrid heat at Washington;
new revelation of President McKinley's qualities; his discussion
of public affairs. Two-hundredth anniversary of the Prussian
kingdom, celebration; my official speech; religious ceremonies;
gala opera; remark upon it by the French ambassador. A personal
bereavement. Vacation studies on Fra Paolo Sarpi. Death of the
Empress Frederick; her kindness to me and mine; conversations;
her reminiscences of Queen Vietoria's relations to American
affairs; her funeral.


CHAPTER XLIII. CLOSING YEARS OF MY EMBASSY. BERLIN, YALE, OXFORD,
AND ST. ANDREWS--1901-1903

Assassination of President McKinley; its effect on German
feeling. My peculiar relations with the Chinese minister at
Berlin; our discussions: my advice to China through him; visits
from and to Prince Chun, on his expiatory errand. Visit to Mr.
Andrew Carnegie at Skibo Castle; evidences of kindly British
feeling regarding the death of President McKinley seen during
this English and Scotch journey; life at Skibo. America
revisited; Bicentenary at Yale. Am chosen to honorary membership
in the Royal Academy of Sciences at Berlin. Interview with the
Emperor on my return from America; characteristics of his
conversation; his request to President Roosevelt on New Year's
day, 1902. Emperor's dinner to the American Embassy; departure of
Prince Henry for the United States; the Emperor's remarks upon
the purpose of it. The American "open door" policy; my duties
regarding it. Duties regarding St. Louis Exposition;
difficulties. Short vacation in Italy, my sixth visit to Venice
and new researches regarding Father Paul; Dr. Alexander
Robertson. Return to Berlin; visit of the Shah of Persia and the
Crown Prince of Siam. Am presented by the Emperor to the Crown
Princess of Saxony; her charming manner and later escapade. Work
with President Gilman in behalf of the Carnegie Institution for
Research, at Washington. Death of King Albert of Saxony;
attendance, under instructions, at his funeral; impressive
ceremonial, and long sermon. The new King; impression made by his
conversation. The Dusseldorf Exposition. Attendance as
representative of Yale at the Bodleian Tercentenary at Oxford;
reception of D.C.L. degree; peculiar feature of it; banquet in
Christ Church Hall; failure of my speech. Visit to the University
of St. Andrews; Mr. Carnegie's Rectoral address; curious but vain
attempts by audience to throw him off his guard; his skill in
dealing with them; reception of LL.D. degree. My seventieth
birthday, kindness of friends at Berlin and elsewhere; letters
from President Roosevelt, Mr. Hay, Secretary of State, and
Chancellor von Bulow. My resignation at this time in accordance
with resolution made years before. Final reception by the
Emperor. Farewell celebration with the American Colony and
departure. Stay at Alassio; visits to Elba and Corsica; relics of
Napoleon: curious monument of the vendetta between the Pozzo di
Borgo and Bonaparte families.


CHAPTER XLIV. MY RECOLLECTIONS OF WILLIAM II--1879-1903

My first knowledge of him, his speech as a student at Dusseldorf;
talk with his father and mother regarding it. His appearance at
court; characteristics. His wedding and my first conversation
with him. Opinion regarding him in Berlin. Growth of opinions,
favorable and unfavorable, in America. His dismissal of Bismarck;
effect on public opinion and on my own view. Effect of some of
his speeches. The "Caligula" pamphlet. Sundry epigrams.
Conversation at my first interview with him as Ambassador. His
qualities as a conversationist. His artistic gifts; his love of
music; his dealings with dramatic art. Position of the theater in
Germany. His interest in archaeological investigation; in
education; in city improvements; in improvements throughout the
Empire; sundry talks with him on these subjects. His feeling for
literature-extent of his reading; testimony of those nearest him.
His freedom from fads. His gifts as a statesman; his public and
private discussions of state and international questions: his
thoroughness in dealing with army and navy questions; his
interest in various navies. His broader work; his ability in
selecting men and his strength in standing by them; his relation
to the legislative bodies; his acquaintance with men and things
in all parts of the Empire and outside the Empire. His devotion
to work. His clearness of vision in international questions as
shown in sundry conversations; union of breadth and minuteness in
his views; his large acquaintance with men. His independence of
thought; his view of the Maine catastrophe. His impulsiveness;
good sense beneath it; results of some supposed exceptions. His
ability as a speaker; characteristics. His religious views;
comparison of them with those of Frederick the Great and
Frederick William I; his peculiar breadth of view shown in the
Delitzsch affair; also in his dealings with his Roman Catholic
subjects; treatment of the Strasburg and Metz Bishopric
questions; his skill shown in the Jerusalem church matter His
theory of monarchy; peculiar reasons for it; sundry criticisms of
him in this respect. Feeling of the German people regarding
attacks on the monarch The whole subject as viewed from the
American Democratic standpoint Thomas Jefferson's letter to John
Adams. The Emperor's feeling toward Parliamentary government;
strength he has given it by sundry appointments. His alleged
violations of the German Constitution; doubts regarding them. His
alleged hostility to the United States during the Spanish War and
at other times; facts regarding this charge. Sundry other charges
against him; his dealings with the Venezuela question; excellent
reasons for it. His feeling toward the United States. Summary of
his position in contemporary history.


CHAPTER XLV. AS PRESIDENT OF THE AMERICAN DELEGATION AT THE PEACE
CONFERENCE OF THE HAGUE: I--1899

Proposal of a Conference by Nicholas II. Reasons why the
Netherlands were preferred to Switzerland as its place of
meeting. General misunderstanding as to the Emperor's proposal.
My own skepticism. Resultant feeling regarding the Conference. My
acceptance of the nomination to it. Condition of things on our
arrival at The Hague. First meeting of the American Delegation.
Am chosen its president. General character of our instructions
from Washington. American plan of arbitration. Preliminary
meetings of delegates. The opening session. The "House in the
Wood"; its remarkable characteristics. Proceedings. General
skepticism at first. Baron de Staal as President of the
Conference. Count Nigra. Lord Pauncefote and others. Public
spirit of the Dutch Government. Growth of hope as to a good
result. Difficulties as to disarmament The peace lobby. Queer
letters and crankish proposals. Better ideas. M. de Bloch and his
views. Count Welsersheimb and others. Organization of the
Conference. First decision regarding the publication of our
proceedings. Rumors. Attitude of Count Munster, President of the
German Delegation. Attitude of Russia and sundry other powers
regarding the American proposal for exempting private property
from seizure on the high seas. New instructions sought by us from
Washington. First presentation of the Presidents of Delegations
to the Queen; her conversation. My talk with the British Admiral,
Sir John Fisher. Real and imaginary interviews published in
sundry European papers.


CHAPTER XLVI. AS PRESIDENT OF THE AMERICAN DELEGATION AT THE
PEACE CONFERENCE OF THE HAGUE: II--1899

Apparent wavering of Russia regarding an arbitration scheme.
Count Munster's view of the Russian proposals. Social gatherings.
Influx of people with notions, nostrums, and whimsies. First
meeting of the great committee on arbitration. Presentation of
the Russian plan; its serious defects. Successful effort of Sir
Julian Pauncefote to provide for a proper court. Excellent spirit
shown by the Russian delegates. Final character of the American
project for an arbitration plan. Festival given to the Conference
by the Burgomaster and City Council of The Hague. I revisit Delft
after an absence of thirty years; deep impression made upon me by
the tombs of William the Silent and Grotius. Amalgamation of the
Russian, British, and American plans for arbitration. A day in
London. Henry Irving in Sardou's "Robespierre"; good and evil of
the piece; its unhistorical features. Return to The Hague. The
American plan of "Special Mediation" and "Seconding Powers"
favorably received by the Conference. Characteristics of the
amalgamated plan for the Arbitration Tribunal; its results. Visit
from Count Munster; interesting stories of his life as Ambassador
at St. Petersburg; the young German savant rescued from Siberia;
Munster's quarrel with Gortchakoff; his quotation from the old
Grand Duke Michael. Questions in the Conference regarding
asphyxiating bombs, etc. Attitude of the American delegates
Question of the exemption of private property from seizure at
sea; difficulty in getting it before the Conference; earnest
support given us by the Netherlands and other governments. Talk
with the leading Netherlands Delegate, Van Karnebeek. Reasons why
South America was not represented in the Conference. Line of
cleavage between political parties in the Netherlands. Fears of
President McKinley regarding our special mediation proposal.
Continuance of hortatory letters and crankish proposals.
Discussion between American and Russian delegates on a fusion of
various arbitration plans. Difficulties discovered in our own;
alteration in them obtained from the State Department. Support
given by Germany to the American view regarding the exemption of
private property on the high seas.


CHAPTER XLVII. AS PRESIDENT OF THE AMERICAN DELEGATION AT THE
PEACE CONFERENCE OF THE HAGUE: III--1899

Festival given to the Conference by the city of Haarlem.
Difficulties encountered by the American proposal for the
immunity of private property at sea. Question as to what
contraband of war really is in these days. Encouraging meeting of
the great committee on arbitration and mediation. Proposal to the
Secretary of State that the American Delegation lay a wreath of
silver and gold upon the tomb of Grotius at Delft. Discussion of
the Brussels Conference Rules. Great social function at the house
of the British Minister; John Bull's wise policy in sustaining
the influence of his Embassies and Legations, its happy results
so far as Great Britain is concerned. Work on the arbitration
plans progressing. Discouragement. Germany, Austria, Italy, and
some minor powers seem suddenly averse to arbitration.
Determination of other powers to go on despite this. Relaxation
of the rule of secrecy regarding our proceedings. Further efforts
in behalf of the American proposal for exemption of private
property from seizure at sea. Outspoken opposition of Germany to
arbitration. Resultant disappointment in the Conference. Progress
in favor of an arbitration plan notwithstanding. Striking
attitude of French socialists toward the Conference. My earnest
talk with Count Munster in favor of arbitration; gradual change
in his attitude. My suggestion to Baroness von Suttner.


CHAPTER XLVIII. AS PRESIDENT OF THE AMERICAN DELEGATION AT THE
PEACE CONFERENCE OF THE HAGUE: IV--1899

Declaration against an arbitration tribunal received from their
Government by the German delegation; their consternation;
Professor Zorn and Secretary Holls sent to Berlin; my personal
letter to Baron von Bulow. Means by which the Conference was kept
from meeting until the return of these two gentlemen. Festival
given by the Netherlands Government to the Conference. Tableaux
and dances representing art and life in the Dutch provinces.
Splendid music. Visit to Leyden. Arrival of Speaker Reed of the
American House of Representatives. The Secretary of State
authorizes our placing a wreath of silver and gold on the tomb of
Grotius. Session regarding the extension of the Geneva Rules.
Return of Zorn and Holls from Berlin. Happy change in the
attitude of Germany. Henceforward American and German delegates
work together in favor of arbitration. Question of asphyxiating
bullets and bombs; view of Captain Mahan and Captain Crozier on
these subjects. Curious speech of the delegate from Persia, Mirza
Riza Khan. Great encouragement given by the new attitude of
Germany. Preparation at Delft for our Grotius celebration. Visit
to Rotterdam and Dort. Thoughts upon the Synod of Dort. Visit to
the house from which John De Witt went to prison and
assassination, and where Motley wrote much of his history.
Trouble regarding the relation of Switzerland to the Red Cross
Movement. The Duke of Tetuan. The Grotius wreath.


CHAPTER XLIX. AS PRESIDENT OF THE AMERICAN DELEGATION AT THE
PEACE CONFERENCE OF THE HAGUE: V--1899

Celebration of Independence Day at Delft in the presence of the
entire Conference and of eminent Netherlanders; speeches by the
Netherlands ministers and American delegates; telegram from the
King of Sweden. Impressive character of the service; the wreath
placed upon the tomb; breakfast given by our delegation to the
Conference, at the City Hall of Delft. Presentation of the
American Memorial in behalf of the immunity of private property
on the high seas; my speech in its favor: friendly answer by M.
de Martens in behalf of Russia. Visit to M. Cornets de Groot at
Ryswyck; relics of his great ancestor; curious information
regarding the latter. Dinner to the American delegation by the
prime minister of the Netherlands, happy reference to the
arbitration plan. Effects of our Grotius celebration. Great
dinner given by the Queen to the Conference at the palace in
Amsterdam, her speech; her conversations afterward. General
satisfaction shown at our Grotius tribute. My conversation with
Mr. Raffalovitch regarding Russian disarmament. Its difficulties.
Unfortunate article in the London "Spectator" on the work of the
Conference. Attack in the Conference upon the report on
disarmament. Discussion of matters subsidiary to arbitration.
Hostile attitude of the Balkan States toward the commission
d'enquette; ill feeling quieted. Field day regarding flattening
and expanding bullets; attitude of the British and American
delegates. Difficulties regarding the Monroe Doctrine; special
meeting called by our delegation to obviate these, apparent
impossibility of doing so; project of an American declaration;
private agreement upon it among leaders of the Conference,
agreement of the Conference to it. Final signing of the
conventions; seal used by me; reservation in behalf of the Monroe
Doctrine attached to our signatures. Closing of the Conference.
Speeches of M. de Staal and Count Munster. Drawing up of our
report; difficulties arising from sundry differences of opinion
in our delegation. Final meeting of the Conference. Remarks of
the leading representative of a Catholic power, on the
correspondence between the Vatican and the Netherlands Government
which had been presented to the Conference. Retrospect of the
Conference. Summary of its results.


CHAPTER L. HINTS FOR REFORMS IN THE DIPLOMATIC SERVICE

My connection with the Diplomatic Service at periods during the
last forty-five years. Questions which have been asked me
regarding it; reasons why I have not thought it best to reply
fully; reasons why I can now do so. Improvement in our service
since the Civil War; its condition during various administrations
before the Civil War; sundry examples. Mr. Seward's remark.
Improvement in the practice of both parties during recent years.
President Cleveland's worthy effort. Better public sentiment
among the people at large. Unjust charges of pessimists. Good
points in our service at various posts, and especially at London.
Faults of our service at present. My replies to young men anxious
to St themselves for it. Simplicity of the most important
reforms; suggestions. Choice of Ambassadors; of Ministers
Plenipotentiary; of Ministers Resident; of Secretaries of Embassy
and of Legation. Proper preparation of Secretaries; relation of
our Universities to it--part which should be taken in their
selection by the Secretary of State. Appointment of expert
attaches. Probable good results of the system proposed. Evil
results of the present system. Retention of the men best fitted.
Examples of English non-partizanship in such appointments.
Foremost importance of proper houses or apartments, owned or
leased for long terms by the United States for each of its
representatives abroad; evil results of the present system;
certainty of good results from the reform advocated. Present
American system contrasted with that of other nations. Services
rendered by sundry American diplomatists. Cheapness of our
diplomatic establishment compared with its value. Increase of
salaries. Summing up of results of all the reforms herein
advocated.


PART VI-SUNDRY JOURNEYS AND EXPERIENCES

CHAPTER LI. EARLIER EXCURSIONS IN THE UNITED STATES--1838-1875

Usefulness of various journeys to me. Excursion through central
and western New York in 1838--in middle Massachusetts, Boston,
and New York City in 1842. Impression made by Trinity Church.
Beginning of visits to Saratoga in 1843; life there; visits of
Archbishop Hughes, Father Gavazzi, Washington Irving, Mr.
Buchanan; the Parade of Mme. Jumel. Remarkable progress of the
city of New York northward as seen at various visits. First visit
to the West. Chicago in 1858; the raising of the grade; Mr.
George Pullman's part in it. Impression made on me by the
Mississippi River. Sundry stays in Boston. Mr. Josiah Quincy.
Arthur Gilman; his stories and speeches; his delivery of Bishop
Eastburn's sermons; his stories regarding the Bishop. Men met at
Boston. Celebration of Bayard Taylor's birthday with James T.
Fields; reminiscences and stories given by the company; example
of Charles Sumner's lack of humor. Excursions in the Southern
States. Visit to Richmond at the close of the war; Libby Prison;
meeting with Dr. Bacon of New Haven at the former Executive
Mansion of the Confederacy. Visit to Gettysburg; fearful
condition of the battle-field and its neighborhood. Visit to
South Carolina, 1875. Florida. A negro church; discovery of a
Christmas carol imbedded in a plantation hymn. Excursion up the
St. Johns River. Visit to Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Collection
of books on the Civil War. A visit to Martha's Vineyard; pious
amusements; "Nearer, My God, to Thee" played as a waltz.


CHAPTER LII. ENGLAND REVISITED--1885

Reason for going abroad after my resignation of the Cornell
Presidency in 1885. "Tom Brown" at sea; sundry stories of his.
Southwest of England. Visit to the historian Freeman at Wells.
The Bishop and his palace. The Judge's dinner. The Squires in the
Court of Quarter Sessions. A Gladstonian meeting; Freeman's
speech; his defense of the last Abbot of Glastonbury. Bishop
Bickersteth at Heavitree and Exeter. The caves at Torquay and
their lessons. Worcester Cathedral and Deanery. "The Bungalow" of
Halliwell-Phillips at Brighton. Oxford; chapel of All Souls
College--?? interesting change seen at Magdalen; Bryce's
comparisons between British and American problems; visits to
various colleges. Discussions of university affairs. Freeman's
lectures. To Windsor. Stay with Sir Paul Hunter at Mortimer.
Visit to Bearwood. Mr. John Walter of the "Times." Visit to
"Bramshill." Cambridge. New acquaintances. Talks with Bishop
Creighton and Sir Henry Maine. Beginnings of technical
instruction at Cambridge. A Greek play. Lord Lytton. Professor
Seeley and his lectures. "Audit dinner" at Trinity College.
Professor Mahaffy's stories of Archbishop Whately. London. Talks
with Lecky.


CHAPTER LIII. FRANCE, ITALY, AND SWITZEBLAND--1886-1887

Mme. Blaze de Bury. From Paris to the Riviera. James Bryce.
George von Bunsen. Sir Charles Murray. Lord Acton; discussions
with the latter; his wide range of knowledge; his information
regarding Father Paul, the Congregation of the Index, etc. Sir
Henry Keating and the discussion at the Cercle Nautique of
Cannes. Lord Acton's view of Napoleon. Florence; talks with
Villari. Naples; the Doctrine of Intercession as shown in sundry
pictures. Amalfi. Sorrento; the Catechism of Archbishop Apuzzo;
Francis Galton; his discussion of dreams; Marion Crawford; Mr.
Mayall's story of Herbert Spencer. Visit to Monte Cassino; talk
with a novice. Excursions in Rome with Lanciani. Cardinal Edward
at St. Peter's. Discussions of Italian affairs with Minghetti,
Sambuy, and others. The sculptor Story. Non-intercourse between
Vatican and Quirinal. Judge Stallo. The Abbot of St. Paul Outside
the Walls; bis minute knowledge of certain American affairs.
Count de Gubernatis, at Florence, on the legendary character of
sundry Hindu marvels. Count Ressi and his Catawba wine. Alfieri
Sostegno and his school for political and social studies.
Ubaldino Peruzzi. Stay at the Italian lakes. Visit to my
colleague, Minister Both, in Switzerland; his duties as
Landamman. The Abbey of St. Gall and its library. Visit to the
Engadine. Talks with the British Admiral Irvine, at St. Moritz;
his advocacy of war vessels with beaks. Sermon at Geneva. Talks
with Mme. Blaze de Bury and Lecky at Paris. Architectural
excursions through the east of France. Outrages by "restorers" at
Rheims and at Troyes. London. Sermon by Temple, then bishop. More
talks with Lecky; his views of Earl Russell and of Carlyle.
Return to America.


CHAPTER LIV. EGYPT, GREECE, AND TURKEY--1888-1889

A great sorrow and disappointment. Court of Appeals decides the
Fiske suit, June, 1888. Reasons for going abroad. Scotland
revisited. Memorable sermon at St. Giles in Edinburgh. Cathedral
towns revisited. Sermons at Lichfield. The House of Commons;
scene between the Irish leaders and Mr. Balfour. A political
meeting in Holborn. Excursions to Rugby; to the home of Gilbert
White; to the graves of Gray, Thackeray, and others. A critic of
Carlyle at Brighton. Cambridge; interesting papers regarding the
American Revolution. Lord Aberdare's story of Frederick the Great
and a British minister. Hermit life in London; work at the
British Museum. Journey through Italy and Egypt with Willard
Fiske; effect of Egyptian and other Eastern experiences on me;
five weeks on the Nile; Brugsch Bey's account of his discovery of
the royal mummies; my visit to Artin Pasha and the great
Technical School of Cairo. Dinner with the Khedive; my curious
blunder. American and English missionaries in Cairo and
Alexandria; Dr. Grant's lecture on the Egyptian Trinities. Mr.
Nimr; bis scientific and other activities in Egypt. My enjoyment
of Saracenic architecture. Revelation to me of the connection
between Egyptian and Greek architecture. Disappointment in the
work of missionaries in Mohammedan countries. Stay in Athens.
Professor Waldstein. The American School of Archaeology.
Excursions with Walker Fearne and Professor Mahaffy. A talk with
the Greek prime minister. A function at the cathedral. Visit to
Mars Hill on Good Friday. To Constantinople. Our minister, Mr.
Straus. Discussions of art by Hamdi Bey and of literature by Sir
William White. Revelations of history and architecture in
Constantinople. St. Sophia. Return to Paris. The Exposition of
1889. The American "commission of experts"; its good and bad
sides. Great improvement in American art. Sargent and Melchers.
Tributes, in Paris, to Lafayette and Camille Desmoulins. Walks
and talks with Senator Gibson; our journey together to Homburg
and Belgium.


CHAPTER LV. MEXICO, CALIFORNIA, SCANDINAVIA, RUSSIA, ITALY,
LONDON, AND BERLIN--1892-1897

My stay of two years in America. Lectures at the University of
Pennsylvania. Archbishop Ryan's Latin pun. The Mohonk Conference
and President Hayes. Excursion with Andrew Carnegie to Mexico,
California, and Oregon. Meetings with Cornell students. Cathedral
of Mexico. Our reception by President Porfirio Diaz and his
ministers. Beauty of California in spring. Its two universities.
My relations with Stanford; pleasure in this visit to it;
character of its buildings; my lectures there. Visit to Salt Lake
City. To the Chicago Exposition buildings. The University of
Chicago and its work. My appointment as minister to St.
Petersburg. My arrival there on November 4, 1892. A vacation
visit to the Scandinavian countries. The University and Cathedral
of Upsala. Journey through the Swedish canals and lakes.
Gothenburg. Swedish system of dealing with the sale of
intoxicating liquors; its happy results. Throndheim; cathedral;
evidences of mediaeval piety and fraud. Impression made by Sweden
and Norway New evolution of human folly in Norway. The
Ethnographic Museum at Copenhagen. Moscow revisited. Muscovite
ideas of trade. My visit to Tolstoi. Resignation of my legation
at St. Petersburg. Italy revisited. Stay in Palermo The Church of
St. Josaphat; identity of this saint with Buddha; my talk
regarding him with the Commendatore Marzo. Visit to the Cathedral
of Monreale. The media val idea of creation as revealed in its
mosaics. The earthquake at Florence; our experiences of it; its
effects in the town. Return to America. Conversation with Holman
Hunt in London. Visits to sundry American universities; my
addresses before their students; reasons for publicly discussing
"The Problem of High Crime" in our country. The Venezuelan
Commission. My appointment in May, 1897, as ambassador to
Germany.


PART VII-MISCELLANEOUS RECOLLECTIONS

CHAPTER LVI. THE CARDIFF GIANT: A CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF HUMAN
FOLLY--1869-1870

Twofold characteristics of the central route from New York to
Niagara. The lake country of western New York. The Onondaga
Valley; characteristics of its people; their agitation in the
autumn of 1869. Discovery of the "petrified giant." My visit to
it; my skepticism; its causes. Evolution of myth and legend.
General joy in believing in the marvelous origin of the statue.
Gradual growth of a skeptical view. Confirmation of suspicions.
Desperate efforts to resist skepticism. Clear proofs of a
swindle. Attempted revival of belief in it. Alexander McWhorter;
he declares the statue a Phenician idol, and detects a Phenician
inscription upon it. View of Dr. Schlottmann, Instructor in
Hebrew at Leipsic. My answer to his inquiry. Be persists in his
belief. Final acknowledgment and explanation of the whole thing
as a swindle. Sundry later efforts to imitate it.


CHAPTER LVII. PLANS AND PROJECTS, EXECUTED AND
UNEXECUTED--1838-1905

My early reverence for authors. Youthful tendency toward literary
studies. Change in this respect during my stay at Yale.
Difference between the Yale and Harvard spirit. Senator Wolcott's
speech on this. Special influence of Parker and Carlyle upon my
view of literature. My purpose in various writings. Preparations
for lectures upon the French Revolution and for a book upon its
causes; probabilities of this book at present. "Paper Money
Inflation in France," etc. Course of lectures upon the history of
Germany. Resultant plan of a book; form to be given it; reasons
for this form; its present prospects. My discussion of sundry
practical questions. Report as Commissioner at the Paris
Exposition of 1878; resultant address on "The Provision for
Higher Instruction in Subjects Bearing Directly on Public
Affairs." Happy progress of our universities in this respect.
Civil-service reform; speeches; article in the "North American
Review." Address at Yale on "The Message of the Nineteenth
Century to the Twentieth." Some points in the evolution of my
"History of the Warfare of Science with Theology." Projects
formed during sundry vacation journeys in Europe. Lectures on the
evolution of humanity in criminal law; growth of torture in
penalty and procedure; collection of material on the, subject.
Project of a small book to be called "The Warfare of Humanity
with Unreason." Vague project during sundry stays at Florence of
a history of that city; attractive points in such a history.
Project of a Life of Father Paul Sarpi formed at Venice; its
relinquishment; importance of such a biography. Plan for a study
on the Life of St. Francis Xavier; beauty of his life; lesson
taught by it regarding the evolution of myth and legend. Project
of a brief biography of Thomas Jefferson; partly carried out; how
formed and why discarded. Bibliographical introduction to
O'Connor Morris's short history of the French Revolution. Project
of a longer general bibliography of modern bi story transferred
to President Charles Kendall Adams. Project of book, "How Can
Wealthy Americans Best Use Their Money"; Deed of such a book in
the United States. Lectures given and articles projected on "The
Problem of High Crime in the United States"; reasons for taking
up this subject. Two projects of which I have dreamed; A brief
History of the Middle Ages as an introduction to Modern History;
desirable characteristics of such a book; beginnings made of it
in my lectures: "A History of Civilization in Spain"; reasons for
such a book; excellent material accessible: general
characteristics of such a history; recommendation of this subject
to historical scholars. Characteristics of American life in the
latter half of the nineteenth century unfavorable to the carrying
out of many extended projects. Distractions. An apologia pro
vita mea.


PART VIII-RELIGIOUS DEVELOPMENT

CHAPTER LVIII. EARLY IMPRESSIONS--1832-1851

Religious ideas of the settlers in central New York. The
Protestant Episcopal Church; its relations to larger Christian
bodies. Effects of revivalism in them. My father and mother. A
soul escaped out of the thirteenth century into the nineteenth,
Henry Gregory. My first recollections of religious worship;
strong impressions upon me; good effects; some temporary evil
effects. Syracuse. My early bigotry; check in it; reaction.
Family influences. Influence of sundry sermons and occurrences.
Baptismal regeneration. My feelings as expressed by Lord Bacon.
The "Ursuline Manual" and its revelation. Effects of sectarian
squabbles and Sunday-school zeal. Bishop DeLancey; his impressive
personality. Effects of certain books. Life at a little sectarian
college. Results of "Christian Evidences".


CHAPTER LIX. IN THE NEW ENGLAND ATMOSPHERE--1851-1853

Influence of New England Congregationalism at Yale. Butler's
"Analogy." Revivals. Sermons and prayers in the college pulpit.
Noble efforts of sundry professors, especially sermons of Horace
Bushnell and President Woolsey. The recital of creeds. Effects of
my historical reading. Injury done the American Church at that
period by its support of slavery; notable exceptions to this.
Samuel J. May. Beecher. Chapin. Theodore Parker. Influence of the
latter upon me. Especial characteristics of Beecher as shown then
and afterward. Chapin and his characteristics. Horace Greeley as
a church-goer; strain upon his Universalism. Dr. Leonard Bacon.
Bishop Alonzo Potter. Archbishops Bedini and Hughes; powerful
sermon by the latter; Father Gavazzi's reply to it.


CHAPTER LX. IN THE EUROPEAN ATMOSPHERE--1853-1856

Student life in Europe. My susceptibility to religious
architecture, music, and the nobler forms of ceremonial. Beauties
of the Anglican service. Sundry experiences in European
cathedrals and English university chapels. Archbishop Sumner.
Bishop Wilberforce. My life in a Roman Catholic family in Paris.
Noble work of the Archbishop of Paris. Sibour; his assassination.
German Protestantism as seen in Berlin. Earnest character of
Roman Catholic worship in central Germany. The Russo-Greek Church
as seen in Russia; beauty of its service; its unfortunate
influence on the people. Roman Catholicism in Italy; its wretched
condition when I first saw it; irreverence of prelates at an
Easter high mass in st. Peter's. Pius IX; effectiveness of the
ceremonial in which he took part; Lord Odo Russell's reminiscence
of him. A low mass at Pisa and its effect. An effort at
proselytism in Rome; Father Cataldi. Condition of Rome at that
time. Improvements since. Naples and "King Bomba"; Robert Dale
Owen's statement to me. Catechism promoted by the Archbishop of
Sorrento. Liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius; remark of a
bystander to me. The doctrine of "intercession" illustrated.
Erasmus's colloquy of "The Shipwreck." Moral condition of Naples.
Influence of this Italian experience upon my religious views.


CHAPTER LXI. IN LATER YEARS--1856-1905

My relations with Professor Fisher at New Haven; his good
influence. My interest in church work as a professor at the
University of Michigan; am asked to select a rector; my success.
Readings in ecclesiastical history; effect of these. Sale's
Koran. Fra Paolo Sarpi's "History of the Council of Trent." Dean
Stanley's "Eastern Church." Bossuet, Spalding, Balmez, Buckle,
Lecky, Draper, the Darwinian hypothesis. Special influence of
Stanley's "Life of Arnold," Robertson's Sermons, and other works.
Good influences from sundry Methodists. Exceptions taken by
individuals to sundry Broad Church statements in my historical
lectures; their favorable reception. Sobering effect upon me of
"spiritualistic" fanaticism. My increasing reluctance to promote
revolutionary changes in religion; my preference for evolutionary
methods. Special experiences. The death-bed of a Hicksite Quaker.
My toleration ideas embodied in the Cornell University Charter;
successful working of these. Establishment of a university chapel
and preachership; my selections of preachers; good effects of
their sermons upon me. Effects of sundry Eastern experiences.
Mohammedan worship at Cairo and elsewhere. The dervishes.
Expulsion of young professors from the American Missionary
College at Beyrout; noble efforts of one of them afterward. The
Positivist Conventicle in London. The "Bible for Learners."
Summing up of my experience. Worship--public and private;
reasonableness of both. Recognition of spiritual as well as of
physical laws. Recognition of an evolution in religious beliefs.
Proper attitude of thinking men. Efforts for evolution rather
than for revolution. Need of charity to all forms of religion but
of steady resistance to clerical combinations for hampering
scientific thought or controlling public education.


LIST OF PUBLICATIONS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS.




AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ANDREW DICKSON WHITE

Volume II


CHAPTER XXXIII

AS MINISTER TO RUSSIA--1892-1894

During four years after my return from service as minister to
Germany I devoted myself to the duties of the presidency at
Cornell, and on resigning that position gave all time possible to
study and travel, with reference to the book on which I was then
engaged: "A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology."

But in 1892 came a surprise. In the reminiscences of my political
life I have given an account of a visit, with Theodore Roosevelt,
Cabot Lodge, Sherman Rogers, and others, to President Harrison at
the White House, and of some very plain talk, on both sides,
relating to what we thought shortcomings of the administration in
regard to reform in the civil service. Although President
Harrison greatly impressed me at the time by the clearness and
strength of his utterances, my last expectation in the world
would have been of anything in the nature of an appointment from
him. High officials do not generally think very well of people
who comment unfavorably on their doings or give them unpleasant
advice; this I had done, to the best of my ability, in addressing
the President; and great, therefore, was my astonishment when, in
1892, he tendered me the post of minister plenipotentiary at St.
Petersburg.

On my way I stopped in London, and saw various interesting
people, but especially remember a luncheon with Lord Rothschild,
with whom I had a very interesting talk about the treatment of
the Jews in Russia. He seemed to feel deeply the persecution to
which they were subjected,--speaking with much force regarding
it, and insisting that their main crime was that they were sober,
thoughtful, and thrifty; that as to the charge that they were
preying upon the agricultural population, they preyed upon it as
do the Quakers in England--by owning agricultural machines and
letting them out; that as to the charge of usury, they were much
less exacting than many Christians; and that the main effort upon
public opinion there, such as it is, should be in the direction
of preventing the making of more severe laws. He incidentally
referred to the money power of Europe as against Russia, speaking
of Alexander II as kind and just, but of Alexander III as really
unacquainted with the great questions concerned, and under
control of the church.

I confess that I am amazed, as I revise this chapter, to learn
from apparently trustworthy sources that his bank is now making a
vast loan to Russia--to enable her to renew her old treatment of
Japan, China, Armenia, Finland, Poland, the Baltic Provinces, and
her Jewish residents. I can think of nothing so sure to
strengthen the anti-Semites throughout the world.

A few days later Sir Julian Goldschmidt came to me on the same
subject, and he impressed me much more deeply than the head of
the house of Rothschild had done. There was nothing of the
ennobled millionaire about him; he seemed to me a gentleman from
the heart outward. Presenting with much feeling the disabilities
and hardships of the Jews in Russia, he dwelt upon the
discriminations against them, especially in the matter of
military fines; their gradual and final exclusion from
professions; and the confiscation of their property at Moscow,
where they had been forced to leave the city and therefore to
realize on their whole estates at a few days' notice.

At Paris I also had some interesting conversations, regarding my
new post, with the Vicomte de Vogue, the eminent academician, who
has written so much that is interesting on Russia. Both he and
Struve, the Russian minister at Washington, who had given me a
letter to him, had married into the Annenkoff family; and I found
his knowledge of Russia, owing to this fact as well as to his
former diplomatic residence there, very suggestive. Another
interesting episode was the funeral of Renan at the College de
France, to which our minister, Mr. Coolidge, took me. Eloquent
tributes were paid, and the whole ceremony was impressive after
the French manner.

Dining with Mr. Coolidge, I found myself seated near the Duchesse
de la Rochefoucauld,--a charming American, the daughter of Mr.
Mitchell, former senator from Oregon. The duke seemed to be a
quiet, manly young officer, devoted to his duties in the army;
but it was hard to realize in him the successor of the great
duke, the friend of Washington and of Louis XVI, who showed
himself so broad-minded during our War of Independence and the
French Revolution.

At Berlin I met several of my old friends at the table of our
minister, my friend of Yale days, William Walter Phelps--among
these Virchow, Professor von Leyden, Paul Meyerheim, Carl Becker,
and Theodor Barth; and at the Russian Embassy had an interesting
talk with Count Shuvaloff, more especially on the Behring Sea
question. We agreed that the interests of the United States and
Russia in the matter were identical.

On the 4th of November I arrived in St. Petersburg after an
absence of thirty-seven years. Even in that country, where
everything moves so slowly, there had clearly been changes; the
most evident of these being the railway from the frontier. At my
former visit the journey from Berlin had required nine days and
nine nights of steady travel, mainly in a narrow post-coach; now
it was easily done in one day and two nights in very comfortable
cars. At that first visit the entire railway system of Russia,
with the exception of the road from the capital to Gatshina only
a few miles long, consisted of the line to Moscow; at this second
visit the system had spread very largely over the empire, and was
rapidly extending through Siberia and Northern China to the
Pacific.

But the deadening influence of the whole Russian system was
evident. Persons who clamor for governmental control of American
railways should visit Germany, and above all Russia, to see how
such control results. In Germany its defects are evident enough;
people are made to travel in carriages which our main lines would
not think of using, and with a lack of conveniences which with us
would provoke a revolt; but the most amazing thing about this
administration in Russia is to see how, after all this vast
expenditure, the whole atmosphere of the country seems to
paralyze energy. During my stay at St. Petersburg I traveled over
the line between that city and Berlin six or eight times, and
though there was usually but one express-train a day, I never saw
more than twenty or thirty through passengers. When one bears in
mind the fact that this road is the main artery connecting one
hundred and twenty millions of people at one end with over two
hundred millions at the other, this seems amazing; but still more
so when one considers that in the United States, with a
population of, say, eighty millions in all, we have five great
trunk-lines across the continent, each running large
express-trains several times a day.

There was apparently little change as regards enterprise in
Russia, whatever there might be as regarded facilities for
travel. St. Petersburg had grown, of course. There were new
streets in the suburbs, and where the old admiralty wharves had
stood,--for the space of perhaps an eighth of a mile along the
Neva,--fine buildings had been erected. But these were the only
evident changes, the renowned Nevskii Prospekt remaining as
formerly--a long line of stuccoed houses on either side, almost
all poor in architecture; and the street itself the same unkempt,
shabby, commonplace thoroughfare as of old. No new bridge had
been built across the Neva for forty years. There was still but
one permanent structure spanning the river, and the great stream
of travel and traffic between the two parts of the city was
dependent mainly on the bridges of boats, which, at the breaking
of the ice in the spring, had sometimes to be withdrawn during
many days.

A change had indeed been brought by the emancipation of the
serfs, but there was little outward sign of it. The muzhik
remained, to all appearance, what he was before: in fact, as our
train drew into St. Petersburg, the peasants, with their
sheepskin caftans, cropped hair, and stupid faces, brought back
the old impressions so vividly that I seemed not to have been
absent a week. The old atmosphere of repression was evident
everywhere. I had begun my experience of it under Nicholas I, had
seen a more liberal policy under Alexander II, but now found a
recurrence of reaction, and everywhere a pressure which deadened
all efforts at initiating a better condition of things.

But I soon found one change for the better. During my former stay
under Nicholas I and Alexander II, the air was full of charges of
swindling and cheatery against the main men at court. Now next to
nothing of that sort was heard; it was evident that Alexander
III, narrow and illiberal though he might be, was an honest man,
and determined to end the sort of thing that had disgraced the
reigns of his father and grandfather.

Having made the usual visit to the Foreign Office upon my
arrival, I was accompanied three days later by the proper
officials, Prince Soltykoff and M. de Koniar, on a special train
to Gatchina, and there received by the Emperor. I found
him--though much more reserved than his father--agreeable and
straightforward. As he was averse to set speeches, we began at
once a discussion on various questions interesting the two
nations, and especially those arising out of the Behring Sea
fisheries. He seemed to enter fully into the American view;
characterizing the marauders in that sea as "ces poachers
la"--using the English word, although our conversation was in
French; and on my saying that the Russian and American interests
in that question were identical, he not only acquiesced, but
spoke at considerable length, and earnestly, in the same sense.

He alluded especially to the Chicago Exposition, spoke in praise
of its general conception and plan, said that though in certain
classes of objects of art it might not equal some of the European
expositions, it would doubtless in very many specialties surpass
all others; and on my expressing the hope that Russia would be
fully represented, he responded heartily, declaring that to be
his own wish.

Among the various subjects noted was one which was rather
curious. In the anteroom I had found the Greek Archbishop of
Warsaw arrayed in a purple robe and hat--the latter adorned with
an exceedingly lustrous cross of diamonds, and, engaging in
conversation with him, had learned that he had a few years before
visited China as a missionary; his talk was that of a very
intelligent man; and on my saying that one of our former American
bishops, Dr. Boone, in preparing a Chinese edition of the
Scriptures had found great difficulty in deciding upon a proper
equivalent for the word "God," the archbishop answered, "That is
quite natural, for the reason that the Chinese have really no
conception of such a Being."

Toward the close of my interview with the Emperor, then, I
referred to the archbishop, and congratulated the monarch on
having so accomplished and devoted a prelate in his church. At
this he said, "You speak Russian, then?" to which I answered in
the negative. "But," he said, "how then could you talk with the
archbishop?" I answered, "He spoke in French." The Emperor seemed
greatly surprised at this, and well he might be, for the
ecclesiastics in Russia seem the only exceptions to the rule that
Russians speak French and other foreign languages better and more
generally than do any other people.

This interview concluded, I was taken through a long series of
apartments filled with tapestries, porcelain, carvings,
portraits, and the like, to be received by the Empress. She was
slight in figure, graceful, with a most kindly face and manner,
and she put me at ease immediately, addressing me in English, and
detaining me much longer than I had expected. She, too, spoke of
the Chicago Exposition, saying that she had ordered some things
of her own sent to it. She also referred very pleasantly to the
Rev. Dr. Talmage of Brooklyn, who had come over on one of the
ships which brought supplies to the famine-stricken; and she
dwelt upon sundry similarities and dissimilarities between our
own country and Russia, discussing various matters of local
interest, and was in every way cordial and kindly.

The impression made by the Emperor upon me at that time was
deepened during my whole stay. He was evidently a strong
character, but within very unfortunate limits--upright, devoted
to his family, with a strong sense of his duty to his people and
of his accountability to the Almighty. But more and more it
became evident that his political and religious theories were
narrow, and that the assassination of his father had thrown him
back into the hands of reactionists. At court and elsewhere I
often found myself looking at him and expressing my thoughts
inwardly much as follows: "You are honest, true-hearted, with a
deep sense of duty; but what a world of harm you are destined to
do! With your immense physical frame and giant strength, you will
last fifty years longer; you will try by main force to hold back
the whole tide of Russian thought; and after you will come the
deluge." There was nothing to indicate the fact that he was just
at the close of his life.

At a later period I was presented to the heir to the throne, now
the Emperor Nicholas II. He seemed a kindly young man; but one of
his remarks amazed and disappointed me. During the previous year
the famine, which had become chronic in large parts of Russia,
had taken an acute form, and in its train had come typhus and
cholera. It was, in fact, the same wide-spread and deadly
combination of starvation and disease which similar causes
produced so often in Western-Europe during the middle ages. From
the United States had come large contributions of money and
grain; and as, during the year after my arrival, there had been a
recurrence of the famine, about forty thousand rubles more had
been sent me from Philadelphia for distribution. I therefore
spoke on the general subject to him, referring to the fact that
he was president of the Imperial Relief Commission. He answered
that since the crops of the last year there was no longer any
suffering; that there was no famine worthy of mention; and that
he was no longer giving attention to the subject. This was said
in an offhand, easy-going way which appalled me. The simple fact
was that the famine, though not so wide-spread, was more trying
than during the year before; for it found the peasant population
in Finland and in the central districts of the empire even less
prepared to meet it. They had, during the previous winter, very
generally eaten their draught-animals and burned everything not
absolutely necessary for their own shelter; from Finland
specimens of bread made largely of ferns had been brought me
which it would seem a shame to give to horses or cattle; and yet
his imperial highness the heir to the throne evidently knew
nothing of all this.

In explanation, I was afterward told by a person who had known
him intimately from his childhood, that, though courteous, his
main characteristic was an absolute indifference to most persons
and things about him, and that he never showed a spark of
ambition of any sort. This was confirmed by what I afterward saw
of him at court. He seemed to stand about listlessly, speaking in
a good-natured way to this or that person when it was easier than
not to do so; but, on the whole, indifferent to all which went on
about him.

After his accession to the throne, one of the best judges in
Europe, who had many opportunities to observe him closely, said
to me, "He knows nothing of his empire or of his people; he never
goes out of his house, if he can help it." This explains in some
degree the insufficiency of his programme for the Peace
Conference at The Hague and for the Japanese War, which, as I
revise these lines, is bringing fearful disaster and disgrace
upon Russia.

The representative of a foreign power in any European capital
must be presented to the principal members of the reigning
family, and so I paid my respects to the grand dukes and
duchesses. The first and most interesting of these to me was the
old Grand Duke Michael--the last surviving son of the first
Nicholas. He was generally, and doubtless rightly, regarded as,
next to his elder brother, Alexander II, the flower of the flock;
and his reputation was evidently much enhanced by comparison with
his brother next above him in age, the Grand Duke Nicholas. It
was generally charged that the conduct of the latter during the
Turkish campaign was not only unpatriotic, but inhuman. An army
officer once speaking to me regarding the suffering of his
soldiers at that time for want of shoes, I asked him where the
shoes were, and he answered: "In the pockets of the Grand Duke
Nicholas."

Michael was evidently different from his brother--not haughty and
careless toward all other created beings; but kindly, and with a
strong sense of duty. One thing touched me. I said to him that
the last time I had seen him was when he reached St. Petersburg
from the seat of the Crimean War in the spring of 1855, and drove
from the railway to the palace in company with his brother
Nicholas. Instantly the tears came into his eyes and flowed down
his cheeks. He answered: "Yes, that was sad indeed. My
father"--meaning the first Emperor Nicholas--"telegraphed us that
our mother was in very poor health, longed to see us, and
insisted on our coming to her bedside. On our way home we learned
of his death."

Of the younger generation of grand dukes,--the brothers of
Alexander III,--the greatest impression was made upon me by
Vladimir. He was apparently the strongest of all the sons of
Alexander II, being of the great Romanoff breed--big, strong,
muscular, like his brother the Emperor. He chatted pleasantly;
and I remember that he referred to Mr. James Gordon Bennett--whom
he had met on a yachting cruise--as "my friend."

Another of these big Romanoff grand dukes was Alexis, the grand
admiral. He referred to his recollections of the United States
with apparent pleasure, in spite of the wretched Catacazy
imbroglio which hindered President Grant from showing him any
hospitality at the White House, and which so vexed his father the
Emperor Alexander II.

The ladies of the imperial family were very agreeable. A remark
of one of them--a beautiful and cultivated woman, born a princess
of one of the Saxon duchies--surprised me; for, when I happened
to mention Dresden, she told me that her great desire had been to
visit that capital of her own country, but that she had never
been able to do so. She spoke of German literature, and as I
mentioned receiving a letter the day before from Professor Georg
Ebers, the historical novelist, she said: "You are happy indeed
that you can meet such people; how I should like to know Ebers!"
Such are the limitations of royalty.

Meantime, I made visits to my colleagues of the diplomatic corps,
and found them interesting and agreeable--as it is the business
of diplomatists to be. The dean was the German ambassador,
General von Schweinitz, a man ideally fit for such a position--of
wide experience, high character, and evidently strong and firm,
though kindly. When ambassador at Vienna he had married the
daughter of his colleague, the American minister, Mr. John Jay,
an old friend and colleague of mine in the American Historical
Association; and so came very pleasant relations between us. His
plain, strong sense was of use to me in more than one difficult
question.

The British ambassador was Sir Robert Morier. He, too, was a
strong character, though lacking apparently in some of General
von Schweinitz's more kindly qualities. He was big, roughish, and
at times so brusque that he might almost be called brutal. When
bullying was needed it was generally understood that he could do
it con amore. A story was told of him which, whether exact or
not, seemed to fit his character well. He had been, for a time,
minister to Portugal; and, during one of his controversies with
the Portuguese minister of foreign affairs, the latter, becoming
exasperated, said to him: "Sir, it is evident that you were not
born a Portuguese cavalier." Thereupon Morier replied: "No, thank
God, I was not: if I had been, I would have killed myself on the
breast of my mother."

And here, perhaps, is the most suitable place for mentioning a
victory which Morier enabled Great Britain to obtain over the
United States. It might be a humiliating story for me to tell,
had not the fault so evidently arisen from the shortcomings of
others. The time has come to reveal this piece of history, and I
do so in the hope that it may aid in bettering the condition in
which the Congress of the United States has, thus far, left its
diplomatic servants.

As already stated, the most important question with which I had
to deal was that which had arisen in the Behring Sea. The United
States possessed there a great and flourishing fur-seal industry,
which was managed with care and was a source of large revenue to
our government. The killing of the seals under the direction of
those who had charge of the matter was done with the utmost care
and discrimination on the Pribyloff Islands, to which these
animals resorted in great numbers during the summer. It was not
at all cruel, and was so conducted that the seal herd was fully
maintained rather than diminished. But it is among the
peculiarities of the seals that, each autumn, they migrate
southward, returning each spring in large numbers along the
Alaskan coast, and also that, while at the islands, the nursing
mothers make long excursions to fishing-banks at distances of
from one to two hundred miles. The return of these seal herds,
and these food excursions, were taken advantage of by Canadian
marauders, who slaughtered the animals, in the water, without
regard to age or sex, in a way most cruel and wasteful; so that
the seal herds were greatly diminished and in a fair way to
extermination. Our government tried to prevent this and seized
sundry marauding vessels; whereupon Great Britain felt obliged,
evidently from political motives, to take up the cause of these
Canadian poachers and to stand steadily by them. As a last
resort, the government of the United States left the matter to
arbitration, and in due time the tribunal began its sessions at
Paris. Meantime, a British commission was, in 1891-1892, ordered
to prepare the natural-history material for the British case
before the tribunal; and it would be difficult to find a more
misleading piece of work than their report. Sham scientific facts
were supplied for the purposes of the British counsel at Paris.
While I cannot believe that the authorities in London ordered or
connived at this, it is simple justice to state, as a matter of
fact, that, as afterward in the Venezuela case,[1] so in this,
British agents were guilty of the sharpest of sharp practices.
The Russian fur-seal islands having also suffered to a
considerable extent from similar marauders, a British commission
visited the Russian islands and took testimony of the Russian
commandant in a manner grossly unfair. This commandant was an
honest man, with good powers of observation and with considerable
insight into the superficial facts of seal life, but without
adequate scientific training; his knowledge of English was very
imperfect, and the commission apparently led him to say and sign
just what they wanted. He was somehow made to say just the things
which were needed to help the British case, and not to say
anything which could hurt it. So absurd were the misstatements to
which he had thus been led to attach his name that the Russian
Government ordered him to come all the way from the Russian
islands on the coast of Siberia to St. Petersburg, there to be
reexamined. It was an enormous journey--from the islands to
Japan, from Japan to San Francisco, from San Francisco to New
York, and thence to St. Petersburg. There, with the aid of a
Russian expert, I had the satisfaction of putting questions to
him; and, having found the larger part of his previous alleged
testimony to be completely in conflict with his knowledge and
opinions, I forwarded this new testimony to those in charge of
the American case before the Paris tribunal, in the hope that it
would place the whole matter in its true light. With it was also
presented the concurring testimony taken by the American experts
who had been sent to the Behring Sea. Those experts were Drs.
Mendenhall and Merriam, scientists of the highest character, and
their reports were, in every essential particular, afterward
confirmed by another man of science, after study of the whole
question in the islands and on the adjacent seas--Dr. Jordan,
president of Stanford University, probably the highest authority
in the United States--and, perhaps, in the world--regarding the
questions at issue: a pupil and friend of Agassiz, a man utterly
incapable of making a statement regarding any point in science
which he did not fully believe, no matter what its political
bearing might be.


[1] See my chapter on the Venezuela Commission for the trick
attempted by British agents in the first British Blue Book on
that subject.


And now to another feature of the case. Before leaving Washington
for St. Petersburg, I had consulted with the Secretary of State
and the leading persons in charge of our case, and on my way had
talked with Count Shuvaloff, the Russian ambassador at Berlin;
and all agreed that the interests of the United States and Russia
in the matter of protecting the seals were identical. The only
wonder was that, this fact being so clear, the Russian Foreign
Office constantly held back from showing any active sympathy with
the United States in our efforts to right this wrong done to both
nations.

At my first presentation to the Emperor I found him, as already
stated, of the same opinion as the Washington cabinet and Count
Shuvaloff. He was thoroughly with us, was bitter against the
Canadian marauders, agreed in the most straightforward and
earnest manner that the interests of Russia and the United States
in this question were identical, and referred severely to the
British encroachments upon both the nations in the northern
seas.[2]


[2] See detailed account of this conversation previously given in
this chapter.


All went smoothly until I took up the subject at the Russian
Foreign Office. There I found difficulties, though at first I did
not fully understand them. The Emperor Alexander III was dying at
Livadia in the Crimea; M. de Giers, the minister of foreign
affairs, a man of high character, was dying at Tzarskoye Selo;
and in charge of his department was an under-secretary who had
formerly, for a short time, represented Russia at Washington and
had not been especially successful there. Associated with him was
another under-secretary, who was in charge of the Asiatic
division at the Russian Foreign Office. My case was strong, and I
was quite willing to meet Sir Robert Morier in any fair argument
regarding it. I had taken his measure on one or two occasions
when he had discussed various questions in my presence; and had
not the slightest fear that, in a fair presentation of the
matter, he could carry his point against me. At various times we
met pleasantly enough in the anterooms of the Foreign Office; but
at that period our representative at the Russian court was simply
a minister plenipotentiary and the British representative an
ambassador, and as such he, of course, had precedence over me,
with some adventitious advantages which I saw then, and others
which I realized afterward. It was not long before it became
clear that Sir Robert Morier had enormous "influence" with the
above-named persons in charge of the Foreign Office, and, indeed,
with Russian officials in general. They seemed not only to stand
in awe of him, but to look toward him as "the eyes of a maiden to
the hand of her mistress." I now began to understand the fact
which had so long puzzled our State Department--namely, that
Russia did not make common cause with us, though we were fighting
her battles at the same time with our own. But I struggled on,
seeing the officials frequently and doing the best that was
possible.

Meantime, the arbitration tribunal was holding its sessions at
Paris, and the American counsel were doing their best to secure
justice for our country. The facts were on our side, and there
seemed every reason to hope for a decision in our favor. A vital
question was as to how extensive the closed zone for the seals
about our islands should be. The United States showed that the
nursing seals were killed by the Canadian poachers at a distance
of from one to two hundred miles from the islands, and that
killing ought not to be allowed within a zone of that radius;
but, on the other hand, the effort of the British counsel was to
make this zone as small as possible. They had even contended for
a zone of only ten miles radius. But just at the nick of time Sir
Robert Morier intervened at St. Petersburg. No one but himself
and the temporary authorities of the Russian Foreign Office had,
or could have had, any knowledge of his manoeuver. By the means
which his government gave him power to exercise, he in some way
secured privately, from the underlings above referred to as in
temporary charge of the Foreign Office, an agreement with Great
Britain which practically recognized a closed zone of only thirty
miles radius about the Russian islands. This fact was telegraphed
just at the proper moment to the British representatives before
the tribunal; and, as one of the judges afterward told me, it
came into the case like a bomb. It came so late that any adequate
explanation of Russia's course was impossible, and its
introduction at that time was strenuously objected to by our
counsel; but the British lawyers thus got the fact fully before
the tribunal, and the tribunal naturally felt that in granting us
a sixty-mile radius--double that which Russia had asked of Great
Britain for a similar purpose--it was making a generous
provision. The conditions were practically the same at the
American and Russian seal islands; yet the Russian officials in
charge of the matter seemed entirely regardless of this fact,
and, indeed, of Russian interests. After secret negotiation with
Sir Robert, without the slightest hint to the American minister
of their intended sacrifice of their "identical interest with the
United States," they allowed this treachery to be sprung upon us.
The sixty-mile limit was established by the tribunal, and it has
proved utterly delusive. The result of this decision of the
tribunal was that this great industry of ours was undermined, if
not utterly destroyed; and that the United States were also
mulcted to the amount of several hundred thousand dollars,
besides the very great expense attending the presentation of her
case to the tribunal.

I now come back to the main point which has caused me to bring up
this matter in these reminiscences. How was it that Great Britain
obtained this victory? To what was it due? The answer is simple:
it was due to the fact that the whole matter at St. Petersburg
was sure to be decided, not by argument, but by "influence." Sir
Robert Morier had what in the Tammany vernacular is called a
"pull." His government had given him, as its representative, all
the means necessary to have his way in this and all other
questions like it; whereas the American Government had never
given its representative any such means or opportunities. The
British representative was an AMBASSADOR, and had a spacious,
suitable, and well-furnished house in which he could entertain
fitly and largely, and to which the highest Russian officials
thought it an honor to be invited. The American representatives
were simply MINISTERS; from time immemorial had never had such a
house; had generally no adequate place for entertaining; had to
live in apartments such as they might happen to find vacant in
various parts of the town--sometimes in very poor quarters,
sometimes in better; were obliged to furnish them at their own
expense; had, therefore, never been able to obtain a tithe of
that social influence, so powerful in Russia, which was exercised
by the British Embassy.

More than this, the British ambassador had adequate means
furnished him for exercising political influence. The American
representatives had not; they had been stinted in every way. The
British ambassador had a large staff of thoroughly trained
secretaries and attaches, the very best of their kind,--well
educated to begin with, thoroughly trained afterward,--serving as
antennae for Great Britain in Russian society; and as the first
secretary of his embassy he had no less a personage than Henry
Howard, now Sir Henry Howard, minister at The Hague, one of the
brightest, best-trained, and most experienced diplomatists in
Europe. The American representative was at that time provided
with only one secretary of legation, and he, though engaging and
brilliant, a casual appointment who remained in the country only
a few months. I had, indeed, secured a handsome and comfortable
apartment, and entertained at dinner and otherwise the leading
members of the Russian ministry and of the diplomatic corps, at a
cost of more than double my salary; but the influence thus
exercised was, of course, as nothing compared to that exercised
by a diplomatist like Sir Robert Morier, who had every sort of
resource at his command, who had been for perhaps forty years
steadily in the service of his country, and had learned by long
experience to know the men with whom he had to deal and the ways
of getting at them. His power in St. Petersburg was felt in a
multitude of ways: all officials at the Russian Foreign Office,
from the highest to the lowest, naturally desired to be on good
terms with him. They knew that his influence had become very
great and that it was best to have his friendship; they loved
especially to be invited to his dinners, and their families loved
to be invited to his balls. He was a POWER. The question above
referred to, of such importance to the United States, was not
decided by argument, but simply by the weight of social and other
influence, which counts so enormously in matters of this kind at
all European capitals, and especially in Russia. This condition
of things has since been modified by the change of the legation
into an embassy; but, as no house has been provided, the old
difficulty remains. The United States has not the least chance of
success, and under her present shabby system never will have, in
closely contested cases, with any of the great powers of the
earth. They provide fitly for their representatives; the United
States does not. The representatives of other powers, being thus
provided for, are glad to remain at their posts and to devote
themselves to getting a thorough mastery of everything connected
with diplomatic business; American representatives, obliged, as a
rule, to take up with uncomfortable quarters, finding their
position not what it ought to be as compared with that of the
representatives of other great powers, and obliged to expend much
more than their salaries, are generally glad to resign after a
brief term. Especially has this been the case in St. Petersburg.
The terms of our representatives there have generally been very
short. A few have stayed three or four years, but most have
stayed much shorter terms. In one case a representative of the
United States remained only three or four months, and in another
only six weeks. So marked was this tendency that the Emperor once
referred to it in a conversation with one of our representatives,
saying that he hoped that this American diplomatist would remain
longer than his predecessors had generally done.

The action of the Russian authorities in the Behring Sea
question, which is directly traceable to the superior policy of
Great Britain in maintaining a preponderating diplomatic,
political, and social influence at the Russian capital, cost our
government a sum which would have bought suitable houses in
several capitals, and would have given to each American
representative a proper staff of assistants. I have presented
this matter with reluctance, though I feel not the slightest
responsibility for my part in it. I do not think that any
right-minded man can blame me for it, any more than, in the
recent South African War, he could have blamed Lord Roberts, the
British general, if the latter had been sent to the Transvaal
with insufficient means, inadequate equipment, and an army far
inferior in numbers to that of his enemy.

I am not at all in this matter "a man with a grievance"; for I
knew what American representatives had to expect, and was not
disappointed. My feeling is simply that of an American citizen
whose official life is past, and who can look back
dispassionately and tell the truth plainly.

This case is presented simply in the hope that it will do
something to arouse thinking men in public life, and especially
in the Congress of the United States, to provide at least a
suitable house or apartment for the American representative in
each of the more important capitals of the world, as all other
great powers and many of the lesser nations have done. If I can
aid in bringing about this result, I care nothing for any
personal criticism which may be brought upon me.



CHAPTER XXXIV

INTERCOURSE WITH RUSSIAN STATESMEN--1892-1894

To return to Sir Robert Morier. There had been some friction
between his family and that of one of my predecessors, and this
had for some time almost ended social intercourse between his
embassy and our legation; but on my arrival I ignored this, and
we established very satisfactory personal relations. He had held
important positions in various parts of Europe, and had been
closely associated with many of the most distinguished men of his
own and other countries. Reading Grant Duff's "Memoirs," I find
that Morier's bosom friend, of all men in the world, was Jowett,
the late head of Oriel College at Oxford. But Sir Robert was at
the close of his career; his triumph in the Behring Sea matter
was his last. I met him shortly afterward at his last visit to
the Winter Palace: with great effort he mounted the staircase,
took his position at the head of the diplomatic circle, and,
immediately after his conversation with the Emperor, excused
himself and went home. This was the last time I ever saw him; he
returned soon afterward to England and died. His successor, Sir
Frank Lascelles, more recently my colleague at Berlin, is a very
different character. His manner is winning, his experience large
and interesting, his first post having been at Paris during the
Commune, and his latest at Teheran. Our relations became, and
have ever since remained, all that I could desire. He, too, in
every post, is provided with all that is necessary for
accomplishing the purposes of Great Britain, and will doubtless
win great success for his country, though not in exactly the same
way as his predecessor.

The French ambassador was the Comte de Montebello, evidently a
man of ability, but with perhaps less of the engaging qualities
than one generally expects in a French diplomatic representative.
The Turkish ambassador, Husny Pasha, like most Turkish
representatives whom I have met, had learned to make himself very
agreeable; but his position was rather trying: he had fought in
the Russo-Turkish War and had seen his country saved from the
most abject humiliation, if not destruction, only at the last
moment, by the Berlin Conference. His main vexation in St.
Petersburg arose from the religious feeling of the Emperor. Every
great official ceremony in Russia is prefaced, as a rule, by a
church service; hence Husny was excluded, since he felt bound to
wear the fez, and this the Emperor would not tolerate; though
there was really no more harm in his wearing this simple
head-gear in church than in a woman wearing her bonnet or a
soldier wearing his helmet.

Interesting, too, was the Italian ambassador, Marochetti, son of
the eminent sculptor, some of whose artistic ability he had
inherited. He was fond of exercising this talent; but it was
generally understood that his recall was finally due to the fact
that his diplomatic work had suffered in consequence.

The Austrian ambassador, Count Wolkenstein, was, in many things,
the most trustworthy of counselors; more than once, under trying
circumstances, I found his advice precious; for he knew,
apparently, in every court of Europe, the right man to approach,
and the right way to approach him, on every conceivable subject.

Of the ministers plenipotentiary the Dutch representative, Van
Stoetwegen, was the best counselor I found. He was shrewd, keen,
and kindly; but his tongue was sharp--so much so that it finally
brought about his recall. He made a remark one day which
especially impressed me. I had said to him, "I have just sent a
despatch to my government declaring my skepticism as to the
probability of any war in Europe for a considerable time to come.
When I arrived in Berlin eleven years ago all the knowing people
said that a general European war must break out within a few
months: in the spring they said it must come in the autumn; and
in the autumn they said it must come in the spring. All these
years have passed and there is still no sign of war. We hear the
same prophecies daily, but I learned long since not to believe in
them. War may come, but it seems to me more and more unlikely."
He answered, "I think you are right. I advise my own government
in the same sense. The fact is that war in these days is not what
it once was; it is infinitely more dangerous from every point of
view, and it becomes more and more so every day. Formerly a
crowned head, when he thought himself aggrieved, or felt that he
would enjoy a campaign, plunged into war gaily. If he succeeded,
all was well; if not, he hauled off to repair damages,--very much
as a pugilist would do after receiving a black eye in a fist
fight,--and in a short time the losses were repaired and all went
on as before. In these days the case is different: it is no
longer a simple contest in the open, with the possibility of a
black eye or, at most, of a severe bruise; it has become a matter
of life and death to whole nations. Instead of being like a fist
fight, it is like a combat between a lot of champions armed with
poisoned daggers, and in a dark room; if once the struggle
begins, no one knows how many will be drawn into it or who will
be alive at the end of it; the probabilities are that all will be
injured terribly and several fatally. War in these days means the
cropping up of a multitude of questions dangerous not only to
statesmen but to monarchs, and even to society itself. Monarchs
and statesmen know this well; and, no matter how truculent they
may at times appear, they really dread war above all things."

One of my colleagues at St. Petersburg was interesting in a very
different way from any of the others. This was Pasitch, the
Servian minister. He was a man of fine presence and, judging from
his conversation, of acute mind. He had some years before been
sentenced to death for treason, but since that had been prime
minister. Later he was again put on trial for his life at
Belgrade, charged with being a partner in the conspiracy which
resulted in the second attempt against the life of King Milan.
His speech before his judges, recently published, was an effort
worthy of a statesman, and carried the conviction to my mind that
he was not guilty.[3]


[3] He was found guilty, but escaped death by a bitter
humiliation: it was left for others to bring about Milan's
assassination.


The representatives of the extreme Orient were both interesting
personages, but the same difference prevailed there as elsewhere:
the Chinese was a mandarin, able to speak only through an
interpreter; the Japanese was trained in Western science, and
able to speak fluently both Russian and French. His successor,
whom I met at the Peace Conference of The Hague, spoke English
admirably.

Among the secretaries and attaches, several were very
interesting; and of these was the first British secretary Henry
Howard, now Sir Henry Howard, minister at The Hague. He and his
American wife were among the most delightful of associates.
Another in this category was the Bavarian secretary, Baron
Guttenberg, whom I often met later at Berlin. When I spoke to him
about a visit I had made to Wurzburg, and the desecration of the
magnificent old Romanesque cathedral there by plastering its
whole interior over with nude angels, and substituting for the
splendid old mediaeval carving Louis Quinze woodwork in white and
gold, he said: "Yes; you are right; and it was a bishop of my
family who did it."

As to Russian statesmen, I had the benefit of the fairly friendly
spirit which has usually been shown toward the American
representative in Russia by all in authority from the Emperor
down. I do not mean by this that the contentions of the American
Embassy are always met by speedy concessions, for among the most
trying of all things in diplomatic dealings with that country are
the long delays in all business; but a spirit is shown which, in
the long run, serves the purpose of our representative as regards
most questions.

It seems necessary here to give a special warning against putting
any trust in the epigram which has long done duty as a piece of
politico-ethnological wisdom: "Scratch a Russian and you will
find a Tartar." It would be quite as correct to say, "Scratch an
American and you will find an Indian." The simple fact is that
the Russian officials with whom foreigners have to do are men of
experience, and, as a rule, much like those whom one finds in
similar positions in other parts of Europe. A foreign
representative has to meet on business, not merely the Russian
minister of foreign affairs and the heads of departments in the
Foreign Office, but various other members of the imperial
cabinet, especially the ministers of finance, of war, of the
navy, of the interior, of justice, as well as the chief municipal
authorities of St. Petersburg; and I can say that many of these
gentlemen, both as men and as officials, are the peers of men in
similar positions in most other countries which I have known.
Though they were at times tenacious in questions between their
own people and ours, and though they held political doctrines
very different from those we cherish, I am bound to say that most
of them did so in a way which disarmed criticism. At the same
time I must confess a conviction which has more and more grown
upon me, that the popular view regarding the power, vigor, and
foresight of Russian statesmen is ill-founded. And it must be
added that Russian officials and their families are very
susceptible to social influences: a foreign representative who
entertains them frequently and well can secure far more for his
country than one who trusts to argument alone. In no part of the
world will a diplomatist more surely realize the truth embedded
in Oxenstiern's famous utterance, "Go forth, my son, and see with
how little wisdom the world is governed." When one sees what
really strong men might do in Russia, what vast possibilities
there are which year after year are utterly neglected, one cannot
but think that the popular impression regarding the superiority
of Russian statesmen is badly based. As a matter of fact, there
has not been a statesman of the first class, of Russian birth,
since Catherine the Great, and none of the second class unless
Nesselrode and the Emperor Nicholas are to be excepted. To
consider Prince Gortchakoff a great chancellor on account of his
elaborate despatches is absurd. The noted epigram regarding him
is doubtless just: "C'est un Narcisse qui se mire dans son
encrier."

To call him a great statesman in the time of Cavour Bismarck,
Lincoln, and Seward is preposterous. Whatever growth in
civilization Russia has made in the last forty years has been
mainly in spite of the men who have posed as her statesmen; the
atmosphere of Russian autocracy is fatal to greatness in any
form.

The emancipation of the serfs was due to a policy advocated by
the first Nicholas and carried out under Alexander II; but it was
made possible mainly by Miloutine, Samarine, Tcherkassky, and
other subordinates, who never were allowed to approach the first
rank as state servants. This is my own judgment, founded on
observation and reading during half a century, and it is the
quiet judgment of many who have had occasion to observe Russia
longer and more carefully.

Next, as to the Foreign Office. Nearly a hundred years ago
Napoleon compared Alexander I and those about him to "Greeks of
the Lower Empire." That saying was repelled as a slander; but,
ever since it was uttered, the Russian Foreign Office seems to
have been laboring to deserve it. There are chancelleries in the
world which, when they give promises, are believed and trusted.
Who, in the light of the last fifty years, would claim that the
Russian Foreign Office is among these? Its main reputation is for
astuteness finally brought to naught; it has constantly been "too
clever by half."

Take the loudly trumpeted peace proposals to the world made by
Nicholas II. When the nations got together at The Hague to carry
out the Czar's supposed purpose, it was found that all was
haphazard; that no adequate studies had been made, no project
prepared; in fact, that the Emperor's government had virtually
done nothing showing any real intention to set a proper example.
Nothing but the high character and abilities of M. de Martens and
one or two of his associates saved the prestige of the Russian
Foreign Office at that time. Had there been a man of real power
in the chancellorship or in the ministry of foreign affairs, he
would certainly have advised the Emperor to dismiss to useful
employments, say, two hundred to two hundred and fifty thousand
troops, which he could have done without the slightest
danger--thus showing that he was in earnest, crippling the war
clique, and making the beginning of a great reform which all
Europe would certainly have been glad to follow. But there was
neither the wisdom nor the strength required to advise and carry
through such a measure. Deference to the "military party" and
petty fear of a loss of military prestige were all-controlling.

Take the army and the navy departments. In these, if anywhere,
Russia has been thought strong. The main occupation of leading
Russians for a hundred years has been, not the steady uplifting
of the people in intellect and morals, not the vigorous
development of natural resources, but preparations for war on
land and sea. This has been virtually the one business of the
main men of light and leading from the emperors and grand dukes
down. Drill and parade have been apparently everything: the
strengthening of the empire by the education of the people, and
the building of industrial prosperity as a basis for a great army
and navy, seem to have been virtually nothing. The results are
now before the world for the third time since 1815.

An objector may remind me of the emancipation of the serfs. I do
not deny the greatness and nobleness of Alexander II and the
services of the men he then called to his aid; but I lived in
Russia both before and since that reform, and feel obliged to
testify that, thus far, its main purpose has been so thwarted by
reactionaries that there is, as yet, little, if any, practical
difference between the condition of the Russian peasant before
and since obtaining his freedom.

Take the dealings with Finland. The whole thing is monstrous. It
is both comedy and tragedy. Finland is by far the best-developed
part of the empire; it stands on a higher plane than do the other
provinces as regards every element of civilization; it has
steadily been the most loyal of all the realms of the Czar.
Nihilism and anarchism have never gained the slightest foothold;
yet to-day there is nobody in the whole empire strong enough to
prevent sundry bigots--military and ecclesiastical--leading the
Emperor to violate his coronation oath; to make the simple
presentation of a petition to him treasonable; to trample Finland
under his feet; to wrong grievously and insult grossly its whole
people; to banish and confiscate the property of its best men; to
muzzle its press; to gag its legislators; and thus to lower the
whole country to the level of the remainder of Russia.

During my stay in Russia at the time of the Crimean War, I had
been interested in the Finnish peasants whom I saw serving on the
gunboats. There was a sturdiness, heartiness, and loyalty about
them which could not fail to elicit good-will; but during this
second stay in Russia my sympathies with them were more
especially enlisted. During the hot weather of the first summer
my family were at the Finnish capital, Helsingfors, at the point
where the Gulf of Finland opens into the Baltic. The whole people
deeply interested me. Here was one of the most important
universities of Europe, a noble public library, beautiful
buildings, and throughout the whole town an atmosphere of
cleanliness and civilization far superior to that which one finds
in any Russian city. Having been added to Russia by Alexander I
under his most solemn pledges that it should retain its own
constitutional government, it had done so up to the time of my
stay; and the results were evident throughout the entire grand
duchy. While in Russia there had been from time immemorial a
debased currency, the currency of Finland was as good as gold;
while in Russia all public matters bore the marks of arbitrary
repression, in Finland one could see the results of enlightened
discussion; while in Russia the peasant is but little, if any,
above Asiatic barbarism, the Finnish peasant--simple, genuine--is
clearly far better developed both morally and religiously. It is
a grief to me in these latter days to see that the measures which
were then feared have since been taken. There seems a
determination to grind down Finland to a level with Russia in
general. We heard, not long since, much sympathy expressed for
the Boers in South Africa in their struggle against England; but
infinitely more pathetic is the case of Finland. The little grand
duchy has done what it could to save itself, but it recognizes
the fact that its two millions of people are utterly powerless
against the brute force of the one hundred and twenty millions of
the Russian Empire. The struggle in South Africa meant, after
all, that if worst came to worst, the Boers would, within a
generation or two, enjoy a higher type of constitutional liberty
than they ever could have developed under any republic they could
have established; but Finland is now forced to give up her
constitutional government and to come under the rule of brutal
Russian satraps. These have already begun their work. All is to
be "Russified": the constitutional bodies are to be virtually
abolished; the university is to be brought down to the level of
Dorpat--once so noted as a German university, now so worthless as
a Russian university; for the simple Protestantism of the people
is to be substituted the fetishism of the Russo-Greek Church. It
is the saddest spectacle of our time. Previous emperors, however
much they wished to do so, did not dare break their oaths to
Finland; but the present weakling sovereign, in his indifference,
carelessness, and absolute unfitness to rule, has allowed the
dominant reactionary clique about him to accomplish its own good
pleasure. I put on record here the prophecy that his dynasty, if
not himself, will be punished for it. All history shows that no
such crime has gone unpunished. It is a far greater crime than
the partition of Poland; for Poland had brought her fate on
herself, while Finland has been the most loyal part of the
empire. Not even Moscow herself has been more thoroughly devoted
to Russia and the reigning dynasty. The young monarch whose
weakness has led to this fearful result will bring retribution
upon himself and those who follow him. The Romanoffs will yet
find that "there is a Power in the universe, not ourselves, which
makes for righteousness." The house of Hapsburg and its
satellites found this in the humiliating end of their reign in
Italy; the house of Valois found it, after the massacre of St.
Bartholomew, in their own destruction; the Bourbons found it,
after the driving out of the Huguenots and the useless wars of
Louis XIV and XV, in the French Revolution which ended their
dynasty. Both the Napoleons met their punishment after violating
the rights of human nature. The people of the United States,
after the Fugitive Slave Law, found their punishment in the Civil
War, which cost nearly a million of lives and, when all is
reckoned, ten thousand millions of treasure.

When I talked with this youth before he came to the throne, and
saw how little he knew of his own empire,--how absolutely unaware
he was that the famine was continuing for a second year in
various important districts, there resounded in my ears, as so
often at other times, the famous words of Oxenstiern to his son,
"Go forth, my son, and see with how little wisdom the world is
governed."

Pity to say it, the European sovereign to whom Nicholas II can be
most fully compared is Charles IX of France, under the influence
of his family and men and women courtiers and priests,
authorizing the massacre of St. Bartholomew. The punishment to be
meted out to him and his house is sure.[4]


[4] The above was written before the Russian war with Japan and
the assassinations of Bobrikoff, Plehve, and others were dreamed
of. My prophecy seems likely to be realized far earlier than I
had thought possible.



As I revise these lines, we see another exhibition of the same
weakness and folly. The question between Russia and Japan could
have been easily and satisfactorily settled in a morning talk by
any two business men of average ability; but the dominant clique
has forced on one of the most terrible wars in history, which
bids fair to result in the greatest humiliation Russia has ever
known.

The same thing may be said regarding Russia's dealings with the
Baltic provinces. The "Russification" which has been going on
there for some years is equally absurd, equally wicked, and sure
to be equally disastrous.

The first Russian statesman with whom I had to do was the
minister of foreign affairs, M. de Giers; but he was dying. I saw
him twice in retirement at Tzarskoye Selo, and came to respect
him much. He spoke at length regarding the entente between Russia
and France, and insisted that it was not in the interest of war
but of peace. "Tell your government," he said, "that the closer
the lines are drawn which bind Russia and France, the more
strongly will Russian influence be used to hold back the French
from war."

At another time he discoursed on the folly of war, and especially
regarding the recent conflict between Russia and Turkey. He spoke
of its wretched results, of the ingratitude which Russia had
experienced from the peoples she had saved from the Turks, and
finally, with extreme bitterness, of the vast sums of money
wasted in it which could have been used in raising the condition
of the Russian peasantry. He spoke with the conviction of a dying
man, and I felt that he was sincere. At the same time I felt it a
pity that under the Russian system there is no chance for such a
man really to enforce his ideas. For one day he may be in the
ascendancy with the autocrat; and the next, through the influence
of grand dukes, women, priests, or courtiers, the very opposite
ideas may become dominant.

The men with whom I had more directly to do at the Foreign Office
were the acting minister, Shishkin, who had formerly been at
Washington, and the head of the Asiatic department, Count
Kapnist. They were agreeable in manner; but it soon became clear
that, regarding the question of the Behring seal-fisheries, they
were pursuing a policy of their own, totally distinct from the
interests of the empire. Peter the Great would have beheaded both
of them.

The strongest man among the Czar's immediate advisers was
understood to be the finance minister, De Witte. There always
seemed in him a certain sullen force. The story usually told of
his rise in the world is curious. It is, in effect, that when the
Emperor Alexander II and his family were wrecked in their special
train at Borki, many of their attendants were killed; and the
world generally, including the immediate survivors of the
catastrophe, believed for some time that it was the result of a
nihilist plot. There was, therefore, a general sweeping into
prison of subordinat'e railway officials; and among these was De
Witte, then in charge of a railway station. During the
examinations which ensued he showed himself so clear-headed and
straightforward that he attracted attention was promoted, put
into the finance ministry, and finally advanced to the first
place in it. His dealings with Russian finances have since shown
great capacity: he has brought the empire out of the slough of
depreciated currency and placed it firmly on a gold basis. I came
especially to know him when he offered, through me, to the United
States a loan of gold to enable us to tide over our difficulties
with the currency question. He informed me that Russia had in her
treasury many millions of rubles in American gold eagles, and
that the Russian gold reserve then in the treasury was about six
hundred millions of rubles.

The only result was that I was instructed to convey the thanks of
the President to him, there being no law enabling us to take
advantage of his offer. What he wished to do was to make a call
loan, whereas our Washington Government could obtain gold only by
issuing bonds.

I also met him in a very interesting way when I presented to him
Rabbi Krauskopf of Philadelphia, who discussed the question of
allowing sundry Israelites who were crowded into the western
districts of the empire to be transferred to some of the less
congested districts, on condition that funds for that purpose be
furnished from their coreligionists in America. De Witte's
discussion of the whole subject was liberal and statesmanlike.
Unfortunately, there was, as I believe, a fundamental error in
his general theory, which is the old Russian idea at the bottom
of the autocracy--namely, that the State should own everything.
More and more he went on extending government ownership to the
railways, until the whole direction and management of them
virtually centered in his office.

On this point he differed widely from his predecessor in the
finance ministry, Wischniegradsky. I had met the latter years
before, at the Paris Exposition, when he was at the head of the
great technical school in Moscow, and found him instructive and
interesting. Now I met him after his retirement from the finance
ministry. Calling on him one day, I said: "You will probably
build your trans-Siberian railway at a much less cost than we
were able to build our first trans-continental railway; you will
do it directly, by government funds, and so will probably not
have to make so many rich men as we did." His answer impressed me
strongly. He said: "As to a government building a railway more
cheaply than private individuals, I decidedly doubt; but I would
favor private individuals building it, even if the cost were
greater. I like to see rich men made; they are what Russia most
needs at this moment. What can capitalists do with their money?
They can't eat it or drink it: they have to invest it in other
enterprises; and such enterprises, to be remunerative, must meet
the needs of the people. Capitalists are far more likely to
invest their money in useful enterprises, and to manage these
investments well, than any finance minister can be, no matter how
gifted."

That he was right the history of Russia is showing more and more
every day. To return to M. de Witte, it seemed strange to most
onlookers that the present Emperor threw him out of the finance
ministry, in which he had so greatly distinguished himself, and
shelved him in one of those bodies, such as the council of state
or the senate, which exist mainly as harbors or shelters for
dismissed functionaries. But really there was nothing singular
about it. As regards the main body at court, from the grand
dukes, the women, etc., down, he had committed the sin of which
Turgot and Necker were guilty when they sought to save France but
found that the women, princes, and favorites of poor Louis XVI's
family were determined to dip their hands into the state
treasury, and were too strong to be controlled. Ruin followed the
dismissal of Turgot and Necker then, and seems to be following
the dismissal of De Witte now: though as I revise this chapter
word comes that the Emperor has recalled him.

No doubt Prince Khilkoff, who has come in as minister of internal
communications since my departure from Russia, is also a strong
man; but no functionary can take the place of a great body of
individuals who invest their own money in public works throughout
an entire nation.

There was also another statesman in a very different field whom I
found exceedingly interesting,--a statesman who had gained a
power in the empire second to no other save the Emperor himself,
and had centered in himself more hatred than any other Russian of
recent times,--the former Emperor's tutor and virtual minister as
regards ecclesiastical affairs, Pobedonostzeff. His theories are
the most reactionary of all developed in modern times; and his
hand was then felt, and is still felt, in every part of the
empire, enforcing those theories. Whatever may be thought of his
wisdom, his patriotism is not to be doubted. Though I differ from
him almost totally, few men have so greatly interested me, and
one of the following chapters will be devoted to him.

But there were some other so-called statesmen toward whom I had a
very different feeling. One of these was the minister of the
interior. Nothing could be more delusive than his manner. He
always seemed about to accede to the ideas of his interlocutor,
but he had one fundamental idea of his own, and only one; and
that was, evidently, never to do anything which he could possibly
avoid. He always seemed to me a sort of great jellyfish, looking
as if he had a mission to accomplish, but, on closer examination,
proving to be without consistency, and slippery. His theory
apparently was, "No act, no responsibility"; and throughout the
Russian Empire this principle of action, or, rather, of inaction,
appears to be very widely diffused.

I had one experience with this functionary, who, I am happy to
say, has since been relieved of his position and shelved among
the do-nothings of the Russian senate, which showed me what he
was. Two American ladies of the best breeding and culture, and
bearing the most satisfactory letters of introduction, had been
staying in St. Petersburg, and had met, at my table and
elsewhere, some of the most interesting people in Russian
society. From St. Petersburg they had gone to Moscow; and, after
a pleasant stay there, had left for Vienna by way of Warsaw.
Returning home late at night, about a week afterward, I found an
agonizing telegram from them, stating that they had been stopped
at the Austrian frontier and sent back fifty miles to a dirty
little Russian village; that their baggage had all gone on to
Vienna; that, there being no banker in the little hamlet where
they were, their letter of credit was good for nothing; that all
this was due to the want of the most trivial of formalities in a
passport; that they had obtained all the vises supposed to be
needed at St. Petersburg and at Moscow; and that, though the
American consul at Warsaw had declared these to be sufficient to
take them out of the empire, they had been stopped by a petty
Russian official because they had no vise from the Warsaw police.

Early next morning I went to the minister of the interior,
presented the case to him, told him all about these
ladies,--their high standing, the letters they had brought, the
people they had met,--assured him that nothing could be further
from possibility than the slightest tendency on their part toward
any interference with the Russian Government, and asked him to
send a telegram authorizing their departure. He was most profuse
in his declarations of his willingness to help. Nothing in the
world, apparently, would give him more pleasure; and, though
there was a kind of atmosphere enveloping his talk which I did
not quite like, I believed that the proper order would be given.
But precious time went on, and again came telegrams from the
ladies that nothing was done. Again I went to the minister to
urge the matter upon his attention; again he assumed the same
jellyfish condition, pleasing but evasive. Then I realized the
situation; went at once to the prefect of St. Petersburg, General
von Wahl, although it was not strictly within his domain; and he,
a man of character and vigor, took the necessary measures and the
ladies were released.

Like so many other persons whom I have known who came into Russia
and were delighted with it during their whole stay, these ladies
returned to America most bitter haters of the empire and of
everything within it.

As to Von Wahl, who seemed to me one of the very best Russian
officials I met, he has since met reward for his qualities: from
the Czar a transfer to a provincial governorship, and from the
anarchists a bullet which, though intended to kill him, only
wounded him.

Many were the sufferers from this feature in Russian
administration--this shirking of labor and responsibility. Among
these was a gentleman belonging to one of the most honored
Russian families, who was greatly devoted to fruit-culture, and
sought to bring the products of his large estates in the south of
Russia into Moscow and St. Petersburg. He told me that he had
tried again and again, but the officials shrugged their shoulders
and would not take the trouble; that finally he had induced them
to give him a freight-car and to bring a load of fruit to St.
Petersburg as soon as possible; but, though the journey ought to
have taken only three or four days, it actually took several
weeks; and, of course, all the fruit was spoiled. As I told him
of the fruit-trains which bring the products of California across
our continent and distribute them to the Atlantic ports, even
enabling them to be found fresh in the markets of London, he
almost shed tears. This was another result of state control of
railways. As a matter of fact, there is far more and better fruit
to be seen on the tables of artisans in most American towns,
however small, than in the lordliest houses of Moscow and St.
Petersburg; and this solely because in our country energetic men
conduct transportation with some little ambition to win public
approval and patronage, while in Russia a horde of state
officials shirk labor and care as much as possible.

Still another sufferer was a very energetic man who had held
sundry high positions, but was evidently much discouraged. He
showed me specimens of various rich ores from different parts of
the empire, but lamented that there was no one to take hold of
the work of bringing out these riches. It was perfectly clear
that with the minister of the interior at that time, as in sundry
other departments, the great question was "how not to do it."
Evidently this minister and functionaries like him felt that if
great enterprises and industries were encouraged, they would
become so large as to be difficult to manage; hence, that it
would be more comfortable to keep things within as moderate
compass as possible.

To this easy-going view of public duty there were a few notable
exceptions. While De Witte was the most eminent of these, there
was one who has since become sadly renowned, and who, as I revise
these lines, has just perished by the hand of an assassin. This
official was De Plehve, who, during my acquaintance with him, was
only an undersecretary in the interior department, but was
taking, apparently, all the important duties from his superior,
M. Dournovo. At various times I met him to discuss the status of
sundry American insurance companies in Russia, and was favorably
impressed by his insight, vigor, and courtesy. It was, therefore,
a surprise to me when, on becoming a full minister, he bloomed
out as a most bitter, cruel, and evidently short-sighted
reactionary. The world stood amazed at the murderous cruelties
against the Jews at Kishineff, which he might easily have
prevented; and nothing more cruel or short-sighted than his
dealings with Finland has been known since Louis XIV revoked the
Edict of Nantes. I can only explain his course by supposing that
he sought to win the favor of the reactionary faction which, up
to the present time, has controlled the Czar, and thus to fight
his way toward the highest power. He made of the most loyal and
happy part of the empire the most disloyal and wretched; he
pitted himself against the patriotism, the sense of justice, and
all the highest interests and sentiments of the Finnish people;
and he met his death at the hands of an avenger, who, in
destroying the enemy of his country, has struck a fearful blow at
his country's happiness.

While a thoughtful American must condemn much which he sees in
Russia, there is one thing which he cannot but admire and
contrast to the disadvantage of his own country; and this is the
fact that Russia sets a high value upon its citizenship. Its
value, whatever it may be, is the result of centuries of
struggles, of long outpourings of blood and treasure; and
Russians believe that it has been bought at too great a price and
is in every way too precious to be lavished and hawked about as a
thing of no value. On the other hand, when one sees how the
citizenship of the United States, which ought to be a millionfold
more precious than that of Russia, is conferred loosely upon tens
of thousands of men absolutely unfit to exercise it,--whose
exercise of it seems, at times, likely to destroy republican
government; when one sees the power of conferring it granted to
the least respectable class of officials at the behest of ward
politicians, without proper safeguards and at times without any
regard to the laws; when one sees it prostituted by men of the
most unfit class,--and, indeed, of the predatory class,--who have
left Europe just long enough to obtain it, and then left America
in order to escape the duties both of their native and their
adopted country, and to avail themselves of the privileges of
both citizenships without one thought of the duties of either,
using them often in careers of scoundrelism,--one feels that
Russia is nearer the true ideal in this respect than we are.

As a matter of fact, there is with us no petty joint-stock
company in which an interest is not virtually held to be superior
to this citizenship of ours for which such sacrifices have been
made, and for which so many of our best men have laid down their
lives. No stockholder in the pettiest manufacturing company
dreams of admitting men to share in it unless they show their
real fitness to be thus admitted; but admission to American
citizenship is surrounded by no such safeguards: it has been
cheapened and prostituted until many who formerly revered it have
come to scoff at it. From this evil, at least, Russia is free.



CHAPTER XXXV

"ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN" IN RUSSIA--1892-1894

Still another department which interested me was that known as
the "Ministry of Public Enlightenment," its head being Count
Delyanoff. He was certainly a man of culture; but the title of
his department was a misnomer, for its duty was clearly to
prevent enlightenment in the public at large. The Russian theory
is, evidently, that a certain small number should be educated up
to a certain point for the discharge of their special duties; but
that, beyond this, anything like the general education of the
people is to be discouraged; hence the Russian peasant is the
most ignorant and helpless in Christendom.

There was evidently a disposition among very many of the most
ardent Russians to make a merit of this imperfect civilization,
and to cultivate hatred for any people whom they clearly saw
possessing anything better: hence it came that, just as so many
Frenchmen hate Great Britain, and so many in the backward,
slipshod regions of our country hate New England, it was quite
the fashion among large classes of Russians to hate everything
German, and especially to detest the Baltic provinces.

One evening during my stay a young Russian at a social gathering
of military and other officials voiced this feeling by saying, "I
hope the time will soon come when we shall have cleared out all
these Germans from the Russian service; they are the curse of the
country." Thereupon a young American present, who was especially
noted for his plain speaking, immediately answered, "How are you
going to do it? I notice that, as a rule, you rarely give a
position which really involves high responsibility to a Russian;
you generally give it to a German. When the Emperor goes to the
manoeuvers, does he dare trust his immediate surroundings to a
Russian? Never; he intrusts them to General Richter, who is a
Baltic-Province German. And when his Majesty is here in town does
he dare trust his personal safety to a Russian? Not at all; he
relies on Von Wahl, prefect of St. Petersburg, another German."
And so this plain-spoken American youth went on with a full
catalogue of leading Baltic-Province Germans in positions of the
highest responsibility, finally saying, "You know as well as I
that if the salvation of the Emperor depended on any one of you,
and you should catch sight of a pretty woman, you would instantly
forget your sovereign and run after her."

Richter and Von Wahl I knew, and they were certainly men whom one
could respect,--thoughtful, earnest, devoted to duty. Whenever
one saw the Emperor at a review, Richter was close at hand;
whenever their Majesties were at the opera, or in any public
place, there was Von Wahl with his eyes fastened upon them.

The young American might now add that when a man was needed to
defend Port Arthur another German was chosen--Stoessel, whose
heroism the whole world is now applauding, as it once applauded
Todleben, the general of German birth who carried off the Russian
laurels of the Crimean War.

One Russian official for whom there seemed to be deep and wide
respect was Count Woronzoff-Daschkoff; and I think that our
irrepressible American would have made an exception in his favor.
Calling upon him one day regarding the distribution of American
relief to famine-stricken peasants, I was much impressed by his
straightforward honesty: he was generally credited with stopping
the time-honored pilfering and plundering at the Winter Palace.

One of the most interesting of all the Russians I met was General
Annenkoff. His brother-in-law, Struve, Russian minister at
Washington, having given me a letter to him, our relations became
somewhat close. He had greatly distinguished himself by building
the trans-Caucasian railway, but his main feat had been the
annexation of Bokhara. The story, as told me by a member of his
family, is curious. While superintending his great force of men
and pushing on the laying of the rails through the desert, his
attention was suddenly called to some horsemen in the distance,
riding toward him with all their might. On their arrival their
leader was discovered to be a son of the Ameer of Bokhara. That
potentate having just died, the other sons were trying to make
their way to the throne by cutting each other's throats, but this
one had thought it wise to flee to the Russians for safety.
Annenkoff saw the point at once: with a large body of his cavalry
he started immediately for Bokhara, his guest by his side; pushed
his way through all obstacles; seated the young prince on the
throne; and so made him a Russian satrap. I shall speak later of
the visit of this prince to St. Petersburg. It was evident that
Annenkoff, during my stay, was not in favor. It was said that he
had been intrusted with large irrigation-works in order to give
employment to peasants during the famine, and that he had not
managed them well; but it was clear that this was not the main
difficulty: he was evidently thought too progressive and liberal,
and in that seething caldron of intrigue which centers at the
Winter Palace his ambitions had come to grief.

Another Russian who interested me was Glalkin Wraskoy. He was
devoted, night and day, to improving the Russian prison system.
That there was much need of such work was certain; but the fact
that this personage in government employ was so devoted to
improvements, and had called together in Russia a convention of
men interested in the amelioration of prison systems, led me to
think that the Russian Government is not so utterly and wilfully
cruel in its prison arrangements as the Western world has been
led to think.

Another interesting Russian was Count Orloff Davidoff; and on my
meeting him, just after his return from the Chicago Exposition,
at General Annenkoff's table, he entertained me with his
experiences. On my asking him what was the most amusing thing he
had seen in America, he answered that it was a "sacred concert,"
on Sunday, at a church in Colorado Springs, in which the music of
Strauss's waltzes and Offenbach's comic songs were leading
features, the audience taking them all very solemnly.

In the literary direction I found Prince John Galitzin's readings
from French dramas delightful. As to historical studies, the most
interesting man I found was Professor Demetrieff, who was brought
to my house by Pobedonostzeff. I had been reading Billbassoff's
"Life of the Empress Catherine"; and, on my asking some questions
regarding it, the professor said that at the death of the
Empress, her son, the Emperor Paul, intrusted the examination of
her papers to Rostopchine, who, on going through them, found a
casket containing letters and the like, which she had evidently
considered especially precious, and among these a letter from
Orloff, giving the details of the murder of her husband, Peter
III, at Ropscha. The letter, in substance, stated that Orloff and
his associates, having attempted to seize Peter, who was
evidently on his way to St. Petersburg to imprison the Empress
Catherine,--if not to put her to death,--the Emperor had
resisted; and that finally, in the struggle, he had been killed.
Professor Demetrieff then said that the Emperor Paul showed these
papers to his sons Alexander and Nicholas, who afterward
succeeded him on the throne, and expressed his devout
thankfulness that the killing of Peter III was not intentional,
and therefore that their grandmother was not a murderess.

This reminds me that, at my first visit to St. Petersburg, I
often passed, during my walks, the old palace of Paul, and that
there was one series of windows carefully barred: these belonging
to the rooms in which the Emperor Paul himself was assassinated
in order to protect the life of his son Alexander and of the
family generally.

Another Russian, Prince Serge Wolkonsky, was certainly the most
versatile man I have ever known: a playwright, an actor, an
essayist, an orator, a lecturer, and admirable in each of these
capacities. At a dinner given me, just before my departure from
St. Petersburg, by the Russians who had taken part in the Chicago
Exposition, I was somewhat troubled by the fact that the speeches
of the various officials were in Russian, and that, as I so
imperfectly understood them, I could not know what line to take
when my own speech came; but presently the chairman, Minister
Delyanoff, called upon young Prince Serge, who came forward very
modestly and, in admirable English, gave a summary of the whole
series of Russian speeches for my benefit, concluding with an
excellent speech of his own. His speeches and addresses at
Chicago were really remarkable; and, when he revisited America,
his lectures on Russian literature at Cornell University, at
Washington, and elsewhere, were worthy of the College de France.
This young man could speak fluently and idiomatically, not only
his own language, but English, French, German, Italian, and I
know not how many other tongues.

To meet scientific men of note my wont was to visit the Latin
Quarter; and there, at the house of Professor Woeikoff of St.
Petersburg University, I met, at various times, a considerable
body of those best worth knowing. One of those who made an
especially strong impression upon me was Admiral Makharoff.
Recently has come news of his death while commanding the Russian
fleet at Port Arthur--his flag-ship, with nearly all on board,
sunk by a torpedo. At court, in the university quarter, and later
at Washington, I met him often, and rated him among the
half-dozen best Russians I ever knew. Having won fame as a
vigorous and skilful commander in the Turkish war, he was
devoting himself to the scientific side of his profession. He had
made a success of his colossal ice-breaker in various northern
waters, and was now giving his main thoughts to the mapping out,
on an immense scale, of all the oceans, as regards winds and
currents. As explained by him, with quiet enthusiasm, it seemed
likely to be one of the greatest triumphs of the inductive method
since Lord Bacon. With Senator Semenoff and Prince Gregory
Galitzin I had very interesting talks on their Asiatic travels,
and was greatly impressed by the simplicity and strength of
Mendeleieff, who is certainly to-day one of two or three foremost
living authorities in chemistry. Although men of science, unless
they hold high official positions, are not to be seen at court, I
was glad to find that there were some Russian nobles who
appreciated them; and an admirable example of this was once shown
at my own house. It was at a dinner, when there was present a
young Russian of very high lineage; and I was in great doubt as
to the question of precedence, this being a matter of grave
import under the circumstances. At last my wife went to the
nobleman himself and asked him frankly regarding it. His answer
did him credit: he said, "I should be ashamed to take precedence
here of a man like Mendeleieff, who is an honor to Russia in the
eyes of the whole world; and I earnestly hope that he may be
given the first place."

There were also various interesting women in St. Petersburg
society, the reception afternoons of two of them being especially
attractive: they were, indeed, in the nature of the French salons
under the old regime.

One of these ladies--the Princess Wolkonsky--seemed to interest
all men not absorbed in futilities; and the result was that one
heard at her house the best men in St. Petersburg discussing the
most interesting questions.

The other was the Austrian ambassadress, Countess Wolkenstein,
whom I had slightly known, years before, as Countess Schleinitz,
wife of the minister of the royal household at Berlin. On her
afternoons one heard the best talk by the most interesting men;
and it was at the salons of these two ladies that there took
place the conversations which I have recorded in my "History of
the Warfare of Science," showing the development of a legend
regarding the miraculous cure of the Archbishop of St. Petersburg
by Father Ivan of Cronstadt.

Another place which especially attracted me was the house of
General Ignatieff, formerly ambassador at Constantinople, where,
on account of his alleged want of scruples in bringing on the war
with Russia, he received the nickname "Mentir Pasha." His wife
was the daughter of Koutousoff, the main Russian opponent of
Napoleon in 1812; and her accounts of Russia in her earlier days
and of her life in Constantinople were at times fascinating.

I remember meeting at her house, on one occasion, the Princess
Ourousoff, who told me that the Emperor Alexander had said to
her, "I wish that every one could see Sardou's play 'Thermidor'
and discover what revolution really is"; and that she had
answered, "Revolutions are prepared long before they break out."
That struck me as a very salutary bit of philosophy, which every
Russian monarch would do well to ponder.

The young Princess Radzivill was also especially attractive. In
one of her rooms hung a portrait of Balzac, taken just after
death, and it was most striking. This led her to give me very
interesting accounts of her aunt, Madame de Hanska, to whom
Balzac wrote his famous letters, and whom he finally married. I
met at her house another lady of high degree, to whom my original
introduction had been somewhat curious. Dropping in one afternoon
at the house of Henry Howard, the British first secretary, I met
in the crowd a large lady, simply dressed, whom I had never seen
before. Being presented to her, and not happening to catch her
name, I still talked on, and found that she had traveled, first
in Australia, then in California, thence across our continent to
New York; and her accounts of what she had seen interested me
greatly. But some little time afterward I met her again at the
house of Princess Radzivill, and then found that she was the
English Duchess of Buckingham. One day I had been talking with
the Princess and her guest on the treasures of the Imperial
Library, and especially the wonderful collection of autographs,
among them the copy-book of Louis XIV when a child, which showed
the pains taken to make him understand, even in his boyhood, that
he was an irresponsible autocrat. On one of its pages the line to
be copied ran as follows:

L'hommage est du aux Roys, ils font ce qu'il leur plaist.--LOUIS.

Under this the budding monarch had written the same words six
times, with childish care to keep the strokes straight and the
spaces regular. My account of this having led the princess to ask
me to take her and her friend to the library and to show them
some of these things, I gladly agreed, wrote the director,
secured an appointment for a certain afternoon, and when the time
came called for the ladies. But a curious contretemps arose. I
had met, the day before, two bright American ladies, and on their
asking me about the things best worth seeing, I had especially
recommended them to visit the Imperial Library. On arriving at
the door with the princess and the duchess, I was surprised to
find that no preparations had been made to meet us,--in fact,
that our coming seemed to be a matter of surprise; and a
considerable time elapsed before the director and other officials
came to us. Then I learned what the difficulty was. The two
American ladies, in perfectly good faith, had visited the library
a few hours before; and, on their saying that the American
minister had recommended them to come, it had been taken for
granted at once that THEY were the princess and the duchess, and
they had been shown everything with almost regal honors, the
officials never discovering the mistake until our arrival.

The American colony at St. Petersburg was very small. Interesting
compatriots came from time to time on various errands, and I was
glad to see them; but one whose visits were most heartily
welcomed was a former consul, Mr. Prince, an original, shrewd
"down-easter," and his reminiscences of some of my predecessors
were full of interest to me.

One especially dwells in my mind. It had reference to a former
senator of the United States who, about the year 1840, was sent
to Russia as minister. There were various evidences in the
archives of the legation that sobriety was not this gentleman's
especial virtue, and among them very many copies of notes in
which the minister, through the secretary of legation, excused
himself from keeping engagements at the Foreign Office on the
ground of "sudden indisposition."

Mr. Prince told me that one day this minister's valet, who was an
Irishman, came to the consulate and said: "Oi 'll not stay wid
his igsillincy anny longer; Oi 've done wid him."

"What's the trouble now?' said Mr. Prince.

"Well," said the man, "this morning Oi thought it was toime to
get his igsillincy out of bed, for he had been dhrunk about a
week and in bed most of the toime; and so Oi went to him, and
says Oi, gentle-loike, 'Would your igsillincy have a cup of
coffee?' whin he rose up and shtruck me in the face. On that Oi
took him by the collar, lifted him out of bed, took him acrass
the room, showed him his ugly face in the glass, and Oi said to
him, says Oi, 'Is thim the eyes of an invoy extraorr-rrdinarry
and ministher plinipotentiarry?'"

Among interesting reminders of my predecessors was a letter in
the archives, written about the year 1832 by Mr. Buchanan,
afterward senator, minister in London, Secretary of State, and
President of the United States. It was a friendly missive to an
official personage in our country, and went on somewhat as
follows: "I feel almost ashamed to tell you that your letters to
me, mine to you, and, indeed, everything that has come and gone
between us by mail, has been read by other eyes than ours. This
was true of your last letter to me, and, without doubt, it will
be true of this letter. Can you imagine it? Think of the moral
turpitude of a creature employed to break open private letters
and to read them! Can you imagine work more degrading? What a
dirty dog he must be! how despicable, indeed, he must seem to
himself!" And so Mr. Buchanan went on until he wound up as
follows: "Not only does this person read private letters, but he
is a forger: he forges seals, and I regret to say that his
imitation of the eagle on our legation seal is a VERY SORRY
BIRD." Whether this dose had any salutary effect on the official
concerned I never learned.

The troubles of an American representative at St. Petersburg are
many, and they generally begin with the search for an apartment.
It is very difficult indeed in that capital to find a properly
furnished suite of rooms for a minister, and since the American
representative has been made an ambassador this difficulty is
greater than ever. In my own case, by especial luck and large
outlay, I was able to surmount it; but many others had not been
so fortunate, and the result had generally been that, whereas
nearly every other power owned or held on long lease a house or
apartment for its representative,--simple, decent, dignified, and
known to the entire city,--the American representative had lived
wherever circumstances compelled him:--sometimes on the
ground-floor and sometimes in a sky-parlor, with the natural
result that Russians could hardly regard the American Legation as
on the same footing with that of other countries.

As I write, word comes that the present ambassador has been
unable to find suitable quarters save at a rent higher than his
entire salary; that the proprietors have combined, and agreed to
stand by each other in holding their apartments at an enormous
figure, their understanding being that Americans are rich and can
be made to pay any price demanded. Nothing can be more
short-sighted than the policy of our government in this respect,
and I shall touch upon it again.

The diplomatic questions between the United States and Russia
were many and troublesome; for, in addition to that regarding the
Behring Sea fisheries, there were required additional
interpretations of the Buchanan treaty as to the rights of
Americans to hold real estate and to do business in Russia;
arrangements for the participation of Russians in the Chicago
Exposition; the protection of various American citizens of
Russian birth, and especially of Israelites who had returned to
Russia; care for the great American life-insurance interests in
the empire; the adjustment of questions arising out of Russian
religious relations with Alaska and the islands of the Northern
Pacific; and last, but not least, the completion of the
extradition treaty between the two nations by the incorporation
of safeguards which would prevent its use against purely
political offenders.

Especial attention to Israelite cases was also required. Some of
these excited my deep sympathy; and, having made a very careful
study of the subject, I wrote to Secretary Gresham a despatch
upon it in obedience to his special request. It was the longest
despatch I have ever written; and, in my apology to the secretary
for its length I stated that it was prepared with no expectation
that he would find time to read it, but with the idea that it
might be of use at the State Department for reference. In due
time I received a very kind answer stating that he had read every
word of it, and thanked me most heartily for--it. The whole
subject is exceedingly difficult; but it is clear that Russia has
made, and is making, a fearful mistake in her way of dealing with
it. There are more Israelites in Russia than in all the remainder
of the world; and they are crowded together, under most
exasperating regulations, in a narrow district just inside her
western frontier, mainly extending through what was formerly
Poland, with the result that fanaticism--Christian on one side
and Jewish on the other--has developed enormously. The Talmudic
rabbis are there at their worst; and the consequences are evil,
not only for Russia, but for our own country. The immigration
which comes to us from these regions is among the very worst that
we receive from any part of the world. It is, in fact, an
immigration of the unfittest; and, although noble efforts have
been made by patriotic Israelites in the United States to meet
the difficulty, the results have been far from satisfactory.

There were, of course, the usual adventurous Americans in
political difficulties, enterprising Americans in business
difficulties, and pretended Americans attempting to secure
immunity under the Stars and Stripes. The same ingenious efforts
to prostitute American citizenship which I had seen during my
former stay in Germany were just as constant in Russia. It was
the same old story. Emigrants from the Russian Empire, most of
them extremely undesirable, had gone to the United States; stayed
just long enough to secure naturalization,--had, indeed, in some
cases secured it fraudulently before they had stayed the full
time; and then, having returned to Russia, were trying to
exercise the rights and evade the duties of both countries.

Many of these cases were exceedingly vexatious; and so, indeed,
were some which were better founded. The great difficulty of a
representative of the United States in Russia is, first, that the
law of the empire is so complicated that,--to use the words of
King James regarding Bacon's "Novum Organum,"--"Like the Peace of
God, it passeth all understanding." It is made up of codes in
part obsolete or obsolescent; ukases and counter-ukases; imperial
directions and counter-directions; ministerial orders and
counter-orders; police regulations and counter-regulations; with
no end of suspensions, modifications, and exceptions.

The second difficulty is the fact that the Buchanan treaty of
1832, which guaranteed, apparently, everything desirable to
American citizens sojourning in the empire, has been gradually
construed away until its tattered remnants are practically
worthless. As the world has discovered, Russia's strong point is
not adherence to her treaty promises.

In this respect there is a great difference between Russia and
Germany. With the latter we have made careful treaties, the laws
are well known, and the American representative feels solid
ground beneath his feet; but in Russia there is practically
nothing of the kind, and the representative must rely on the main
principles of international law, common sense, and his own powers
of persuasion.

A peculiar duty during my last stay in St. Petersburg was to
watch the approach of cholera, especially on the Persian
frontier. Admirable precautions had been taken for securing
telegraphic information; and every day I received notices from
the Foreign Office as a result, which I communicated to
Washington. For ages Russia had relied on fetishes of various
kinds to preserve her from great epidemics; but at last her
leading officials had come to realize the necessity of applying
modern science to the problem, and they did this well. In the
city "sanitary columns" were established, made up of small squads
of officials representing the medical and engineering professions
and the police; these visited every nook and corner of the town,
and, having extraordinary powers for the emergency, compelled
even the most dirty people to keep their premises clean.
Excellent hospitals and laboratories were established, and of
these I learned much from a former Cornell student who held an
important position in one of them. Coming to town three or four
times a week from my summer cottage in Finland, I was struck by
the precautions on the Finnish and other railways: notices of
what was to be done to prevent cholera and to meet it were
posted, in six different languages; disinfectants were made
easily accessible; the seats and hangings in the railway-cars
were covered with leather cloth frequently washed with
disinfectants; and to the main trains a hospital-car was
attached, while a temporary hospital, well equipped, was
established at each main station. In spite of this, the number of
cholera patients at St. Petersburg in the middle of July rose to
a very high figure, and the number of deaths each day from
cholera was about one hundred.

Of these victims the most eminent was Tschaikovsky, the composer,
a man of genius and a most charming character, to whom Mr. Andrew
Carnegie had introduced me at New York. One evening at a
dinner-party he poured out a goblet of water from a decanter on
the table, drank it down, and next day was dead from Asiatic
cholera. But, with this exception, the patients were, so far as I
learned, almost entirely from the peasant class. Although boiled
water was supplied for drinking purposes, and some
public-spirited individuals went so far as to set out samovars
and the means of supplying hot tea to peasant workmen, the answer
of one of the muzhiks, when told that he ought to drink boiled
water, indicated the peasant view: "If God had wished us to drink
hot water, he would have heated the Neva."



CHAPTER XXXVI

MY RECOLLECTIONS OF POBEDONOSTZEFF--1892-1894

On arriving at St. Petersburg in 1892 to take charge of the
American legation, there was one Russian whom I more desired to
meet than any other--Constantine Pobedonostzeff. For some years
various English and American reviews had been charging him with
bigotry, cruelty, hypocrisy, and, indeed, with nearly every
hateful form of political crime; but the fact remained that under
Alexander III he was the most influential personage in the
empire, and that, though bearing the title of "procurator-general
of the Most Holy Synod," he was evidently no less powerful in
civil than in ecclesiastical affairs.

As to his history, it was understood to be as follows: When the
Grand Duke Nicholas, the eldest son of Alexander II,--a young man
of gentle characteristics, greatly resembling his father,--died
upon the Riviera, the next heir to the throne was his brother
Alexander, a stalwart, taciturn guardsman, respected by all who
knew him for honesty and directness, but who, having never looked
forward to the throne, had been brought up simply as a soldier,
with few of the gifts and graces traditional among the heirs of
the Russian monarchy since the days of Catherine.

Therefore it was that it became necessary to extemporize for this
soldier a training which should fit him for the duties of the
position so unexpectedly opened to him; and the man chosen as his
tutor was a professor at Moscow, distinguished as a jurist and
theologian,--a man of remarkable force of character, and devoted
to Russian ideas as distinguished from those of Western Europe:
Constantine Pobedonostzeff.

During the dark and stormy days toward the end of his career,
Alexander II had called in as his main adviser General
Loris-Melikoff, a man of Armenian descent, in whom was mingled
with the shrewd characteristics of his race a sincere desire to
give to Russia a policy and development in accordance with modern
ideas.

The result the world knows well. The Emperor, having taken the
advice of this and other councilors,--deeply patriotic men like
Miloutine, Samarine, and Tcherkassky,--had freed the serfs within
his empire (twenty millions in all); had sanctioned a vast scheme
by which they were to arrive at the possession of landed
property; had established local self-government in the various
provinces of his empire; had improved the courts of law; had
introduced Western ideas into legal procedure; had greatly
mitigated the severities formerly exercised toward the Jews; and
had made all ready to promulgate a constitution on his
approaching birthday.

But this did not satisfy the nihilistic sect. What more they
wanted it is hard to say. It is more than doubtful whether Russia
even then had arrived at a stage of civilization when the
institutions which Alexander II had already conceded could be
adopted with profit; but the leaders of the anarchic movement,
with their vague longings for fruit on the day the tree was
planted, decreed the Emperor's death--the assassination of the
greatest benefactor that Russia has ever known, one of the
greatest that humanity has known. It was, perhaps, the most
fearful crime ever committed against liberty and freedom; for it
blasted the hopes and aspirations of over a hundred millions of
people, and doubtless for many generations.

On this the sturdy young guardsman became the Emperor Alexander
III. It is related by men conversant with Russian affairs that,
at the first meeting of the imperial councilors, Loris-Melikoff,
believing that the young sovereign would be led by filial
reverence to continue the liberal policy to which the father had
devoted his life, made a speech taking this for granted, and that
the majority of those present, including the Emperor, seemed in
accord with him; when suddenly there arose a tall, gaunt,
scholarly man, who at first very simply, but finally very
eloquently, presented a different view. According to the
chroniclers of the period, Pobedonostzeff told the Emperor that
all so-called liberal measures, including the constitution, were
a delusion; that, though such things might be suited to Western
Europe, they were not suited to Russia; that the constitution of
that empire had been, from time immemorial, the will of the
autocrat, directed by his own sense of responsibility to the
Almighty; that no other constitution was possible in Russia; that
this alone was fitted to the traditions, the laws, the ideas of
the hundred and twenty millions of various races under the
Russian scepter; that in other parts of the world constitutional
liberty, so called, had already shown itself an absurdity; that
socialism, anarchism, and nihilism, with their plots and bombs,
were appearing in all quarters; that murder was plotted against
rulers of nations everywhere, the best of presidents having been
assassinated in the very country where free institutions were
supposed to have taken the most complete hold; that the principle
of authority in human government was to be saved; and that this
principle existed as an effective force only in Russia.

This speech is said to have carried all before it. As its
immediate result came the retirement of Loris-Melikoff, followed
by his death not long afterward; the entrance of Pobedonostzeff
among the most cherished councilors of the Emperor; the
suppression of the constitution; the discouragement of every
liberal tendency; and that fanatical reaction which has been in
full force ever since.

This was the man whom I especially desired to see and to
understand; and therefore it was that I was very glad to receive
from the State Department instructions to consult with him
regarding some rather delicate matters needing adjustment between
the Greek Church and our authorities in Alaska, and also in
relation to the representation of Russia at the Chicago
Exposition.

I found him, as one of the great ministers of the crown, residing
in a ministerial palace, but still retaining, in large measure,
his old quality of professor. About him was a beautiful library,
with every evidence of a love for art and literature. I had gone
into his presence with many feelings of doubt. Against no one in
Russia had charges so bitter been made in my hearing: it was
universally insisted that he was responsible for the persecution
of the Roman Catholics in Poland, of the Lutherans in the Baltic
provinces and in Finland, of the Stundists in Central Russia, and
of the dissenting sects everywhere. He had been spoken of in the
English reviews as the "Torquemada of the nineteenth century,"
and this epithet seemed to be generally accepted as fitting.

I found him a scholarly, kindly man, ready to discuss the
business which I brought before him, and showing a wide interest
in public affairs. There were few, if any, doctrines, either
political or theological, which we held in common, but he seemed
inclined to meet the wishes of our government as fully and fairly
as he could; and thus was begun one of the most interesting
acquaintances I have ever made.

His usual time of receiving his friends was on Sunday evening
between nine and twelve; and very many such evenings I passed in
his study, discussing with him, over glasses of fragrant Russian
tea, every sort of question with the utmost freedom.

I soon found that his reasons for that course of action to which
the world so generally objects are not so superficial as they are
usually thought. The repressive policy which he has so earnestly
adopted is based not merely upon his views as a theologian, but
upon his convictions as a statesman. While, as a Russo-Greek
churchman, he regards the established church of the empire as the
form of Christianity most primitive and pure; and while he sees
in its ritual, in its art, and in all the characteristics of its
worship the nearest approach to his ideals, he looks at it also
from the point of view of a statesman--as the greatest cementing
power of the vast empire through which it is spread.

This being the case, he naturally opposes all other religious
bodies in Russia as not merely inflicting injury upon
Christianity, but as tending to the political disintegration of
the empire. Never, in any of our conversations, did I hear him
speak a harsh word of any other church or of any religious ideas
opposed to his own; but it was clear that he regarded Protestants
and dissident sects generally as but agents in the progress of
disintegration which, in Western Europe, seemed approaching a
crisis, and that he considered the Roman Catholic Church in
Poland as practically a political machine managed by a hierarchy
in deadly hostility to the Russian Empire and to Russian
influence everywhere.

In discussing his own church, he never hesitated to speak plainly
of its evident shortcomings. Unquestionably, one of the wishes
nearest his heart is to reform the abuses which have grown up
among its clergy, especially in their personal habits. Here, too,
is a reason for any repressive policy which he may have exercised
against other religious bodies. Everything that detracts from the
established Russo-Greek Church detracts from the revenues of its
clergy, and, as these are pitifully small, aids to keep the
priests and their families in the low condition from which he is
so earnestly endeavoring to raise them. As regards the severe
policy inaugurated by Alexander III against the Jews of the
empire, which Pobedonostzeff, more than any other man, is
supposed to have inspired, he seemed to have no harsh feelings
against Israelites as such; but his conduct seemed based upon a
theory which, in various conversations, he presented with much
force: namely, that Russia, having within its borders more Jews
than exist in all the world besides, and having suffered greatly
from these as from an organization really incapable of
assimilation with the body politic, must pursue a repressive
policy toward them and isolate them in order to protect its rural
population.

While he was very civil in his expressions regarding the United
States, he clearly considered all Western civilization a failure.
He seemed to anticipate, before long, a collapse in the systems
and institutions of Western Europe. To him socialism and
anarchism, with all they imply, were but symptoms of a
wide-spread political and social disease--indications of an
approaching catastrophe destined to end a civilization which,
having rejected orthodoxy, had cast aside authority, given the
force of law to the whimsies of illiterate majorities, and
accepted, as the voice of God, the voice of unthinking mobs,
blind to their own interests and utterly incapable of working out
their own good. It was evident that he regarded Russia as
representing among the nations the idea of Heaven-given and
church-anointed authority, as the empire destined to save the
principle of divine right and the rule of the fittest.

Revolutionary efforts in Russia he discussed calmly. Referring to
Loris-Melikoff, the representative of the principles most
strongly opposed to his own, no word of censure escaped him. The
only evidence of deep feeling on this subject he ever showed in
my presence was when he referred to the writings of a well-known
Russian refugee in London, and said, "He is a murderer."

As to public instruction, he evidently held to the idea so
thoroughly carried out in Russia: namely, that the upper class,
which is to conduct the business of the state, should be highly
educated, but that the mass of the people need no education
beyond what will keep them contented in the humble station to
which it has pleased God to call them. A very curious example of
his conservatism I noted in his remarks regarding the droshkies
of St. Petersburg. The droshky-drivers are Russian peasants,
simple and, as a rule, pious; rarely failing to make the sign of
the cross on passing a church or shrine, or at any other moment
which seems to them solemn. They are possibly picturesque, but
certainly dirty, in their clothing and in all their surroundings.
A conveyance more wretched than the ordinary street-droshky of a
Russian city could hardly be conceived, and measures had been
proposed for improving this system; but he could see no use in
them. The existing system was thoroughly Russian, and that was
enough. It appealed to his conservatism. The droshky-drivers,
with their Russian caps, their long hair and beards, their
picturesque caftans, and their deferential demeanor, satisfied
his esthetic sense.

What seemed to me a clash between his orthodox conservatism on
one side, and his Russian pride on the other, I discovered on my
return from a visit to Moscow, in which I had sundry walks and
talks with Tolstoi. On my alluding to this, he showed some
interest. It was clear that he was separated by a whole orb of
thought from the great novelist, yet it was none the less evident
that he took pride in him. He naturally considered Tolstoi as
hopelessly wrong in all his fundamental ideas, and yet was
himself too much of a man of letters not to recognize in his
brilliant countryman one of the glories of Russia.

But the most curious--indeed, the most amazing--revelation of the
man I found in his love for American literature. He is a wide
reader; and, in the whole breadth of his reading, American
authors were evidently among those he preferred. Of these his
favorites were Hawthorne, Lowell, and, above all, Emerson.
Curious, indeed, was it to learn that this "arch-persecutor,"
this "Torquemada of the nineteenth century," this man whose hand
is especially heavy upon Catholics and Protestants and dissenters
throughout the empire, whose name is spoken with abhorrence by
millions within the empire and without it, still reads, as his
favorite author, the philosopher of Concord. He told me that the
first book which he ever translated into Russian was Thomas a
Kempis's "Imitation of Christ"; and of that he gave me the Latin
original from which he made his translation, with a copy of the
translation itself. But he also told me that the next book he
translated was a volume of Emerson's "Essays," and he added that
for years there had always lain open upon his study table a
volume of Emerson's writings.

There is, thus clearly, a relation of his mind to the literature
of the Western world very foreign to his feelings regarding
Western religious ideas. This can be accounted for perhaps by his
own character as a man of letters. That he has a distinct
literary gift is certain. I have in my possession sundry articles
of his, and especially a poem in manuscript, which show real
poetic feeling and a marked power of expression. It is a curious
fact that, though so addicted to English and American literature,
he utterly refuses to converse in our language. His medium of
communication with foreigners is always French. On my asking him
why he would not use our language in conversation, he answered
that he had learned it from books, and that his pronunciation of
it would expose him to ridicule.

In various circles in St. Petersburg I heard him spoken of as a
hypocrite, but a simple sense of justice compels me to declare
this accusation unjust. He indeed retires into a convent for a
portion of every year to join the monks in their austerities; but
this practice is, I believe, the outgrowth of a deep religious
feeling. On returning from one of these visits, he brought to my
wife a large Easter egg of lacquered work, exquisitely
illuminated. I have examined, in various parts of Europe,
beautiful specimens of the best periods of mediaeval art; but in
no one of them have I found anything in the way of illumination
more perfect than this which he brought from his monkish
brethren. In nothing did he seem to unbend more than in his
unfeigned love for religious art as it exists in Russia. He
discussed with me one evening sundry photographs of the new
religious paintings in the cathedral of Kieff in a spirit which
revealed this feeling for religious art as one of the deepest
characteristics of his nature.

He was evidently equally sensitive to the beauties of religious
literature. Giving me various books containing the services of
the Orthodox Church, he dwelt upon the beauty of the Slavonic
version of the Psalms and upon the church hymnology.

The same esthetic side of his nature was evident at various great
church ceremonies. It has happened to me to see Pius IX celebrate
mass, both at the high altar of St. Peter's and in the Sistine
Chapel, and to witness the ceremonies of Holy Week and of Easter
at the Roman basilicas, and at the time it was hard to conceive
anything of the kind more impressive; but I have never seen any
church functions, on the whole, more imposing than the funeral
service of the Emperor Nicholas during my first visit to Russia,
and various imperial weddings, funerals, name-days, and the like,
during my second visit. On such occasions Pobedonostzeff
frequently came over from his position among the ministers of the
crown to explain to us the significance of this or that feature
in the ritual of music. It was plain that these things touched
what was deepest in him; it must be confessed that his attachment
to the church is sincere.

Nor were these impressions made upon me alone. It fell to my lot
to present to him one of the most eminent journalists our country
has produced--Charles A. Dana, a man who could discuss on even
terms with any European statesman all the leading modern
questions. Dana had been brought into close contact with many
great men; but it was plain to see--what he afterward
acknowledged to me--that he was very deeply impressed by this
eminent Russian. The talk of two such men threw new light upon
the characteristics of Pobedonostzeff, and strengthened my
impression of his intellectual sincerity.

In regard to the relation of the Russo-Greek Church to other
churches I spoke to him at various times, and found in him no
personal feeling of dislike to them. The nearest approach to such
a feeling appeared, greatly to my surprise, in sundry references
to the Greek Church as it exists in Greece. In these he showed a
spirit much like that which used to be common among High-church
Episcopalians in speaking of Low-church "Evangelicals." Mindful
of the earnest efforts made by the Anglican communion to come
into closer relations with the Russian branch of the Eastern
Church, I at various times broached that subject, and the
glimpses I obtained of his feeling regarding it surprised me.
Previously to these interviews I had supposed that the main
difficulty in the way to friendly relations between these two
branches of the church universal had its origin in the "filioque"
clause of the Nicene Creed. As is well known, the Eastern Church
adheres to that creed in its original form,--the form in which
the Holy Ghost is represented as "proceeding from the
Father,"--whereas the Western Church adopts the additional words,
"and from the Son." That the Russo-Greek Church is very tenacious
of its position in this respect, and considers the position of
the Western Church--Catholic and Protestant--as savoring of
blasphemy, is well known; and there was a curious evidence of
this during my second stay in Russia. Twice during that time I
heard the "Missa Solennis" of Beethoven. It was first given by a
splendid choir in the great hall of the University of
Helsingfors. That being in Finland, which is mainly Lutheran, the
Creed was sung in its Western form. Naturally, on going to hear
it given by a great choir at St. Petersburg, I was curious to
know how this famous clause would be dealt with. In various parts
of the audience were priests of the Russo-Greek faith, yet there
were very many Lutherans and Calvinists, and I watched with some
interest the approach of the passage containing the disputed
words; but when we reached this it was wholly omitted. Any
allusion to the "procession" was evidently forbidden. Great,
therefore, was my surprise when, on my asking Pobedonostzeff,[5]
as the representative of the Emperor in the Synod of the
empire,--the highest assemblage in the church, and he the most
influential man in it, really controlling archbishops and bishops
throughout the empire,--whether the "filioque" clause is an
insurmountable obstacle to union, he replied, "Not at all; that
is simply a question of dialectics. But with whom are we to
unite? Shall it be with the High-churchmen, the Broad-churchmen,
or the Low-churchmen? These are three different bodies of men
with distinctly different ideas of church order; indeed, with
distinctly different creeds. Which of these is the Orthodox
Church to regard as the representative of the Anglican
communion?" I endeavored to show him that the union, if it took
place at all, must be based on ideas and beliefs that underlie
all these distinctions; but he still returned to his original
proposition, which was that union is impossible until a more
distinct basis than any now attainable can be arrived at.


[5] I find, in a letter from Pobedonostzeff, that he spells his
name as here printed.


I suggested to him a visit to Great Britain and his making the
acquaintance of leading Englishmen; but to this he answered that
at his time of life he had no leisure for such a recreation; that
his duties absolutely forbade it.

In regard to relations with the Russo-Greek Church on our own
continent, he seemed to speak with great pleasure of the
treatment that sundry Russian bishops had received among us. He
read me letters from a member of the Russo-Greek hierarchy, full
of the kindliest expressions toward Americans, and especially
acknowledging their friendly reception of him and of his
ministrations. Both the archbishop in his letter, and
Pobedonostzeff in his talk, were very much amused over the fact
that the Americans, after extending various other courtesies to
the archbishop, offered him cigars.

He discussed the possibility of introducing the "Holy Orthodox
Church" into the United States, but always disclaimed all zeal in
religious propagandism, saying that the church authorities had
quite enough work to do in extending and fortifying the church
throughout the Russian Empire. He said that the pagan tribes of
the imperial dominions in Asia seemed more inclined to
Mohammedanism than to Christianity, and gave as the probable
reason the fact that the former faith is much the simpler of the
two. He was evidently unable to grasp the idea of the Congress of
Religions at the Chicago Exposition, and seemed inclined to take
a mildly humorous view of it as one of the droll inventions of
the time.

He appeared to hold our nation as a problem apart, and was,
perhaps, too civil in his conversations with me to include it in
the same condemnation with the nations of Western Europe which
had, in his opinion, gone hopelessly wrong. He also seemed drawn
to us by his admiration for Emerson, Hawthorne, and Lowell. When
Professor Norton's edition of Lowell's "Letters" came out, I at
once took it to him. It evidently gave him great
pleasure--perhaps because it revealed to him a very different
civilization, life, and personality from anything to which he had
been accustomed. Still, America seemed to be to him a sort of
dreamland. He constantly returned to Russian affairs as to the
great realities of the world. Discussing, as we often did, the
condition and future of the wild tribes and nations within the
Asiatic limits of the empire, he betrayed no desire either for
crusades or for intrigues to convert them; he simply spoke of the
legitimate influence of the church in civilizing them.

I recall a brilliant but denunciatory article, published in one
of the English reviews some time since by a well-known nihilist,
which contained, in the midst of various charges against the
Russian statesman, a description of his smile, which was
characterized as forbidding, and even ghastly. I watched for this
smile with much interest, but it never came. A smile upon his
face I have often seen; but it was a kindly smile, with no trace
of anything ghastly or cruel in it.

He seemed to take pleasure in the society of his old professorial
friends, and one of them he once brought to my table. This was a
professor of history, deeply conversant with the affairs of the
empire; and we discussed the character and career of Catherine
II. The two men together brought out a mass of curious
information, throwing a strange light into transactions which
only the most recent historians are beginning to understand,
among these the assassination of Czar Peter III, Catherine's
husband. On one occasion when Pobedonostzeff was visiting me I
tested his knowledge in regard to a matter of special interest,
and obtained a new side-light upon his theory of the universe.
There is at present on the island of Cronstadt, at the mouth of
the Neva, a Russo-Greek priest, Father Ivan, who enjoys
throughout the empire a vast reputation as a saintly worker of
miracles. This priest has a very spiritual and kindly face; is
known to receive vast sums for the poor, which he distributes
among them while he himself remains in poverty; and is supposed
not merely by members of the Russo-Greek Church, but by those of
other religious bodies, to work frequent miracles of healing. I
was assured by persons of the highest character--and those not
only Russo-Greek churchmen, but Roman Catholics and
Anglicans--that there could be no doubt as to the reality of
these miracles, and various examples were given me. So great is
Father Ivan's reputation in this respect that he is in constant
demand in all parts of the empire, and was even summoned to
Livadia during the last illness of the late Emperor. Whenever he
appears in public great crowds surround him, seeking to touch the
hem of his garment. His picture is to be seen with the portraits
of the saints in vast numbers of Russian homes, from the palaces
of the highest nobles to the cottages of the humblest peasants.

It happened to me on one occasion to have an experience which I
have related elsewhere, but which is repeated here as throwing
light on the ideas of the Russian statesman.

On my arrival in St. Petersburg my attention was at once aroused
by the portraits of Father Ivan. They ranged from photographs
absolutely true to life, which revealed a plain, shrewd, kindly
face, to those which were idealized until they bore a near
resemblance to the conventional representations of Jesus of
Nazareth.

One day, in one of the most brilliant reception-rooms of the
Northern capital, the subject of Father Ivan's miracles having
been introduced, a gentleman in very high social position, and
entirely trustworthy, spoke as follows: "There is something very
surprising about these miracles. I am slow to believe in them;
but there is one of them which is overwhelming and absolutely
true. The late Metropolitan of St. Petersburg, Archbishop
Isidore, loved quiet, and was very averse to anything which could
possibly cause scandal. Hearing of the wonders wrought by Father
Ivan, he summoned him to his presence and sternly commanded him
to abstain from all the things which had given rise to these
reported miracles, as sure to create scandal, and with this
injunction dismissed him. Hardly had the priest left the room
when the archbishop was struck with blindness, and he remained in
this condition until the priest returned and restored his sight
by intercessory prayer." When I asked the gentleman giving this
account if he directly knew these facts, he replied that he was,
of course, not present when the miracle was wrought; but that he
had the facts immediately from persons who knew all the parties
concerned, as well as all the circumstances of the case; and,
indeed, that these circumstances were matter of general
knowledge.

Sometime afterward, being at an afternoon reception in one of the
greater embassies, I brought up the same subject, when an eminent
general spoke as follows: "I am not inclined to believe in
miracles,--in fact, am rather skeptical; but the proofs of those
wrought by Father Ivan are overwhelming." He then went on to say
that the late metropolitan archbishop was a man who loved quiet
and disliked scandal; that on this account he had summoned Father
Ivan to his palace, and ordered him to put an end to the conduct
which had caused the reports concerning his miraculous powers;
and then, with a wave of his arm, had dismissed him. The priest
left the room, and from that moment the archbishop's arm was
paralyzed; and it remained so until the penitent prelate summoned
the priest again, by whose prayers the arm was restored to its
former usefulness. There was present at the time another person
besides myself who had heard the previous statement as to the
blindness of the archbishop; and, on our both asking the general
if he was sure that the archbishop's arm was paralyzed as stated,
he declared that he could not doubt it, as he had the account
directly from persons entirely trustworthy who were cognizant of
all the facts.

Sometime later, meeting Pobedonostzeff, I asked him which of
these stories was correct. He answered immediately, "Neither: in
the discharge of my duties I saw the Archbishop Isidore
constantly down to the last hours of his life, and no such event
ever occurred. He was never paralyzed and never blind." But the
great statesman and churchman then went on to say that, although
this story was untrue, there were a multitude of others quite as
remarkable in which he believed; and he gave me a number of
legends showing that Father Ivan possessed supernatural knowledge
and miraculous powers. These he unfolded to me with much detail,
and with such an accent of conviction that we seemed surrounded
by a mediaeval atmosphere in which signs and wonders were the
most natural things in the world.

As to his action on politics since my leaving Russia, the power
which he exercised over Alexander III has evidently been
continued during the reign of the young Nicholas II. In spite of
his eighty years, he seems to be, to-day, the leader of the
reactionary party.

During the early weeks of The Hague Conference, Count Munster, in
his frequent diatribes against its whole purpose, and especially
against arbitration, was wont to insist that the whole thing was
a scheme prepared by Pobedonostzeff to embarrass Germany; that,
as Russia was always wretchedly unready with her army, The Hague
Conference was simply a trick for gaining time against her rivals
who kept up better military preparations. There may have been
truth in part of this assertion; but the motive of the great
Russian statesman in favoring the conference was probably not so
much to gain time for the army as to gain money for the church.
With his intense desire to increase the stipends of the Russian
orthodox clergy, and thus to raise them somewhat above their
present low condition, he must have groaned over the enormous
sums spent by his government in the frequent changes in almost
every item of expenditure for its vast army--changes made in
times of profound peace, simply to show that Russia was keeping
her army abreast of those of her sister nations. Hence came the
expressed Russian desire to "keep people from inventing things."
It has always seemed to me that, while the idea underlying the
Peace Conference came originally from Jean de Bloch, there must
have been powerful aid from Pobedonostzeff. So much of good--and,
indeed, of great good--we may attribute to him as highly
probable, if not certain.

But, on the other hand, there would seem to be equal reason for
attributing to him, in these latter days, a fearful mass of evil.
To say nothing of the policy of Russia in Poland and elsewhere,
her dealings with Finland thus far form one of the blackest spots
on the history of the empire. Whether he originated this iniquity
or not is uncertain; but when, in 1892, I first saw the new
Russian cathedral rising on the heights above Helsingfors,--a
structure vastly more imposing than any warranted by the small
number of the "orthodox" in Finland,--with its architecture of
the old Muscovite type, symbolical of fetishism, I could not but
recognize his hand in it. It seemed clear to me that here was the
beginning of religious aggression on the Lutheran Finlanders,
which must logically be followed by political and military
aggression; and, in view of his agency in this as in everything
reactionary, I did not wonder at the attempt to assassinate him
not long afterward.

During my recent stay in Germany he visited me at the Berlin
Embassy. He was, as of old, apparently gentle, kindly, interested
in literature, not interested to any great extent in current
Western politics. This gentle, kindly manner of his brought back
forcibly to my mind a remark of one of the most cultivated women
I met in Russia, a princess of ancient lineage, who ardently
desired reasonable reforms, and who, when I mentioned to her a
report that Pobedonostzeff was weary of political life, and was
about to retire from office in order to devote himself to
literary pursuits, said: "Don't, I beg of you, tell me that; for
I have always noticed that whenever such a report is circulated,
it is followed by some new scheme of his, even more infernal than
those preceding it."

So much for the man who, during the present reign, seems one of
the main agents in holding Russian policy on the road to ruin. He
is indeed a study. The descriptive epithet which clings to
him--"the Torquemada of the nineteenth century"--he once
discussed with me in no unkindly spirit; indeed, in as gentle a
spirit as can well be conceived. His life furnishes a most
interesting study in churchmanship, in statesmanship, and in
human nature, and shows how some of the men most severely
condemned by modern historians--great persecutors, inquisitors,
and the like--may have based their actions on theories the world
has little understood, and may have had as little conscious
ferocity as their more tolerant neighbors.



CHAPTER XXXVII

WALKS AND TALES WITH TOLSTOI--MARCH, 1894

Revisiting Moscow after an absence of thirty-five years, the most
surprising thing to me was that there had been so little change.
With the exception of the new gallery of Russian art, and the
bazaar opposite the sacred gate of the Kremlin, things seemed as
I had left them just after the accession of Alexander II. There
were the same unkempt streets; the same peasantry clad in
sheepskins; the same troops of beggars, sturdy and dirty; the
same squalid crowds crossing themselves before the images at the
street corners; the same throngs of worshipers knocking their
heads against the pavements of churches; and above all loomed,
now as then, the tower of Ivan and the domes of St. Basil,
gloomy, gaudy, and barbaric. Only one change had taken place
which interested me: for the first time in the history of Russia,
a man of world-wide fame in literature and thought was abiding
there--Count Leo Tolstoi.

On the evening of my arrival I went with my secretary to his
weekly reception. As we entered his house on the outskirts of the
city, two servants in evening dress came forward, removed our fur
coats, and opened the doors into the reception-room of the
master. Then came a surprise. His living-room seemed the cabin of
a Russian peasant. It was wainscoted almost rudely and furnished
very simply; and there approached us a tall, gaunt Russian,
unmistakably born to command, yet clad as a peasant, his hair
thrown back over his ears on either side, his flowing blouse kept
together by a leathern girdle, his high jack-boots completing the
costume. This was Tolstoi.

Nothing could be more kindly than his greeting. While his dress
was that of a peasant, his bearing was the very opposite; for,
instead of the depressed, demure, hangdog expression of the
average muzhik, his manner, though cordial, was dignified and
impressive. Having given us a hearty welcome, he made us
acquainted with various other guests. It was a singular
assemblage. There were foreigners in evening dress, Moscow
professors in any dress they liked, and a certain number of
youth, evidently disciples, who, though clearly not of the
peasant class, wore the peasant costume. I observed these with
interest but certainly as long as they were under the spell of
the master they communicated nothing worth preserving; they
seemed to show "the contortions of the sibyl without the
inspiration."

The professors were much more engaging. The University of Moscow
has in its teaching body several strong men, and some of these
were present. One of them, whose department was philosophy,
especially interested and encouraged me by assurances that the
movement of Russian philosophy is "back to Kant." In the strange
welter of whims and dreams which one finds in Russia, this was to
me an unexpected evidence of healthful thought.

Naturally, I soon asked to be presented to the lady of the house,
and the count escorted us through a series of rooms to a salon
furnished much like any handsome apartment in Paris or St.
Petersburg, where the countess, with other ladies, all in full
evening dress, received us cordially. This sudden transition from
the peasant cabin of the master to these sumptuous rooms of the
mistress was startling; it seemed like scene-shifting at a
theater.

After some friendly talk, all returned to the rooms of the master
of the house, where tea was served at a long table from the
bubbling brazen urn--the samovar; and though there were some
twenty or thirty guests, nothing could be more informal. All was
simple, kindly, and unrestrained.

My first question was upon the condition of the people. Our
American legation had corresponded with Count Tolstoi and his
family as to distributing a portion of the famine fund sent from
the United States, hence this subject naturally arose at the
outset. He said that the condition of the peasants was still very
bad; that they had very generally eaten their draught-animals,
burned portions of their buildings to keep life in their bodies,
and reduced themselves to hopeless want. On my suggesting that
the new commercial treaty with Germany might help matters, he
thought that it would have but little effect, since only a small
portion of the total product of Russian agriculture is consumed
abroad. This led him to speak of some Americans and Englishmen
who had visited the famine-stricken districts, and, while he
referred kindly to them all, he seemed especially attracted by
the Quaker John Bellows of Gloucester, England, the author of the
wonderful little French dictionary. This led him to say that he
sympathized with the Quakers in everything save their belief in
property; that in this they were utterly illogical; that property
presupposes force to protect it. I remarked that most American
Quakers knew nothing of such force; that none of them had ever
seen an American soldier, save during our Civil War, and that
probably not one in hundreds of them had ever seen a soldier at
all. He answered, "But you forget the policeman." He evidently
put policemen and soldiers in the same category--as using force
to protect property, and therefore to be alike abhorred.

I found that to his disbelief in any right of ownership literary
property formed no exception. He told me that, in his view, he
had no right to receive money for the permission to print a book.
To this I naturally answered that by carrying out this doctrine
he would simply lavish large sums upon publishers in every
country of Europe and America, many of them rich and some of them
piratical; and that in my opinion he would do a much better thing
by taking the full value of his copyrights and bestowing the
proceeds upon the peasantry starving about him. To which he
answered that it was a question of duty. To this I agreed, but
remarked that beneath this lay the question what this duty really
was. It was a pleasure to learn from another source that the
countess took a different view of it, and that she had in some
way secured the proceeds of his copyrights for their very large
and interesting family. Light was thus thrown on Tolstoi's
remark, made afterward, that women are not so self-sacrificing as
men; that a man would sometimes sacrifice his family for an idea,
but that a woman would not.

He then went on to express an interest in the Shakers, and
especially in Frederick Evans. He had evidently formed an idea of
them very unlike the reality; in fact, the Shaker his imagination
had developed was as different from a Lebanon Shaker as an eagle
from a duck, and his notion of their influence on American
society was comical.

He spoke at some length regarding religion in Russia, evidently
believing that its present dominant form is soon to pass away. I
asked him how then he could account for the fact that while in
other countries women are greatly in the majority at church
services, in every Russian church the majority are men; and that
during the thirty-five years since my last visit to Moscow this
tendency had apparently increased. He answered, "All this is on
the surface; there is much deeper thought below, and the great
want of Russia is liberty to utter it." He then gave some
examples to show this, among them the case of a gentleman and
lady in St. Petersburg, whose children had been taken from them
and given to Princess ----, their grandmother, because the latter
is of the Orthodox Church and the former are not. I answered that
I had seen the children; that their grandmother had told me that
their mother was a screaming atheist with nihilistic tendencies,
who had left her husband and was bringing up the children in a
scandalous way,--teaching them to abjure God and curse the Czar;
that their father had thought it his duty to give all his
property away and work as a laborer; that therefore she--the
grandmother--had secured an order from the Emperor empowering her
to take charge of the children; that I had seen the children at
their grandmother's house, and that they had seemed very happy.
Tolstoi insisted that this statement by the grandmother was
simply made to cover the fact that the children were taken from
the mother because her belief was not of the orthodox pattern. My
opinion is that Tolstoi was mistaken, at least as to the father;
and that the father had been led to give away his property and
work with his hands in obedience to the ideas so eloquently
advocated by Tolstoi himself. Unlike his master, this gentleman
appears not to have had the advantage of a wife who mitigated his
ideas.

Tolstoi also referred to the difficulties which translators had
found in securing publishers for his most recent book--"The
Kingdom of God." On my assuring him that American publishers of
high standing would certainly be glad to take it, he said that he
had supposed the ideas in it so contrary to opinions dominant in
America as to prevent its publication there.

Returning to the subject of religion in Russia, he referred to
some curious incongruities; as, for example, the portrait of
Socrates forming part of a religious picture in the Annunciation
Church at the Kremlin. He said that evidently some monk, who had
dipped into Plato, had thus placed Socrates among the precursors
of Christ. I cited the reason assigned by Melanchthon for
Christ's descent into hell--namely, the desire of the Redeemer to
make himself known to Socrates, Plato, and the best of the
ancient philosophers; and I compared this with Luther's idea, so
characteristic of him, that Christ descended into hell in order
to have a hand-to-hand grapple and wrestle with Satan. This led
Tolstoi to give me a Russian legend of the descent into hell,
which was that, when Christ arrived there, he found Satan forging
chains, but that, at the approach of the Saviour, the walls of
hell collapsed, and Satan found himself entangled in his own
chains, and remained so for a thousand years.

In regard to the Jews, he said that he sympathized with them, but
that the statements regarding the persecution of them were
somewhat exaggerated. Kennan's statements regarding the treatment
of prisoners in Siberia he thought overdrawn at times, but
substantially true. He expressed his surprise that certain
leading men in the empire, whom he named, could believe that
persecution and the forcible repression of thought would have any
permanent effect at the end of the nineteenth century.

He then dwelt upon sundry evil conditions in Russia, on which my
comment was that every country, of course, had its own grievous
shortcomings; and I cited, as to America, the proverb: "No one
knows so well where the shoe pinches as he who wears it." At this
he asked me about lynch law in the United States, and expressed
his horror of it. I showed him that it was the inevitable result
of a wretched laxity and sham humanity in the administration of
our criminal law, which had led great bodies of people, more
especially in the Southern and extreme Western parts of the
country, to revert to natural justice and take the law into their
own hands; and I cited Goldwin Smith's profound remark that "some
American lynchings are proofs not so much of lawlessness as of a
respect for law."

He asked me where, besides this, the shoe pinched in the United
States. I told him that it pinched in various places, but that
perhaps the worst pinch arises from the premature admission to
full political rights of men who have been so benumbed and
stunted intellectually and morally in other countries that their
exercise of political rights in America is frequently an injury,
not only to others, but to themselves. In proof of this I cited
the case of the crowds whom I had seen some years before huddled
together in New York tenement-houses, preyed upon by their
liquor-selling landlords, their families perishing of typhoid and
smallpox on account of the negligence and maladministration of
the local politicians, but who, as a rule, were almost if not
quite ready to mob and murder those of us who brought in a new
health board and a better order of things; showing him that for
years the very class of people who suffered most from the old,
vile state of things did their best by their votes to keep in
power the men who maintained it.

We then passed to the subject of the trans-Siberian Railway. In
this he seemed interested, but in a vague way which added nothing
to my knowledge.

Asking me regarding my former visit to Moscow, and learning that
it was during the Crimean War, he said, "At that time I was in
Sebastopol, and continued there as a soldier during the siege."

As to his relations with the imperial government at present, he
said that he had been recently elected to a learned society in
Moscow, but that the St. Petersburg government had interfered to
stop the election; and he added that every morning, when he
awoke, he wondered that he was not on his way to Siberia.

On my leaving him, both he and the countess invited me to meet
them next day at the Tretiakof Museum of Russian Pictures; and
accordingly, on the following afternoon, I met them at that
greatest of all galleries devoted purely to Russian art. They
were accompanied by several friends, among them a little knot of
disciples--young men clad in simple peasant costume like that
worn by the master. It was evident that he was an acknowledged
lion at the old Russian capital, for as he led me about to see
the pictures which he liked best, he was followed and stared at
by many.

Pointing out to me some modern religious pictures in Byzantine
style painted for the Cathedral of Kieff, he said, "They
represent an effort as futile as trying to persuade chickens to
reenter the egg-shells from which they have escaped." He next
showed me two religious pictures; the first representing the
meeting of Jesus and Pilate, when the latter asked, "What is
truth?" Pilate was depicted as a rotund, jocose, cynical man of
the world; Jesus, as a street preacher in sordid garments, with
unkempt hair flowing over his haggard face,--a peasant fanatic
brought in by the police. Tolstoi showed an especial interest in
this picture; it seemed to reveal to him the real secret of that
famous question and its answer; the question coming from the
mighty of the earth, and the answer from the poor and oppressed.

The other picture represented the Crucifixion. It was painted in
the most realistic manner possible; nothing was idealized; it was
even more vividly realistic than Gebhardt's picture of the Lord's
Supper, at Berlin; so that it at first repelled me, though it
afterward exercised a certain fascination. That Tolstoi was
deeply interested was clear. He stood for a time in silence, as
if musing upon all that the sacrifice on Calvary had brought to
the world. Other representations of similar scenes, in the
conventional style of the older masters, he had passed without a
glance; but this spectacle of the young Galilean peasant, with
unattractive features, sordid garb, poverty-stricken companions,
and repulsive surroundings, tortured to death for preaching the
"kingdom of God" to the poor and down-trodden, seemed to hold him
fast, and as he pointed out various features in the picture it
became even more clear to me that sympathy with the peasant
class, and a yearning to enter into their cares and sorrows, form
the real groundwork of his life.

He then took me to a small picture of Jesus and his disciples
leaving the upper room at Jerusalem after the Last Supper. This,
too, was painted in the most realistic manner. The disciples,
simple-minded fishermen, rude in features and dress, were
plodding homeward, while Christ himself gazed at the stars and
drew the attention of his nearest companions to some of the
brightest. Tolstoi expressed especial admiration for this
picture, saying that at times it affected him like beautiful
music,--like music which draws tears, one can hardly tell why. It
was more and more evident, as he lingered before this and other
pictures embodying similar ideas, that sympathy for those
struggling through poverty and want toward a better life is his
master passion.

Among the pictures, not to be classed as religious, before which
he thus lingered were those representing the arrest of a nihilist
and the return of an exile from Siberia. Both were well painted,
and both revealed the same characteristic--sympathy with the
poor, even with criminals.

Some of the more famous historical pictures in the collection he
thought exaggerated; especially those representing the fury of
the Grand Duchess Sophia in her monastery prison, and the remorse
of Ivan the Terrible after murdering his son.

To my surprise, he agreed with me, and even went beyond me, in
rating landscape infinitely below religious and historical
painting, saying that he cared for landscape-painting only as
accessory to pictures revealing human life.

Among genre pictures, we halted before one representing a peasant
family grouped about the mother, who, with a sacred picture laid
upon her breast, after the Russian manner, was dying of famine.
This also seemed deeply to impress him.

We stopped next before a picture of a lady of high birth brought
before the authorities in order to be sent, evidently against her
will, to a convent. I cited the similar story from Manzoni's
"Promessi Sposi"; but, to my surprise, he seemed to know little
of that most fascinating of historical romances. This led to a
discussion in which he said he had once liked Walter Scott, but
had not read anything of his for many years; and he seemed
interested in my statement that although always an especial
admirer of Scott, I had found it almost impossible to induce the
younger generation to read him.

Stopping before a picture of Peter the Great's fatal conference
with his son Alexis, in reply to my remark upon the marvel that a
prince of such genius as Peter should have appeared at Moscow in
the seventeenth century, he said that he did not admire Peter,
that he was too cruel,--administering torture and death at times
with his own hands.

We next halted before a picture representing the horrible
execution of the Strelitzes. I said that "such pictures prove
that the world does, after all, progress slowly, in spite of what
pessimists say, and that in order to refute pessimists one has
only to refer to the improvements in criminal law." To this he
agreed cordially, and declared the abolition of torture in
procedure and penalty to be one great gain, at any rate.

We spoke of the present condition of things in Europe, and I told
him that at St. Petersburg the opinion very general among the
more thoughtful members of the diplomatic corps was that war was
not imminent; that the Czar, having himself seen the cruelties of
war during the late struggle in the Balkans, had acquired an
invincible repugnance to it. He acquiesced in this, but said that
it seemed monstrous to him that the peace of the empire and of
Europe should depend upon so slender a thread as the will of any
one man.

Our next walk was taken across the river Moskwa, on the ice, to
and through the Kremlin, and as we walked the conversation fell
upon literature. As to French literature, he thought Maupassant
the man of greatest talent, by far, in recent days, but that he
was depraved and centered all his fiction in women. For Balzac,
Tolstoi evidently preserved admiration, but he cared little,
apparently, for Daudet, Zola, and their compeers.

As to American literature, he said that Tourgueneff had once told
him that there was nothing in it worth reading; nothing new or
original; that it was simply a copy of English literature. To
this I replied that such criticism seemed to me very shallow;
that American literature was, of course, largely a growth out of
the parent stock of English literature, and must mainly be judged
as such; that to ask in the highest American literature something
absolutely different from English literature in general was like
looking for oranges upon an apple-tree; that there had come new
varieties in this growth, many of them original, and some
beautiful; but that there was the same sap, the same life-current
running through it all; and I compared the treatment of woman in
all Anglo-Saxon literature, whether on one side of the Atlantic
or the other, from Chaucer to Mark Twain, with the treatment of
the same subject by French writers from Rabelais to Zola. To this
he answered that in his opinion the strength of American
literature arises from the inherent Anglo-Saxon religious
sentiment. He expressed a liking for Emerson, Hawthorne, and
Whittier, but he seemed to have read at random, not knowing at
all some of the best things. He spoke with admiration of Theodore
Parker's writings, and seemed interested in my reminiscences of
Parker and of his acquaintance with Russian affairs. He also
revered and admired the character and work of William Lloyd
Garrison. He had read Longfellow somewhat, but was evidently
uncertain regarding Lowell,--confusing him, apparently, with some
other author. Among contemporary writers he knew some of
Howells's novels and liked them, but said: "Literature in the
United States at present seems to be in the lowest trough of the
sea between high waves." He dwelt on the flippant tone of
American newspapers, and told me of an interviewer who came to
him in behalf of an American journal, and wanted simply to know
at what time he went to bed and rose, what he ate, and the like.
He thought that people who cared to read such trivialities must
be very feeble-minded, but he said that the European press is, on
the whole, just as futile. On my attempting to draw from him some
statement as to what part of American literature pleased him
most, he said that he had read some publications of the New York
and Brooklyn Society for Ethical Culture, and that he knew and
liked the writings of Felix Adler. I then asked who, in the whole
range of American literature, he thought the foremost. To this he
made an answer which amazed me, as it would have astonished my
countrymen. Indeed, did the eternal salvation of all our eighty
millions depend upon some one of them guessing the person he
named, we should all go to perdition together. That greatest of
American writers was--Adin Ballou! Evidently, some of the
philanthropic writings of that excellent Massachusetts country
clergyman and religious communist had pleased him, and hence came
the answer.

The next day he came over to my hotel and we went out for a
stroll. As we passed along the streets I noticed especially what
I had remarked during our previous walks, that Tolstoi had a
large quantity of small Russian coins in his pockets; that this
was evidently known to the swarms of beggars who infest the
Kremlin and the public places generally; and that he always gave
to them.

On my speaking of this, he said he thought that any one, when
asked for money, ought to give it. Arguing against this doctrine,
I said that in the United States there are virtually no beggars,
and I might have gone on to discuss the subject from the
politico-economical point of view, showing how such
indiscriminate almsgiving in perpetual driblets is sure to create
the absurd and immoral system which one sees throughout
Russia,--hordes of men and women who are able to take care of
themselves, and who ought to be far above beggary, cringing and
whining to the passers-by for alms; but I had come to know the
man well enough to feel sure that a politico-economical argument
would slide off him like water from a duck's back, so I attempted
to take him upon another side, and said: "In the United States
there are virtually no beggars, though my countrymen are, I
really believe, among the most charitable in the world." To this
last statement he assented, referring in a general way to our
shipments of provisions to aid the famine-stricken in Russia.
"But," I added, "it is not our custom to give to beggars save in
special emergencies." I then gave him an account of certain
American church organizations which had established piles of
fire-wood and therefore enabled any able-bodied tramp, by sawing
or cutting some of it, to earn a good breakfast, a good dinner,
and, if needed, a good bed, and showed him that Americans
considered beggary not only a great source of pauperism, but as
absolutely debasing to the beggar himself, in that it puts him in
the attitude of a suppliant for that which, if he works as he
ought, he can claim as his right; that to me the spectacle of
Count Tolstoi virtually posing as a superior being, while his
fellow-Russians came crouching and whining to him, was not at all
edifying. To this view of the case he listened very civilly.

Incidentally I expressed wonder that he had not traveled more. He
then spoke with some disapprobation of travel. He had lived
abroad for a time, he said, and in St. Petersburg a few years,
but the rest of his life had been spent mainly in Moscow and the
interior of Russia. The more we talked together, the more it
became clear that this last statement explained some of his main
defects. Of all distinguished men that I have ever met, Tolstoi
seems to me most in need of that enlargement of view and
healthful modification of opinion which come from meeting men and
comparing views with them in different lands and under different
conditions. This need is all the greater because in Russia there
is no opportunity to discuss really important questions. Among
the whole one hundred and twenty millions of people there is no
public body in which the discussion of large public questions is
allowed; the press affords no real opportunity for discussion;
indeed, it is more than doubtful whether such discussion would be
allowed to any effective extent even in private correspondence or
at one's own fireside.

I remember well that during my former stay in St. Petersburg,
people who could talk English at their tables generally did so in
order that they might not betray themselves to any spy who might
happen to be among their servants.

Still worse, no one, unless a member of the diplomatic corps or
specially privileged, is allowed to read such books or newspapers
as he chooses, so that even this access to the thoughts of others
is denied to the very men who most need it.

Like so many other men of genius in Russia, then,--and Russia is
fertile in such,--Tolstoi has had little opportunity to take part
in any real discussion of leading topics; and the result is that
his opinions have been developed without modification by any
rational interchange of thought with other men. Under such
circumstances any man, no matter how noble or gifted, having
given birth to striking ideas, coddles and pets them until they
become the full-grown, spoiled children of his brain. He can at
last see neither spot nor blemish in them, and comes virtually to
believe himself infallible. This characteristic I found in
several other Russians of marked ability. Each had developed his
theories for himself until he had become infatuated with them,
and despised everything differing from them.

This is a main cause why sundry ghastly creeds, doctrines, and
sects--religious, social, political, and philosophic--have been
developed in Russia. One of these religious creeds favors the
murder of new-born children in order to save their souls; another
enjoins ghastly bodily mutilations for a similar purpose; others
still would plunge the world in flames and blood for the
difference of a phrase in a creed, or a vowel in a name, or a
finger more or less in making the sign of the cross, or for this
garment in a ritual, or that gesture in a ceremony.

In social creeds they have developed nihilism, which virtually
assumes the right of an individual to sit in judgment upon the
whole human race and condemn to death every other human being who
may differ in opinion or position from this self-constituted
judge.

In political creeds they have conceived the monarch as the
all-powerful and irresponsible vicegerent of God, and all the
world outside Russia as given over to Satan, for the reason that
it has "rejected the divine principle of authority."

In various branches of philosophy they have developed doctrines
which involve the rejection of the best to which man has attained
in science, literature, and art, and a return to barbarism.

In the theory of life and duty they have devised a pessimistic
process under which the human race would cease to exist.

Every one of these theories is the outcome of some original mind
of more or less strength, discouraged, disheartened, and
overwhelmed by the sorrows of Russian life; developing its ideas
logically and without any possibility of adequate discussion with
other men. This alone explains a fact which struck me
forcibly--the fact that all Tolstoi's love of humanity, real
though it certainly is, seems accompanied by a depreciation of
the ideas, statements, and proposals of almost every other human
being, and by virtual intolerance of all thought which seems in
the slightest degree different from his own.

Arriving in the Kremlin, he took me to the Church of the
Annunciation to see the portrait of Socrates in the religious
picture of which he had spoken; but we were too late to enter,
and so went to the Palace of the Synod, where we looked at the
picture of the Trinity, which, by a device frequently used in
street signs, represents, when looked at from one side, the
suffering Christ, from the other the Holy Ghost in the form of a
dove, and from the front the Almighty as an old man with a white
beard. What Tolstoi thought of the doctrine thus illustrated came
out in a subsequent conversation.

The next day he came again to my rooms and at once began speaking
upon religion. He said that every man is religious and has in him
a religion of his own; that religion results from the conception
which a man forms of his relations to his fellow-men, and to the
principle which in his opinion controls the universe; that there
are three stages in religious development: first, the childhood
of nations, when man thinks of the whole universe as created for
him and centering in him; secondly, the maturity of nations, the
time of national religions, when each nation believes that all
true religion centers in it,--the Jews and the English, he said,
being striking examples; and, finally, the perfected conception
of nations, when man has the idea of fulfilling the will of the
Supreme Power and considers himself an instrument for that
purpose. He went on to say that in every religion there are two
main elements, one of deception and one of devotion, and he asked
me about the Mormons, some of whose books had interested him. He
thought two thirds of their religion deception, but said that on
the whole he preferred a religion which professed to have dug its
sacred books out of the earth to one which pretended that they
were let down from heaven. On learning that I had visited Salt
Lake City two years before, he spoke of the good reputation of
the Mormons for chastity, and asked me to explain the hold of
their religion upon women. I answered that Mormonism could hardly
be judged by its results at present; that, as a whole, the
Mormons are, no doubt, the most laborious and decent people in
the State of Utah; but that this is their heroic period, when
outside pressure keeps them firmly together and arouses their
devotion; that the true test will come later, when there is less
pressure and more knowledge, and when the young men who are now
arising begin to ask questions, quarrel with each other, and
split the whole body into sects and parties.

This led to questions in regard to American women generally, and
he wished to know something of their condition and prospects. I
explained some features of woman's condition among us, showing
its evolution, first through the betterment of her legal status,
and next through provision for her advanced education; but told
him that so far as political rights are concerned, there had been
very little practical advance in the entire East and South of the
country during the last fifty years, and that even in the extreme
Western States, where women have been given political rights and
duties to some extent, the concessions have been wavering and
doubtful.

At this, he took up his parable and said that women ought to have
all other rights except political; that they are unfit to
discharge political duties; that, indeed, one of the great
difficulties of the world at present lies in their possession of
far more consideration and control than they ought to have. "Go
into the streets and bazaars," he said, "and you will see the
vast majority of shops devoted to their necessities. In France
everything centers in women, and women have complete control of
life: all contemporary French literature shows this. Woman is not
man's equal in the highest qualities; she is not so
self-sacrificing as man. Men will, at times, sacrifice their
families for an idea; women will not." On my demurring to this
latter statement, he asked me if I ever knew a woman who loved
other people's children as much as her own. I gladly answered in
the negative, but cited Florence Nightingale, Sister Dora, and
others, expressing my surprise at his assertion that women are
incapable of making as complete sacrifices for any good cause as
men. I pointed to the persecutions in the early church, when
women showed themselves superior to men in suffering torture,
degradation, and death in behalf of the new religion, and added
similar instances from the history of witchcraft. To this he
answered that in spite of all such history, women will not make
sacrifices of their own interest for a good cause which does not
strikingly appeal to their feelings, while men will do so; that
he had known but two or three really self-sacrificing women in
his life; and that these were unmarried. On my saying that
observation had led me to a very different conclusion, his
indictment took another form. He insisted that woman hangs upon
the past; that public opinion progresses, but that women are
prone to act on the opinion of yesterday or of last year; that
women and womanish men take naturally to old absurdities, among
which he mentioned the doctrines of the Trinity, "spiritism," and
homeopathy. At this I expressed a belief that if, instead of
educating women, as Bishop Dupanloup expressed it, "in the lap of
the church (sur les genoux de l'eglise)," we educate them in the
highest sense, in universities, they will develop more and more
intellectually, and so become a controlling element in the
formation of a better race; that, as strong men generally have
strong mothers, the better education of woman physically,
intellectually, and morally is the true way of bettering the race
in general. In this idea he expressed his disbelief, and said
that education would not change women; that women are illogical
by nature. At this I cited an example showing that women can be
exceedingly logical and close in argument, but he still adhered
to his opinion. On my mentioning the name of George Eliot, he
expressed a liking for her.

On our next walk, he took me to the funeral of one of his
friends. He said that to look upon the dead should rather give
pleasure than pain; that memento mori is a wise maxim, and
looking upon the faces of the dead a good way of putting it in
practice. I asked him if he had formed a theory as to a future
life, and he said in substance that he had not; but that, as we
came at birth from beyond the forms of space and time, so at
death we returned whence we came. I said, "You use the word
'forms' in the Kantian sense?" "Yes," he said, "space and time
have no reality."

We arrived just too late at the house of mourning. The dead man
had been taken away; but many of those who had come to do him
honor still lingered, and were evidently enjoying the "funeral
baked meats." There were clear signs of a carousal. The friends
who came out to meet us had, most of them, flushed faces, and one
young man in military uniform, coming down the stairs, staggered
and seemed likely to break his neck.

Tolstoi refused to go in, and, as we turned away, expressed
disgust at the whole system, saying, as well he might, that it
was utterly barbarous. He seemed despondent over it, and I tried
to cheer him by showing how the same custom of drinking strong
liquors at funerals had, only a few generations since, prevailed
in large districts of England and America, but that better ideas
of living had swept it away.

On our way through the street, we passed a shrine at which a mob
of peasants were adoring a sacred picture. He dwelt on the
fetishism involved in this, and said that Jesus Christ would be
infinitely surprised and pained were he to return to earth and
see what men were worshiping in his name. He added a story of a
converted pagan who, being asked how many gods he worshiped,
said: "One, and I ate him this morning." At this I cited
Browning's lines put into the mouth of the bishop who wished,
from his tomb,

          "To hear the blessed mutter of the mass,
           And see God made and eaten all day long."


I reminded him of his definition of religion given me on one of
our previous walks, and he repeated it, declaring religion to be
the feeling which man has regarding his relation to the universe,
including his fellow-men, and to the power which governs all.

The afternoon was closed with a visit to a Raskolnik, or Old
Believer, and of all our experiences this turned out to be the
most curious. The Raskolniks, or Old Believers, compose that
wide-spread sect which broke off from the main body of the
Russian Church when the patriarch of Moscow, Nikon, in the
seventeenth century attempted to remove various textual errors
from the Bible and ceremonial books. These books had been copied
and recopied during centuries until their condition had become
monstrous. Through a mistake of some careless transcriber, even
the name of Jesus had been travestied and had come to be spelled
with two e's; the crudest absurdities had been copied into the
test; important parts had become unintelligible; and the time had
evidently arrived for a revision. Nikon saw this, and in good
faith summoned scholars from Constantinople to prepare more
correct editions; but these revised works met the fate which
attends such revisions generally. The great body of the people
were attached to the old forms; they preferred them, just as in
these days the great body of English-speaking Protestants prefer
the King James Bible to the Revised Version, even though the
latter may convey to the reader more correctly what was dictated
by the Holy Spirit. The feeling of the monks, especially, against
Nikon's new version became virulent. They raised so strong an
opposition among the people that an army had to be sent against
them; at the siege of the Solovetsk Monastery the conflict was
long and bloody, and as a result a large body of people and
clergy broke off from the church. Of course the more these
dissenters thought upon what Nikon had done, the more utterly
evil he seemed; but this was not all. A large part of Russian
religious duty, so far as the people are concerned, consists in
making the sign of the cross on all occasions. Before Nikon's
time this had been done rather carelessly, but, hoping to impress
a religious lesson, he ordered it to be made with three extended
fingers, thus reminding the faithful of the Trinity. At this the
Raskolniks insisted that the sign of the cross ought to be made
with two fingers, and out of this difference arose more
bitterness than from all other causes put together. From that day
to this the dissenters have insisted on enjoying the privilege of
reading the old version with all its absurdities, of spelling the
word Jesus with two e's, of crossing themselves with two fingers,
and of cursing Nikon.

This particular Raskolnik, or Old Believer, to whom Tolstoi took
me, was a Muscovite merchant of great wealth, living in a superb
villa on the outskirts of the city, with a large park about it;
the apartments, for size and beauty of decoration, fit for a
royal palace--the ceilings covered with beautiful frescos, and
the rooms full of statues and pictures by eminent artists, mainly
Russian and French. He was a man of some education, possessed a
large library, loved to entertain scientific men and to aid
scientific effort, and managed to keep on good terms with his
more fanatical coreligionists on one side and with the government
on the other, so that in emergencies he was an efficient
peacemaker between them. We found him a kindly, gentle old man,
with long, white hair and beard, and he showed us with evident
pleasure the principal statues and pictures, several of the
former being by Antokolski, the greatest contemporary Russian
sculptor. In the sumptuous dining-room, in which perhaps a
hundred persons could sit at table, he drew our attention to some
fine pictures of Italian scenes by Smieradsky, and, after passing
through the other rooms, took us into a cabinet furnished with
the rarest things to be found in the Oriental bazaars. Finally,
he conducted us into his private chapel, where, on the
iconostas,--the screen which, in accordance with the Greek
ritual, stands before the altar,--the sacred images of the
Saviour and various saints were represented somewhat differently
from those in the Russo-Greek Church, especially in that they
extended two fingers instead of three. To this difference I
called his attention, and he at once began explaining it. Soon he
grew warm, and finally fervid. Said he: "Why do we make the sign
of the cross? We do it to commemorate the crucifixion of our
blessed Lord. What is commemorated at the crucifixion? The
sacrifice of his two natures--the divine and the human. How do we
make the sign? We make it with two fingers, thus"--accompanied by
a gesture. "What does this represent? It represents what really
occurred: the sacrifice of the divine and the human nature of our
Lord. How do the Orthodox make it?" Here his voice began to rise.
"They make it with three fingers"--and now his indignation burst
all bounds, and with a tremendous gesture and almost a scream of
wrath he declared: "and every time they make it they crucify
afresh every one of the three persons of the holy and undivided
Trinity."

The old man's voice, so gentle at first, had steadily risen
during this catechism of his, in which he propounded the
questions and recited the answers, until this last utterance came
with an outcry of horror. The beginning of this catechism was
given much after the manner of a boy reciting mechanically the
pons asinorum, but the end was like the testimony of an ancient
prophet against the sins which doomed Israel.

This last burst was evidently too much for Tolstoi. He said not a
word in reply, but seemed wrapped in overpowering thought, and
anxious to break away. We walked out with the old Raskolnik, and
at the door I thanked him for his kindness; but even there, and
all the way down the long walk through the park, Tolstoi remained
silent. As we came into the road he suddenly turned to me and
said almost fiercely, "That man is a hypocrite; he can't believe
that; he is a shrewd, long-headed man; how can he believe such
trash? Impossible!" At this I reminded him of Theodore Parker's
distinction between men who believe and men who "believe that
they believe," and said that possibly our Raskolnik was one of
the latter. This changed the subject. He said that he had read
Parker's biography, and liked it all save one thing, which was
that he gave a pistol to a fugitive slave and advised him to
defend himself. This Tolstoi condemned on the ground that we are
not to resist evil. I told him of the advice I had given to
Dobroluboff, a very winning Russian student at Cornell
University, when he was returning to Russia to practise his
profession as an engineer. That advice was that he should bear in
mind Buckle's idea as to the agency of railways and telegraphs in
extending better civilization, and devote himself to his
profession of engineering, with the certainty that its ultimate
result would be to aid in the enlightenment of the empire; but
never, on any account, to conspire against the government;
telling him that he might be sure that he could do far more for
the advancement of Russian thought by building railways than by
entering into any conspiracies whatever. Tolstoi said the advice
was good, but that he would also have advised the young man to
speak out his ideas, whatever they might be. He said that only in
this way could any advance ever be made; that one main obstacle
in human progress is the suppression of the real thoughts of men.
I answered that all this had a fine sound; that it might do for
Count Tolstoi; but that a young, scholarly engineer following it
would soon find himself in a place where he could not promulgate
his ideas,--guarded by Cossacks in some remote Siberian mine.

He spoke of young professors in the universities, of their
difficulties, and of the risk to their positions if they spoke
out at all. I asked him if there was any liberality or breadth of
thought in the Russo-Greek Church. He answered that occasionally
a priest had tried to unite broader thought with orthodox dogma,
but that every such attempt had proved futile.

From Parker we passed to Lowell, and I again tried to find if he
really knew anything of Lowell's writings. He evidently knew very
little, and asked me what Lowell had written. He then said that
he had no liking for verse, and he acquiesced in Carlyle's saying
that nobody had ever said anything in verse which could not have
been better said in prose.

A day or two later, on another of our walks, I asked him how and
when, in his opinion, a decided advance in Russian liberty and
civilization would be made. He answered that he thought it would
come soon, and with great power. On my expressing the opinion
that such progress would be the result of a long evolutionary
process, with a series of actions and reactions, as heretofore in
Russian history, he dissented, and said that the change for the
better would come soon, suddenly, and with great force.

As we passed along the streets he was, as during our previous
walks, approached by many beggars, to each of whom he gave as
long as his money lasted. He said that he was accustomed to take
a provision of copper money with him for this purpose on his
walks, since he regarded it as a duty to give when asked, and he
went on to say that he carried the idea so far that even if he
knew the man wanted the money to buy brandy he would give it to
him; but he added that he would do all in his power to induce the
man to work and to cease drinking. I demurred strongly to all
this, and extended the argument which I had made during our
previous walk, telling him that by such giving he did two wrongs:
first, to the beggar himself, since it led him to cringe and lie
in order to obtain as a favor that which, if he did his duty in
working, he could claim as a right; and, secondly, to society by
encouraging such a multitude to prey upon it who might be giving
it aid and strength; and I again called his attention to the
hordes of sturdy beggars in Moscow. He answered that the results
of our actions in such cases are not the main thing, but the
cultivation of proper feelings in the giver is first to be
considered.

I then asked him about his manual labor. He said that his habit
was to rise early and read or write until noon, then to take his
luncheon and a short sleep, and after that to work in his garden
or fields. He thought this good for him on every account, and
herein we fully agreed.

On our return through the Kremlin, passing the heaps and rows of
cannon taken from the French in 1812, I asked him if he still
adhered to the low opinion of Napoleon expressed in "War and
Peace." He said that he did, and more than ever since he had
recently read a book on Napoleon's relations to women which
showed that he took the lowest possible view of womankind. I then
asked him if he still denied Napoleon's military genius. He
answered that he certainly did; that he did not believe in the
existence of any such thing as military genius; that he had never
been able to understand what is meant by the term. I asked, "How
then do you account for the amazing series of Napoleon's
successes?" He answered, "By circumstances." I rejoined that such
an explanation had the merit, at least, of being short and easy.

He then went on to say that battles are won by force of
circumstances, by chance, by luck; and he quoted Suvaroff to this
effect. He liked Lanfrey's "History of Napoleon" and Taine's book
on the Empire, evidently because both are denunciatory of men and
things he dislikes, but said that he did not believe in Thiers.

We came finally under the shade of the great tower and into the
gateway through which Napoleon entered the Kremlin; and there we
parted with a hearty good-bye.

The question has been asked me, at various times since, whether,
in my opinion, Tolstoi is really sincere; and allusion has been
made to a book published by a lady who claims to have been in
close relations with his family, which would seem to reveal a
theatrical element in his whole life. To this my answer has
always been, and still is, that I believe him to be one of the
most sincere and devoted men alive, a man of great genius and, at
the same time, of very deep sympathy with his fellow-creatures.

Out of this character of his come his theories of art and
literature; and, despite their faults, they seem to me more
profound and far-reaching than any put forth by any other man in
our time.

There is in them, for the current cant regarding art and
literature, a sound, sturdy, hearty contempt which braces and
strengthens one who reads or listens to him. It does one good to
hear his quiet sarcasms against the whole fin-de-siecle
business--the "impressionism," the "sensationalism," the vague
futilities of every sort, the "great poets" wallowing in the mud
of Paris, the "great musicians" making night hideous in German
concert-halls, the "great painters" of various countries mixing
their colors with as much filth as the police will allow. His
keen thrusts at these incarnations of folly and obscenity in the
last quarter of the nineteenth century, and especially at those
who seek to hide the poverty of their ideas in the obscurity of
their phrases, encourage one to think that in the next generation
the day of such pretenders will be done. His prophesying against
"art for art's sake"; his denunciation of art which simply
ministers to sensual pleasure; his ridicule of art which can be
discerned only by "people of culture"; his love for art which has
a sense, not only of its power, but of its obligations, which
puts itself at the service of great and worthy ideas, which
appeals to men as men--in this he is one of the best teachers of
his time and of future times.

Yet here come in his unfortunate limitations. From his
substitutions of assertion for inference, and from the inadequacy
of his view regarding sundry growths in art, literature, and
science, arises endless confusion.

For who will not be skeptical as to the value of any criticism by
a man who pours contempt over the pictures of Puvis de Chavannes,
stigmatizes one of Beethoven's purest creations as "corrupting,"
and calls Shakspere a "scribbler"!

Nothing can be more genuine than his manner: there is no posing,
no orating, no phrase-making; a quiet earnestness pervades all
his utterances. The great defect in him arises, as I have already
said, from a peculiarity in the development of his opinions:
namely, that during so large a part of his life he has been wont
to discuss subjects with himself and not with other men; that he
has, therefore, come to worship idols of his own creation, and
often very unsubstantial idols, and to look with misgiving and
distrust on the ideas of others. Very rarely during our
conversations did I hear him speak with any real enthusiasm
regarding any human being: his nearest approach to it was with
reference to the writings of the Rev. Adin Ballou, when he
declared him the foremost literary character that America has
produced. A result of all this is that when he is driven into a
corner his logic becomes so subtle as to be imperceptible, and he
is very likely to take refuge in paradoxes.

At times, as we walked together, he would pour forth a stream of
reasoning so lucid, out of depths so profound and reach
conclusions so cogent, that he seemed fairly inspired. At other
times he would develop a line of argument so outworn, and arrive
at conclusions so inane, that I could not but look into his face
closely to see if he could be really in earnest; but it always
bore that same expression--forbidding the slightest suspicion
that he was uttering anything save that which he believed, at
least for the time being.

As to the moral side, the stream of his thought was usually
limpid, but at times it became turbid and his better ideas seemed
to float on the surface as iridescent bubbles.

Had he lived in any other country, he would have been a power
mighty and permanent in influencing its thought and in directing
its policy; as it is, his thought will pass mainly as the
confused, incoherent wail and cry of a giant struggling against
the heavy adverse currents in that vast ocean of Russian life:

          "The cry of some strong swimmer in his agony."


The evolution of Tolstoi's ideas has evidently been mainly
determined by his environment. During two centuries Russia has
been coming slowly out of the middle ages--indeed, out of perhaps
the most cruel phases of mediaeval life. Her history is, in its
details, discouraging; her daily life disheartening. Even the
aspects of nature are to the last degree depressing: no
mountains; no hills; no horizon; no variety in forests; a soil
during a large part of the year frozen or parched; a people whose
upper classes are mainly given up to pleasure and whose lower
classes are sunk in fetishism; all their poetry and music in the
minor key; old oppressions of every sort still lingering; no help
in sight; and, to use their own cry, "God so high and the Czar so
distant."

When, then, a great man arises in Russia, if he gives himself
wholly to some well-defined purpose, looking to one high aim and
rigidly excluding sight or thought of the ocean of sorrow about
him, he may do great things. If he be Suvaroff or Skobeleff or
Gourko he may win great battles; if he be Mendeleieff he may
reach some epoch-making discovery in science; if he be Derjavine
he may write a poem like the "Ode to God"; if he be Antokolsky he
may carve statues like "Ivan the Terrible"; if he be Nesselrode
he may hold all Europe enchained to the ideas of the autocrat; if
he be Miloutine or Samarine or Tcherkassky he may devise vast
plans like those which enabled Alexander II to free twenty
millions of serfs and to secure means of subsistence for each of
them; if he be Prince Khilkoff he may push railway systems over
Europe to the extremes of Asia; if he be De Witte he may reform a
vast financial system.

But when a strong genius in Russia throws himself into
philanthropic speculations of an abstract sort, with no chance of
discussing his theories until they are full-grown and have taken
fast hold upon him,--if he be a man of science like Prince
Kropotkin, one of the most gifted scientific thinkers of our
time,--the result may be a wild revolt, not only against the
whole system of his own country, but against civilization itself,
and finally the adoption of the theory and practice of anarchism,
which logically results in the destruction of the entire human
race. Or, if he be an accomplished statesman and theologian like
Pobedonostzeff, he may reason himself back into mediaeval
methods, and endeavor to fetter all free thought and to crush out
all forms of Christianity except the Russo-Greek creed and
ritual. Or, if he be a man of the highest genius in literature,
like Tolstoi, whose native kindliness holds him back from the
extremes of nihilism, he may rear a fabric heaven-high, in which
truths, errors, and paradoxes are piled up together until we have
a new Tower of Babel. Then we may see this man of genius
denouncing all science and commending what he calls "faith";
urging a return to a state of nature, which is simply Rousseau
modified by misreadings of the New Testament; repudiating
marriage, yet himself most happily married and the father of
sixteen children; holding that Aeschylus and Dante and Shakspere
were not great in literature, and making Adin Ballou a literary
idol; holding that Michelangelo and Raphael were not great in
sculpture and painting, yet insisting on the greatness of sundry
unknown artists who have painted brutally; holding that
Beethoven, Handel, Mozart, Haydn, and Wagner were not great in
music, but that some unknown performer outside any healthful
musical evolution has given us the music of the future; declaring
Napoleon to have had no genius, but presenting Koutousoff as a
military ideal; loathing science--that organized knowledge which
has done more than all else to bring us out of mediaeval cruelty
into a better world--and extolling a "faith" which has always
been the most effective pretext for bloodshed and oppression.

The long, slow, every-day work of developing a better future for
his countrymen is to be done by others far less gifted than
Tolstoi. His paradoxes will be forgotten; but his devoted life,
his noble thoughts, and his lofty ideals will, as centuries roll
on, more and more give life and light to the new Russia.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

OFFICIAL LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG--1892-1894

The difficulties of a stranger seeking information in Russia seem
at times insurmountable. First of these is the government policy
of suppressing news. Foreign journals come to ordinary
subscribers with paragraphs and articles rubbed out with pumice
or blotted out with ink; consequently our Russian friends were
wont to visit the legation, seeking to read in our papers what
had been erased in their own, and making the most amusing
discoveries as to the stupidity of the official censorship:
paragraphs perfectly harmless being frequently blotted out, and
really serious attacks on the government unnoticed.

Very striking, as showing control over the newspaper press, was
an occurrence during my first summer at Helsingfors. One day our
family doctor came in, and reported a rumor that an iron-clad
monitor had sunk, the night before, on its way across the gulf
from Reval. Soon the story was found to be true. A squadron of
three ships had started; had encountered a squall; and in the
morning one of them--an old-fashioned iron-clad monitor--was
nowhere to be seen. She had sunk with all on board. Considerable
speculation concerning the matter arose, and sundry very guarded
remarks were ventured to the effect that the authorities at
Cronstadt would have been wiser had they not allowed the ship to
go out in such a condition that the first squall would send her
to the bottom. This discussion continued for about a week, when
suddenly the proper authorities served notice upon the press that
nothing more must be said on the subject.

This mandate was obeyed; the matter was instantly dropped;
nothing more was said; and, a year or two afterward, on my
inquiring of Admiral Makharoff whether anything had ever been
discovered regarding the lost ship and its crew, he answered in
the negative.

But more serious efforts than these were made to control thought.
The censorship of books was even more strongly, and, if possible,
more foolishly, exercised. At any of the great bookshops one
could obtain, at once, the worst publications of the Paris press;
but the really substantial and thoughtful books were carefully
held back. The average Russian, in order to read most of these
better works, must be specially authorized to do so.

I had a practical opportunity to see the system in operation.
Being engaged on the final chapters of my book, and needing
sundry scientific, philosophical, and religious treatises, such
as can be bought freely in every city of Western Europe, I went
to the principal bookseller in St. Petersburg, and was told that,
by virtue of my diplomatic position, I could have them; but that,
in order to do so, I must write an application, signing it with
my own name, and that then he would sell them to me within a few
days. This took place several times.

Still another difficulty is that, owing to lack of publicity, the
truth can rarely be found as regards any burning question: in the
prevailing atmosphere of secrecy and repression the simplest
facts are often completely shut from the foreign observer.

Owing to the lack of public discussion, Russia is the classic
ground of myth and legend. One sees myths and legends growing day
by day. The legend regarding the cure of the Archbishop of St.
Petersburg by Father Ivan of Cronstadt, which I have given in a
previous chapter, is an example. The same growth of legend is
seen with regard to every-day matters. For example, one meets
half a dozen people at five-o'clock tea in a Russian house, and
one of them says: "How badly the Emperor looked at court last
night." Another says: "Yes; his liver is evidently out of order;
he ought to go to Carlsbad." Another says: "I think that special
pains ought to be taken with his food," etc., etc. People then
scatter from this tea-table, and in a day or two one hears that
sufficient precaution is not taken with the Emperor's food; that
it would not be strange if some nihilist should seek to poison
him. A day or two afterward one hears that a nihilist HAS
endeavored to poison the Emperor. The legend grows, details
appear here and there, and finally there come in the newspapers
of Western Europe full and careful particulars of a thwarted plot
to poison his Majesty.

Not the least of the embarrassments which beset an American
minister in Russia is one which arose at various times during my
stay, its source being the generous promptness of our people to
take as gospel any story regarding Russian infringement of human
rights. One or two cases will illustrate this.

During my second winter, despatches by mail and wire came to me
thick and fast regarding the alleged banishment of an American
citizen to Siberia for political reasons; and with these came
petitions and remonstrances signed by hundreds of Americans of
light and leading; also newspaper articles, many and bitter.

On making inquiries through the Russian departments of foreign
affairs and of justice, I found the fact to be that this injured
American had been, twenty years before, a Russian police agent in
Poland; that he had stolen funds intrusted to him and had taken
refuge in America; that, relying on the amnesty proclaimed at the
accession of the late Emperor, he had returned to his old haunts;
that he had been seized, because the amnesty did not apply to the
category of criminals to which he belonged; that he had not been
sent to Siberia; that there was no thought of sending him there;
but that the authorities proposed to recover the money he had
stolen if they could. Another case was typical: One day an
excellent English clergyman came to me in great distress, stating
that an American citizen was imprisoned in the city. I
immediately had the man brought before a justice, heard his
testimony and questioned him, publicly and privately. He swore
before the court, and insisted to me in private, that he had
never before been in Russia; that he was an American citizen born
of a Swedish father and an Alaskan mother upon one of the Alaskan
islands; and he showed a passport which he had obtained at
Washington by making oath to that effect. On the other hand
appeared certain officers of the Russian navy, in excellent
standing, who swore that they knew the man perfectly to be a
former employee of their engineering department and a deserter
from a Russian ship of war in the port of St. Petersburg. It was
also a somewhat significant fact that he spoke Russian much
better than English, and that he seemed to have a knowledge of
Russian affairs very remarkable for a man who had never been in
Russia; but to account for this he insisted upon the statement as
to his birth in Alaska. Appearances were certainly very strongly
against him, and he was remanded to await more testimony in his
favor; but the next thing I heard was that he had escaped, had
arrived in New York, was posing as a martyr, had graciously
granted interviews to various representatives of the press, and
had thereby stimulated some very lurid editorials against the
Russian Government.

Another case was that of a Russian who, having reached the United
States, burdened the files of the State Department and of the
legation with complaints against the American minister because
that official did not send out the man's wife to him. The
minister had, indeed, forwarded the necessary passports, but the
difficulty was that the German authorities would not allow the
woman to enter Germany without showing herself to be in
possession of means sufficient to prevent her becoming a public
charge; and these her husband could not, or would not, send,
insisting that now that he was naturalized he had a right to have
his wife brought to America.

I have no apology to make for the Russian system--far from it;
but I would state, in the interest of international comity, that
it is best for Americans not to be too prompt in believing all
the stories of alleged sufferers from Russian despotism, and
especially of those who wish to use their American citizenship
simply in order to return to Russia and enjoy business advantages
superior to those of their neighbors.

That there are many meritorious refugees cannot be denied; but
any one who has looked over extradition papers, as I have been
obliged to do, and seen people posing as Russian martyrs who are
comfortably carrying on in New York the business of
counterfeiting bank-notes, and unctuously thanking God in their
letters for their success in the business, will be slow to join
in the outcries of refugees of doubtful standing claiming to be
suffering persecution on account of race, religion, or political
opinion.

Nor are Russian-Americans the only persons who weary an American
representative. One morning a card was brought in bearing an
undoubted American name, and presently there followed it a tall
raw-boned man with long flaxen hair, who began orating to me as
follows: "Sir, you are an ambassador from the President of the
United States; I am an ambassador from God Almighty. I am sent
here to save the Emperor. He is a good man; he is followed up by
bad men who seek his life; I can save him; I will be his
cup-bearer; I WILL DRIVE HIS TEAM." This latter conception of the
Emperor's means of locomotion struck me as naive, especially in
view of the fact that near my house was an immense structure
filled with magnificent horses for the Emperor and court--a
veritable equine palace. "Yes," said my visitor; "I will drive
the Emperor's team. I want you to introduce me to him
immediately." My answer was that it was not so easy to secure a
presentation to the Emperor, offhand; that considerable time
would be necessary in any case. To this my visitor answered: "I
must see him at once; I am invited to come by the Empress." On my
asking when he received this invitation, he said that it was
given him on board the steamer between New York and Hamburg, her
Majesty and her children being the only other passengers besides
himself in the second-class cabin. To this I said that there must
certainly be some mistake; that her Majesty rarely, if ever,
traveled on public lines of steamers; that if she had done so,
she certainly would not have been a passenger in the second
cabin. To this he answered that he was absolutely certain that it
was the Empress who had given him the invitation and urged him to
come and save the Emperor's life. On my asking him the date of
this invitation, he looked through his diary and found it. At
this, sending for a file of the official newspaper of St.
Petersburg, I showed him that on the day named her Majesty was
receiving certain officials at the palace in St. Petersburg;
whereat he made an answer which for the moment threw me
completely off my balance. He said, "Sir, I have lived long
enough not to believe everything I see in the newspapers."

I quieted him as best I could, but on returning to his hotel he
indulged in some very boisterous conduct, one of the minor
features of which was throwing water in the faces of the waiters;
so that, fearing lest actions like this and his loud utterances
regarding the Emperor and Empress might get him into trouble, I
wrote a friendly letter to the prefect of St. Petersburg, stating
the case, and asking that, if it was thought best to arrest the
man, he should be placed in some comfortable retreat for the
insane and be well cared for until I could communicate with his
friends in America. Accordingly, a day or two afterward, a
handsome carriage drove up to the door of his hotel, bearing two
kindly gentlemen, who invited him to accompany them. Taking it
for granted that he was to be escorted to the palace to meet his
Majesty, he went without making any objections, and soon found
himself in commodious rooms and most kindly treated.

It being discovered that he was an excellent pianist, a grand
piano was supplied him; and he was very happy in his musical
practice, and in the thought that he was lodged in the palace and
would soon communicate his message to the Emperor. At various
times I called upon him and found him convinced that his great
mission would soon be accomplished; but after a week or ten days
he began to have doubts, and said to me that he distrusted the
Russians and would prefer to go on and deliver a message with
which he was charged to the Emperor of China. On my showing him
sundry difficulties, he said that at any rate there was one place
where he would certainly be well received--Marlborough House in
London; that he was sure the Prince of Wales would welcome him
heartily. At last, means having been obtained from his friends, I
sought to forward him from St. Petersburg; but, as no steamers
thence would take a lunatic, I sent my private secretary with him
to Helsingfors, and thence secured his passage to America.

A very curious feature in the case, as told me afterward by a
gentleman who traveled in the same steamer, was that this
American delighted the company day after day with his music, and
that no one ever saw anything out of the way in his utterances or
conduct. He seemed to have forgotten all about his great missions
and to have become absorbed in his piano.

Among the things to which special and continued attention had to
be given by the legation was the Chicago Exposition. I was
naturally desirous to see it a success; indeed, it was my duty to
do everything possible to promote it. The magnificent plans which
the Chicago people had developed and were carrying out with such
wonderful energy interested thinking Russians. But presently came
endeavors which might easily have brought the whole enterprise
into disrepute; for some of the crankish persons who always hang
on the skirts of such enterprises had been allowed to use
official stationery, and they had begun writing letters, and even
instructions, to American diplomatic agents abroad.

The first of these which attracted my attention was one
requesting me to ask the Empress to write a book in the shape of
a "Report on Women's Work in Russia," careful instructions being
given as to how and at what length she must write it.

A letter also came from one of these quasi-officials at Chicago,
not requesting, but instructing, me to ask the Emperor to report
to his bureau on the condition of the empire; funnily enough,
this "instruction" was evidently one of several, and they had
been ground out so carelessly that the one which I was instructed
to deliver to the Emperor was addressed to the "King of Holland."
It was thus made clear that this important personage at Chicago,
who usurped the functions of the Secretary of State, had not even
taken the trouble to find out that there was no such person as a
"King of Holland," the personage whom he vaguely had in mind
being, no doubt, the Queen Regent of the Netherlands.

Soon there followed another of these quasi-instructions, showing
another type of crankishness. Beginning with the weighty
statement that "the school-boys of every country are the future
men of that country," it went on with a declaration that it had
been decided to hold a convention of the school-children of the
world at Chicago, in connection with the Exposition, and ended by
instructing me to invite to its deliberations the school-children
of Russia. Of course I took especial care not to communicate any
of these things to any Russian: to have done so would have made
the Exposition, instead of the admiration, the laughing-stock of
the empire; but I wrote a letter to the assistant secretary of
state, Mr. Quincy, who presently put an end to these vagaries.

One is greatly struck in Russia by the number of able and gifted
men and women scattered through Russian society, and at the
remarkable originality of some of them. The causes of this
originality I touch in my chapter on Tolstoi.

It was a duty as well as a pleasure for me to keep up my
acquaintance with persons worth knowing; and, while many of the
visits thus made were perfunctory and tedious, some were
especially gratifying. My rule was, after office hours in the
afternoon, to get into the open sledge; to make my visits; and as
a result, of course, to see and hear a vast deal of frivolity and
futility, but, from time to time, more important things.

The entertainments given by wealthy Russian nobles to the
diplomatic corps were by no means so frequent or so lavish as of
old. Two reasons were assigned for this, one being the abolition
of the serf system, which had impoverished the nobility, and the
other the fact that the Emperor Alexander III had set the fashion
of paying less attention to foreigners than had formerly been the
custom.

The main hospitalities, so far as the Emperor and Empress were
concerned, were the great festivities at the Winter Palace,
beginning on the Russian New Year's day, which was twelve days
later than ours. The scene was most brilliant. The vast halls
were filled with civil and military officials from all parts of
the empire, in the most gorgeous costumes, an especially striking
effect being produced by the caftans, or long coats, of the
various Cossack regiments, the armor and helmets of the Imperial
Guards, and the old Russian costumes of the ladies. All of the
latter, on this occasion, from the Empress down, wore these
costumes: there was great variety in these; but their main
features were the kakoshniks, or ornamental crowns, and the
tunics in bright colors.

The next of these great ceremonies at the Winter Palace was the
blessing of the waters upon the 8th of January. The diplomatic
corps and other guests were allowed to take their places at the
palace windows looking out over the Neva, and thence could see
the entire procession, which, having gone down the ambassadors'
staircase, appeared at a temple which had been erected over an
opening in the ice of the river. The Emperor, the grand dukes,
and the Archbishop of St. Petersburg, with his suffragan bishops,
all took part in this ceremonial; and the music, which was
selected from the anthems of Bortniansky, was very solemn and
impressive.

During the winter came court balls, and, above all, the "palm
balls." The latter were, in point of brilliancy, probably beyond
anything in any court of modern times. After a reception, during
which the Emperor and Empress passed along the diplomatic circle,
speaking to the various members, dancing began, and was continued
until about midnight; then the doors were flung open into other
vast halls, which had been changed into palm-groves. The palms
for this purpose are very large and beautiful, four series of
them being kept in the conservatories for this special purpose,
each series being used one winter and then allowed to rest for
three winters before it is brought out again. Under these palms
the supper-tables are placed, and from fifteen hundred to two
thousand people sit at these as the guests of the Czar and
Czarina. These entertainments seem carried to the extreme of
luxury, their only defect being their splendid monotony: only
civil, military, and diplomatic officials are present, and a
new-comer finds much difficulty in remembering their names. There
are said to be four hundred Princes Galitzin in the empire, and I
personally knew three Counts Tolstoi who did not know each other;
but the great drawback is the fact that all these entertainments
are exactly alike, always the same thing: merely civil and
military functionaries and their families; and for strangers no
occupation save to dance, play cards, talk futilities, or simply
stare.

The Berlin court, though by no means so brilliant at first sight
and far smaller,--since the most I ever saw in any gathering in
the Imperial Schloss at the German capital was about fifteen
hundred,--was really much more attractive, its greater interest
arising from the presence of persons distinguished in every
field. While at St. Petersburg one meets only civil and military
functionaries, at Berlin one meets not only these, but the most
prominent men in politics, science, literature, art, and the
higher ranges of agriculture, commerce, and manufacture. At St.
Petersburg, when I wished to meet such men, who added to the
peaceful glories of the empire, I went to their houses in the
university quarter; at Berlin I met them also at court.

As to court episodes during my stay, one especially dwells in my
memory. On arriving rather early one evening, I noticed a large,
portly man, wearing the broad red ribbon of the Legion of Honor,
and at once saw that he could be no other than Prince Victor
Napoleon, the Bonaparte heir to the crown of France. Though he
was far larger than the great Napoleon, and had the eyes of his
mother, Princess Clothilde, his likeness to his father, Prince
Napoleon ("Plon-Plon"), whom I had seen years before at Paris,
was very marked. Presently his brother, who had just arrived from
his regiment in the Caucasus, came up and began conversation with
him. Both seemed greatly vexed at something. On the arrival of
the Italian ambassador, he naturally went up and spoke to the
prince, who was the grandson of King Victor Emmanuel; but the
curious thing was that the French ambassador, Count de
Montebello, and the prince absolutely cut each other. Neither
seemed to have the remotest idea that the other was in the room,
and this in spite of the fact that the Montebellos are descended
from Jean Lannes, the stable-boy whom Napoleon made a marshal of
France and Duke of Montebello, thus founding the family to which
the French ambassador belonged. The show of coolness on the part
of the imperial family evidently vexed the French pretender. He
was, indeed, allowed to enter the room behind the imperial train;
but he was not permitted to sit at the imperial table, being
relegated to a distant and very modest seat. I was informed that,
though the Emperor could, and did, have the prince to dine with
him in private, he felt obliged, in view of the relations between
Russia and the French Republic, to carefully avoid any special
recognition of him in public.

A far more brilliant visitor was the Ameer of Bokhara. I have
already spoken of the way in which he was placed upon the throne
by General Annenkof. He now came to visit the Czar as his
suzerain, and with him came his eldest son and a number of his
great men. The satrap himself was a singular combination of
splendor and stoicism, wearing a gorgeous dress covered with
enormous jewels, and observing the brilliant scenes about him
with hardly ever a word. Even when he took his place at the table
beside the Empress he was very uncommunicative. Facing the
imperial table sat his great men; and their embarrassment was
evident, one special source of it being clearly their small
acquaintance with European table utensils. The Ameer brought to
St. Petersburg splendid presents of gold and jewels, after the
Oriental fashion, and also the heir to his throne, whom he left
as a sort of hostage to be educated at the capital.

An eminent Russian who was in very close relations with the Ameer
gave me some account of this young man. Although he was then
perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age, he was, as regards
conduct, a mere baby, bursting out into loud boohooing the first
time he was presented to the Emperor, and showing himself very
immature in various ways. Curiously enough, when he was taken to
the cadet school he was found to be unable to walk for any
considerable distance. He had always been made to squat and be
carried, and the first thing to be done toward making him a
Russian officer was to train him in using his legs. He took an
especial fancy to bicycles: in the park attached to the cadet
school he became very proficient in the use of them; and,
returning to Bokhara at his first vacation, he took with him, not
only a bicycle for himself, but another for his brother. Shortly
after his home-coming, the Ameer and court being assembled, he
gave a display of his powers; but, to his great mortification,
the Ameer was disgusted: the idea that the heir to the throne
should be seen working his way in this fashion was contrary to
all the ideas of that potentate, and he ordered the bicycles to
be at once destroyed. But on the young man's return to St.
Petersburg he bought another; resumed his exercises upon it; and
will, no doubt, when he comes to the throne, introduce that form
of locomotion into the Mohammedan regions of Northern Asia.

Among the greater displays of my final year were a wedding and a
funeral. The former was that of the Emperor's eldest daughter,
the Grand Duchess Xenia, at Peterhof. It was very brilliant, and
was conducted after the usual Russian fashion, its most curious
features being the leading of the couple about the altar and
their drinking out of the same cup.

Coming from the ceremony in the chapel, we of the diplomatic
corps found ourselves, at the foot of the great staircase, in a
crush. But just at the side was a large door of plate-glass
opening upon an outer gallery communicating with other parts of
the palace; and standing guard at this door was one of the
"Nubians" whom I had noticed, from time to time, at the Winter
Palace--an enormous creature, very black, very glossy, with the
most brilliant costume possible. I had heard much of these
"Nubians," and had been given to understand that they had been
brought from Central Africa by special command. At great
assemblages in the imperial palaces, just before the doors were
flung open for the entrance of the Majesties and their cortege,
two great black hands were always to be seen put through the
doors, ready to open them in an instant--the hands of two of
these "Nubians." I had built up in my mind quite a structure of
romance regarding them, and now found myself in the crush at the
foot of the grand staircase near one of them. As I looked up at
him he said to me, with deferential compassion, "If you please,
sah, would n't you like to git out of de crowd, sah, through dis
yere doah?" By his dialect he was evidently one of my own
compatriots, and, though in a sort of daze at this discovery, I
mechanically accepted his invitation; whereupon he opened the
door, let us through, and kept back the crowd.

Splendid, too, in its way, was the funeral of the Grand Duchess
Catherine at the Fortress Church. It was very impressive, almost
as much so as the funeral of the Emperor Nicholas, which I had
attended at the same place nearly forty years before. The Emperor
Alexander III, with his brothers, had followed the hearse and
coffin on foot, and his Majesty was evidently greatly fatigued.
Soon he retired to take rest, and then it was that we began to
have the first suspicion of his fatal illness. Up to that time
there had been skepticism. Very few had thought it possible that
a man of such giant frame and strength could be seriously ill,
but now there could be no doubt of it. Standing near him, I
noticed his pallor and evident fatigue, and was not surprised
that he twice left the place, in order, evidently, to secure
rest. There was need of it. In the Russian Church the rule is
that all must stand, and all of us stood from about ten in the
morning until half-past one in the afternoon; but two high
officials covered with gold lace and orders, bearing tapers by
the side of the grand duchess's coffin, toppled over from
exhaustion and were removed.

As to other spectacles, one of the most splendid was the midnight
mass on Easter eve. At my former visit I had seen this at the
Kazan Church; now we went to the Cathedral of St. Isaac. The
ceremony was brilliant almost beyond conception, as in the old
days; the music was heavenly; and, as the clocks struck twelve,
the cannons of the fortress of Peter and Paul boomed forth, all
the bells of the city began chiming, and a light, appearing at
the extreme end of the church, seemed to run in all directions
through the vast assemblage, and presently all seemed ablaze.
Every person in the church was holding a taper, and within a few
moments all of these had been lighted.

Most beautiful of all was the music at another of these Easter
ceremonies, when the choristers, robed in white, came forth from
the sanctuary and sang hymns by the side of the empty sepulcher
under the dome.

The singing by the choirs in Russia is, in many respects, more
beautiful than similar music in any other part of the world, save
that of the cathedral choir of Berlin at its best. I have heard
the Sistine, Pauline, and Lateran choirs at Rome; and they are
certainly far inferior to these Russian singers. No instrumental
music is allowed and no voices of women. The choristers are men
and boys. There are several fine choirs in St. Petersburg, but
three are famous: that of the Emperor at the Winter Palace
Chapel, that of the Archbishop at the Cathedral of St. Isaac, and
that of the Nevski Monastery. Occasionally there were concerts
when all were combined, and nothing in its way could be more
perfect.

Operatic music also receives careful attention. Enormous
subsidies are given to secure the principal singers of Europe at
the Italian, French, and German theaters; but the most lavish
outlay is upon the national opera: it is considered a matter of
patriotism to maintain it at the highest point possible. The
Russian Opera House is an enormous structure, and the finest
piece which I saw given there was Glinka's "Life for the Czar."
Being written by a Russian, on a patriotic subject, and from an
ultra-loyal point of view, everything had been done to mount it
in the most superb way possible: never have I seen more wonderful
scenic effects, the whole culminating in the return of one of the
old fighting czars to the Kremlin after his struggle with the
Poles. The stage was enormous and the procession magnificent. The
personages in it were the counterparts, as regarded dress, of the
persons they represented, exact copies having been made of the
robes and ornaments of the old Muscovite boyards, as preserved in
the Kremlin Museum; and at the close of this procession came a
long line of horses, in the most superb trappings imaginable,
attended by guards and outriders in liveries of barbaric
splendor, and finally the imperial coach. We were enabled to
catch sight of the Cossack guards on the front of it, when, just
as the body of the coach was coming into view, down came the
curtain. This was the result of a curious prohibition, enforced
in all theaters in Russia: on no account is it permitted to
represent the sacred person of any emperor upon the stage.

As to other music, very good concerts were occasionally given,
the musicians being generally from Western Europe.

Very pleasant were sundry excursions, especially during the long
summer twilight; and among these were serenade parties given by
various members of the diplomatic corps. In a trim steam-yacht,
and carrying singers with us, we sailed among the islands in the
midnight hours, stopping, from time to time, to greet friends
occupying cottages there.

As to excursions in the empire, I have already given, in my
chapter on Tolstoi, some account of my second visit to Moscow;
and a more complete account is reserved for a chapter on "Sundry
Excursions and Experiences." The same may be said, also,
regarding an excursion taken, during one of my vacations, in
Sweden, Norway, and Denmark.

In 1893, a new administration having brought into power the party
opposed to my own, I tendered to President Cleveland my
resignation, and, in the full expectation that it would be
accepted, gave up my apartment; but as, instead of an acceptance,
there came a very kind indication of the President's confidence,
good-will, and preference for my continuance at my post, I
remained in the service a year longer, occupying my odds and ends
of time in finishing my book. Then, feeling the need of going
elsewhere to revise it, I wrote the President, thanking him for
his confidence and kindness, but making my resignation final, and
naming the date when it would be absolutely necessary for me to
leave Russia. A very kind letter from him was the result; the
time I had named was accepted; and on the 1st of November, 1894,
to my especial satisfaction, I was once more free from official
duty.



CHAPTER XXXIX

AS MEMBER OF THE VENEZUELA COMMISSION--1895-1896

Early one morning, just at the end of 1895, as I was at work
before the blazing fire in my library at the university, the
winter storms howling outside, a card was brought in bearing the
name of Mr. Hamlin, assistant secretary of the treasury of the
United States. While I was wondering what, at that time of the
year, could have brought a man from such important duties in
Washington to the bleak hills of central New York, he entered,
and soon made known his business, which was to tender me, on the
part of President Cleveland, a position upon the commission which
had been authorized by Congress to settle the boundary between
the republic of Venezuela and British Guiana.

The whole matter had attracted great attention, not only in the
United States, but throughout the world. The appointment of the
commission was the result of a chain of circumstances very
honorable to the President, to his Secretary of State, Mr. Olney,
and to Congress. For years the Venezuelan government had been
endeavoring to establish a frontier between its territory and
that of its powerful neighbor, but without result; and meantime
the British boundary seemed to be pushed more and more into the
territory of the little Spanish-American republic. For years,
too, Venezuela had appealed to the United States, and the United
States had appealed to Great Britain. American secretaries of
state and ambassadors at the Court of St. James had "trusted,"
and "regretted," and had "the honor to renew assurances of their
most distinguished consideration"; but all in vain. At last the
matter had been presented by Secretary Olney to the government of
Lord Salisbury; and now, to Mr. Olney's main despatch on the
subject, Lord Salisbury, after some months' delay, had returned
an answer declining arbitration, and adding that international
law did not recognize the Monroe Doctrine. This seemed even more
than cool; for, when one remembered that the Monroe Doctrine was
at first laid down with the approval of Great Britain, that it
was glorified in Parliament and in the British press of 1823 and
the years following, and that Great Britain had laid down
policies in various parts of the earth, especially in the
Mediterranean and in the far East, which she insisted that all
other powers should respect without reference to any sanction by
international law, this argument seemed almost insulting.

So it evidently seemed to Mr. Cleveland. Probably no man less
inclined to demagogism or to a policy of adventure ever existed;
but as he looked over the case his American instincts were
evidently aroused. He saw then, what is clear to everybody now,
that it was the time of all times for laying down, distinctly and
decisively, the American doctrine on the subject. He did so, and
in a message to Congress proposed that, since Great Britain would
not intrust the finding of a boundary to arbitration, the United
States should appoint commissioners to find what the proper
boundary was, and then, having ascertained it, should support its
sister American republic in maintaining it.

Of course the President was attacked from all sides most
bitterly; even those called "the better element" in the
Republican and Democratic parties, who had been his ardent
supporters, now became his bitter enemies. He was charged with
"demagogism" and "jingoism," but he kept sturdily on. Congress,
including the great body of the Republicans, supported him; the
people at large stood by him; and, as a result, a commission to
determine the boundary was appointed and began its work in
Washington, the commissioners being, in the order named by the
President, David J. Brewer of Kansas, a justice of the Supreme
Court of the United States; Chief Justice Alvey of the District
of Columbia; Andrew D. White of New York; F. R. Coudert, an
eminent member of the New York bar; and Daniel C. Gilman of
Maryland, President of Johns Hopkins University.

On our arrival in Washington there was much discouragement among
us. We found ourselves in a jungle of geographical and legal
questions, with no clue in sight leading anywhither. The rights
of Great Britain had been derived in 1815, from the Netherlands;
the rights of Venezuela had been derived, about 1820, from Spain;
but to find the boundary separating the two in that vast
territory, mainly unsettled, between the Orinoco and the
Essequibo rivers, seemed impossible.

The original rights of the Netherlands had been derived from
Spain by the treaty of Munster in 1648; and on examining that
enormous document, which settled weighty questions in various
parts of the world, after the life-and-death struggle, religious,
political, and military, which had gone on for nearly eighty
years, one little clause arrested our attention: that, namely, in
which the Spaniards, despite their bitter hatred of the Dutch,
agreed that the latter might carry on warlike operations against
"certain other people" with reference to territorial rights in
America. These "certain other people" were not precisely
indicated; and we hoped, by finding who they were, to get a clue
to the fundamental facts of the case. Straightway two of our
three lawyers, Mr. Justice Brewer and Mr. Coudert, grappled on
this question, one of them taking the ground that these "other
people" referred to were the Caribbean Indians who had lived just
south of the mouth of the Orinoco, and had been friendly to the
Dutch but implacable toward the Spaniards, and that their
territory was to be considered as virtually Dutch, and,
therefore, as having passed finally to England. But the other
disputant insisted that it referred to the Brazilians and had no
relation to the question with which we had to deal. During two
whole sessions this ground was fought over in a legal way by
these gentlemen, with great acumen, the rest of us hardly putting
in a word.

At the beginning of the third session I ventured a remonstrance,
saying that it was a historical, and not a legal, question; that
it could not possibly be settled by legal argument; that the
first thing to know was why the clause was inserted in the
treaty, and that the next thing was to find, from the whole
history leading up to it, who those "other persons" thus vaguely
referred to and left by the Spaniards to the tender mercies of
the Dutch might be; and I insisted that this, being a historical
question, must be solved by historical experts. The commission
acknowledged the justice of this; and on my nomination we called
to our aid Mr. George Lincoln Burr, professor of history in
Cornell University. It is not at all the very close friendship
which has existed for so many years between us which prompts the
assertion that, of all historical scholars I have ever known, he
is among the very foremost, by his powers of research, his
tenacity of memory, his almost preternatural accuracy, his
ability to keep the whole field of investigation in his mind, and
his fidelity to truth and justice. He was set at the problem, and
given access to the libraries of Congress and of the State
Department, as also to the large collections of books and maps
which had been placed at the disposal of the commission. Of these
the most important were those of Harvard University and the
University of Wisconsin. Curious as it may seem, this latter
institution, far in the interior of our country, possesses a
large and most valuable collection of maps relating to the
colonization history of South America. Within two weeks Professor
Burr reported, and never did a report give more satisfaction. He
had unraveled, historically, the whole mystery, and found that,
the government of Brazil having played false to both Spaniards
and Dutch, Spain had allowed the Netherlands to take vengeance
for the vexations of both. We also had the exceedingly valuable
services, as to maps and early colonization history, of Mr.
Justin Winsor, librarian of Harvard University, eminent both as
historian and geographer, and of Professor Jameson of Brown
University, who had also distinguished himself in these fields.
Besides these, Mr. Marcus Baker of the United States Coast Survey
aided us, from day to day, in mapping out any territories that we
wished especially to study.

All this work was indispensable. At the very beginning of our
sessions there had been laid before us the first of a series of
British Blue Books on the whole subject; and, with all my
admiration for the better things in British history, politics,
and life, candor compels me to say that it was anything but
creditable to the men immediately responsible for it. It made
several statements that were absolutely baseless, and sought to
rest them upon authorities which, when examined, were found not
to bear in the slightest degree the interpretation put upon them.
I must confess that nothing, save, perhaps, the conduct of
British "experts" regarding the Behring Sea question, has ever
come so near shaking my faith in "British fair play." Nor were
the American commissioners alone in judging this document
severely. Critics broke forth, even in the London "Times,"
denouncing it, until it was supplanted by another, which was fair
and just.

I, of course, impute nothing to the leading British statesmen who
had charge of the whole Venezuelan question. The culprits were,
undoubtedly, sundry underlings whose zeal outran their honesty.
They apparently thought that in the United States, which they
probably considered as new, raw, and too much engaged in
dollar-hunting to produce scholars, their citations from
authorities more or less difficult of access would fail to be
critically examined. But their conduct was soon exposed, and even
their principals joined in repudiating some of their fundamental
statements. Professor Burr was sent abroad, and at The Hague was
able to draw treasures from the library and archives regarding
the old Dutch occupation and to send a mass of important material
for our deliberations. In London also he soon showed his
qualities, and these were acknowledged even by some leading
British geographers. The latter had at first seemed inclined to
indulge in what a German might call "tendency" geography; but the
clearness, earnestness, and honesty of our agent soon gained
their respect, and, after that, the investigators of both sides
worked harmoniously together. While the distinguished lawyers
above named had main charge of the legal questions, President
Gilman, who had in his early life been professor of physical and
general geography at Yale, was given charge of the whole matter
of map-seeking and -making; and to me, with the others, was left
the duty of studying and reporting upon the material as brought
in. Taking up my residence at Washington, I applied myself
earnestly to reading through masses of books, correspondence, and
other documents, and studied maps until I felt as if I had lived
in the country concerned and was personally acquainted with the
Dutch governors on the Cuyuni and the Spanish monks on the
Orinoco. As a result lines more or less tentative were prepared
by each of us, Judge Brewer and myself agreeing very closely, and
the others not being very distant from us at any important point.
One former prime minister of Great Britain I learned, during this
investigation, to respect greatly,--Lord Aberdeen, whom I well
remembered as discredited and driven from power during my stay in
Russia at the time of the Crimean War. He was wise enough in
those days to disbelieve in war with Russia, and to desire a
solution of the Turkish problem by peace, but was overruled, and
the solution was attempted by a war most costly in blood and
treasure, which was apparently successful, but really a failure.
He was driven from his post with ignominy; and I well remembered
seeing a very successful cartoon in "Punch" at that period,
representing him, wearing coronet and mantle and fast asleep, at
the helm of the ship of state, which was rolling in the trough of
the sea and apparently about to founder.

Since that time his wisdom has, I think, been recognized; and I
am now glad to acknowledge the fact that, of all the many British
statesmen who dealt with the Venezuelan question, he was clearly
the most just. The line he drew seemed to me the fairest
possible. He did not attempt to grasp the mouth of the Orinoco,
nor did he meander about choice gold-fields or valuable strategic
points, seeking to include them. The Venezuelans themselves had
shown willingness to accept his proposal; but alleged, as their
reason for not doing so, that the British government had preached
to them regarding their internal policy so offensively that
self-respect forbade them to acquiesce in any part of it.

Toward this Aberdeen line we tended more and more; and in the
sequel we heard, with very great satisfaction, that the
Arbitration Tribunal at Paris had practically adopted this line,
which we of the commission had virtually agreed upon. It need
hardly be stated that, each side having at the beginning of the
arbitration claimed the whole vast territory between the Orinoco
and the Essequibo, neither was quite satisfied with the award.
But I believe it to be thoroughly just, and that it forms a most
striking testimony to the value of international arbitration in
such questions, as a means, not only of preserving international
peace, but of arriving at substantial justice.

Our deliberations and conclusions were, of course, kept secret.
It was of the utmost importance that nothing should get out
regarding them. Our sessions were delayed and greatly prolonged,
partly on account of the amount of work to be done in studying
the many questions involved, and partly because we hoped that,
more and more, British opinion would tend to the submission of
the whole question to the judgment of a proper international
tribunal; and that Lord Salisbury, the prime minister, who, in
his rather cynical, "Saturday-Review," high-Tory way, had scouted
the idea of arbitration, would at last be brought to it. Of
course, every thinking Englishman looked with uneasiness toward
the possibility that a line might be laid down by the United
States which it would feel obliged to maintain, and which would
necessitate its supporting Venezuela, at all hazards, against
Great Britain.

The statesmanship of Mr. Cleveland and Mr. Olney finally
triumphed. Most fortunately for both parties, Great Britain had
at Washington a most eminent diplomatist, whose acquaintance I
then made, but whom I afterward came to know, respect, and admire
even more during the Peace Conference at The Hague--Sir Julian,
afterward Lord, Pauncefote. His wise counsels prevailed; Lord
Salisbury receded from his position; Great Britain agreed to
arbitration; and the question entered into a new stage, which was
finally ended by the award of the Arbitration Tribunal at Paris,
presided over by M. de Martens of St. Petersburg, and having on
its bench the chief justices of the two nations and two of the
most eminent judges of their highest courts. It is with pride and
satisfaction that I find their award agreeing, substantially,
with the line which, after so much trouble, our own commission
had worked out. Arbitration having been decided upon, our
commission refrained from laying down a frontier-line, but
reported a mass of material, some fourteen volumes in all, with
an atlas containing about seventy-five maps, all of which formed
a most valuable contribution to the material laid before the
Court of Arbitration at Paris.

It was a happy solution of the whole question, and it was a
triumph of American diplomacy in the cause of right and justice.

I may mention, in passing, one little matter which throws light
upon a certain disgraceful system to which I have had occasion to
refer at various other times in these memoirs; and I do so now in
the hope of keeping people thinking upon one of the most wretched
abuses in the United States. I have said above that we were, of
course, obliged to maintain the strictest secrecy. To have
allowed our conclusions to get out would have thwarted the whole
purpose of the investigation; but a person who claimed to
represent one of the leading presses in Washington seemed to
think that consideration of no special importance, and came to
our rooms, virtually insisting on receiving information. Having
been told that it could not be given him, he took his revenge by
inserting a sensational paragraph in the papers regarding the
extravagance of the commission. He informed the world that we
were expending large sums of public money in costly furniture, in
rich carpets, and especially in splendid silverware. The fact was
that the rooms were furnished very simply, with plain office
furniture, with cheap carpets, and with a safe for locking up the
more precious documents intrusted to us and such papers as it was
important to keep secret. The "silverware" consisted of two very
plain plated jugs for ice-water; and I may add that after our
adjournment the furniture was so wisely sold that very nearly the
whole expenditure for it was returned into the treasury.

These details would be utterly trivial were it not that, with
others which I have given in other places, they indicate that
prostitution of the press to sensation-mongering which the
American people should realize and reprove.

While I have not gone into minor details of our work, I have
thought that thus much might be interesting. Of course, had these
reminiscences been written earlier, this sketch of the interior
history of the commission would have been omitted; but now, the
award of the Paris tribunal having been made, there is no reason
why secrecy should be longer maintained. Never, before that
award, did any of us, I am sure, indicate to any person what our
view as to the line between the possessions of Venezuela and
Great Britain was; but now we may do so, and I feel that all
concerned may be congratulated on the fact that two tribunals,
each seeking to do justice, united on the same line, and that
line virtually the same which one of the most just of British
statesmen had approved many years before.

During this Venezuela work in Washington I made acquaintance with
many leading men in politics; and among those who interested me
most was Mr. Carlisle of Kentucky, Secretary of the Treasury. He
had been member of Congress, Speaker of the House of
Representatives, and senator, and was justly respected and
admired. Perhaps the most peculiar tribute that I ever heard paid
to a public man was given him once in the House of
Representatives by my friend Mr. Hiscock, then representative,
and afterward senator, from the State of New York. Seated by his
side in the House, and noting the rulings of Mr. Carlisle as
Speaker, I asked, "What sort of man is this Speaker of yours?"
Mr. Hiscock answered, "As you know, he is one of the strongest of
Democrats, and I am one of the strongest of Republicans; yet I
will say this: that my imagination is not strong enough to
conceive of his making an unfair ruling or doing an unfair thing
against the party opposed to him in this House."

Mr. Carlisle's talents were of a very high order. His speeches
carried great weight; and in the campaign which came on later
between Mr. McKinley and Mr. Bryan, he, in my opinion, and indeed
in the opinion, I think, of every leading public man, did a most
honorable thing when he deliberately broke from his party,
sacrificed, apparently, all hopes of political preferment, and
opposed the regular Democratic candidate. His speech before the
working-men of Chicago on the issues of that period was certainly
one of the two most important delivered during the first McKinley
campaign, the other being that of Carl Schurz.

Another man whom I saw from time to time during this period was
the Vice-President, Mr. Stevenson. I first met him at a public
dinner in New York, where we sat side by side; but we merely
talked on generalities. But the next time I met him was at a
dinner given by the Secretary of War, and there I found that he
was one of the most admirable raconteurs I had ever met. After a
series of admirable stories, one of the party said to me: "He
could tell just as good stories as those for three weeks running
and never repeat himself."

One of these stories by the Vice-President, if true, threw a
curious light over the relations of President Lincoln with three
men very distinguished in American annals. It was as follows: One
day, shortly before the issue of the Emancipation Proclamation, a
visitor, finding Mr. Lincoln evidently in melancholy mood, said
to him, "Mr. President, I am sorry to find you not feeling so
well as at my last visit." Mr. Lincoln replied: "Yes, I am
troubled. One day the best of our friends from the border States
come in and insist that I shall not issue an Emancipation
Proclamation, and that, if I do so, the border States will
virtually cast in their lot with the Southern Confederacy.
Another day, Charles Sumner, Thad Stevens, and Ben Wade come in
and insist that if I do not issue such a proclamation the North
will be utterly discouraged and the Union wrecked,--and, by the
way, these three men are coming in this very afternoon." At this
moment his expression changed, his countenance lighted up, and he
said to the visitor, who was from the West, "Mr. ----, did you
ever go to a prairie school?" "No," said the visitor, "I never
did." "Well," said Mr. Lincoln, "I did, and it was a very poor
school, and we were very poor folks,--too poor to have regular
reading-books, and so we brought our Bibles and read from them.
One morning the chapter was from the Book of Daniel, and a little
boy who sat next me went all wrong in pronouncing the names of
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. The teacher had great difficulty
in setting him right, and before he succeeded was obliged to
scold the boy and cuff him for his stupidity. The nest verse came
to me, and so the chapter went along down the class. Presently it
started on its way back, and soon after I noticed that the little
fellow began crying. On this I asked him, 'What's the matter with
you?' and he answered, 'Don't you see? Them three miserable
cusses are coming back to me again.'"

I also at that period made the acquaintance of Senator Gray of
Delaware, who seemed to me ideally fitted for his position as a
member of the Upper House in Congress. Speaker Reed also made a
great impression upon me as a man of honesty, lucidity, and
force. The Secretary of State, Mr. Olney, I saw frequently, and
was always impressed by the sort of bulldog tenacity which had
gained his victory over Lord Salisbury in the arbitration matter.

But to give even the most hasty sketch of the members of the
Supreme Court, the cabinet, and of both houses of Congress whom I
met would require more time than is at my disposal.

This stay in Washington I enjoyed much. Our capital city is
becoming the seat of a refined hospitality which makes it more
and more attractive. Time was, and that not very long since, when
it was looked upon as a place of exile by diplomatists, and as
repulsive by many of our citizens; but all that is of the past:
the courtesy shown by its inhabitants is rapidly changing its
reputation.

Perhaps, of all the social enjoyments of that time, the most
attractive to me was an excursion of the American Geographical
Society to Monticello, the final residence of President
Jefferson. Years before, while visiting the University of
Virginia at Charlottesville, I had been intensely interested in
that creation of Mr. Jefferson and in the surroundings of his
home; but the present occupant of Monticello, having been greatly
annoyed by visitors, was understood to be reluctant to allow any
stranger to enter the mansion, and I would not intrude upon him.
But now house and grounds were freely thrown open, and upon a
delightful day. The house itself was a beautiful adaptation of
the architecture which had reached its best development at the
time of Jefferson's stay in France; and the decorations, like
those which I had noted years before in some of the rooms of the
university, were of an exquisite Louis Seize character.

Jefferson's peculiarities, also, came out in various parts of the
house. Perhaps the most singular was his bed, occupying the whole
space of an archway between two rooms, one of which, on the left,
served as a dressing-room for him, and the other, on the right,
for Mrs. Jefferson; and, there being no communication between
them save by a long circuit through various rooms, it was evident
that the ex-President had made up his mind that he would not have
his intimate belongings interfered with by any of the women of
the household, not even by his wife.

But most attractive of all was the view through the valleys and
over the neighboring hills as we sat at our picnic-tables on the
lawn. Having read with care every line of Jefferson's letters
ever published, and some writings of his which have never been
printed, my imagination was vivid. It enabled me to see him
walking through the rooms and over the estate, receiving
distinguished guests under the portico, discussing with them at
his dinner-table the great questions of the day, and promulgating
his theories, some of which were so beneficent and others so
noxious.

The only sad part of this visit was to note the destruction, by
the fire not long before, of the columns in front of the rotunda
of the university. I especially mourned over the calcined remains
of their capitals, for into these Jefferson had really wrought
his own heart. With a passion for the modern adaptation of
classic architecture, he had poured the very essence of his
artistic feelings into them. He longed to see every stroke which
his foreign sculptors made upon them. Daily, according to the
chronicle of the time, he rode over to see how they progressed,
and, between his visits, frequently observed them through his
telescope; and now all their work was but calcined limestone.
Fortunately, the burning of the old historical buildings aroused
public spirit; large sums of money were poured into the
university treasury; and the work was in process which, it is to
be hoped, will restore the former beauty of the colonnade and
largely increase the buildings and resources of the institution.

During my work upon the commission I learned to respect more and
more the calm, steady, imperturbable character of Mr. Cleveland.
Of course the sensational press howled continually, and the press
which was considered especially enlightened and which had
steadily supported him up to this period, was hardly less bitter;
but he persevered. During the period taken by the commission for
its work, both the American and British peoples had time for calm
thought. Lord Salisbury, especially, had time to think better of
it; and when he at last receded from his former haughty position
and accepted arbitration, Mr. Cleveland and the State Department
gained one of the most honorable victories in the history of
American diplomacy.



CHAPTER XL

AS AMBASSADOR TO GERMANY--1897-1903

On the 1st of April, 1897, President McKinley nominated me
ambassador to Berlin; and, the appointment having been duly
confirmed by the Senate, I visited Washington to obtain
instructions and make preparations. One of the most important of
these preparations was the securing of a second secretary for the
embassy. A long list of applicants for this position had
appeared, several with strong backing from party magnates,
cabinet officers, and senators; but, though all of them seemed
excellent young men, very few had as yet any experience likely to
be serviceable, and a look over the list suggested many
misgivings. There was especially needed just then at Berlin a
second secretary prepared to aid in disentangling sundry
important questions already before the embassy. The first
secretary, whom no person thought of displacing, was ideally
fitted for his place--in fact, was fitted for any post in the
diplomatic service; but a second secretary was needed to take, as
an expert, a mass of work on questions relating to commerce and
manufactures which were just then arising between the two nations
in shapes new and even threatening.

While the whole matter was under advisement, there appeared a
young man from Ohio, with no backing of any sort save his record.
He had distinguished himself at one of our universities as a
student in political economy and international law; had then
taken a fellowship in the same field at another university; and
had finally gone to Germany and there taken his degree, his
graduating thesis being on "The Commercial and Diplomatic
Relations between the United States and Germany." In preparing
this he had been allowed to work up a mass of material in our
embassy archives, and had afterward expanded his thesis into a
book which had gained him credit. As the most serious questions
between the two countries were commercial, he seemed a godsend;
and, going to the President, I stated the matter fully. Though
the young man was as far as possible from having any "pull" in
the State from which he came, was not at all known either to the
President or the Secretary of State or assistant secretary of
state, all of whom came from Ohio, and was equally unknown to
either of the Ohio senators or to any representative, and though
nothing whatever was known of his party affiliations, the
President, on hearing a statement of the case, ignored all
pressure in favor of rival candidates, sent in his nomination to
the Senate, and it was duly confirmed.

The next thing was the appointment of a military attache. The
position is by no means a sinecure. Our government must always
feel the importance of receiving the latest information as to the
armies and navies of the great powers of the world; and therefore
it is that, very wisely, it has attached military and naval
experts to various leading embassies. It is important that these
be not only thoroughly instructed and far-seeing, but gentlemen
in the truest sense of the word; and I therefore presented a
graduate of West Point who, having conducted an expedition in
Alaska and served with his regiment on the Western plains most
creditably, had done duty as military attache with me during my
mission at St. Petersburg, and had proved himself, in every
respect, admirable. Though he had no other supporter at the
national capital, the Secretary of War, Governor Alger, granted
my request, and he was appointed.

These matters, to many people apparently trivial, are here
alluded to because it is so often charged that political
considerations outweigh all others in such appointments, and
because this charge was frequently made against President
McKinley. The simple fact is that, with the multitude of
nominations to be made, the appointing power cannot have personal
knowledge of the applicants, and must ask the advice of persons
who have known them and can, to some extent, be held responsible
for them. In both the cases above referred to, political pressure
of the strongest in favor of other candidates went for nothing
against the ascertained interest of the public service.

The Secretary of State at this time was Mr. John Sherman. I had
known him somewhat during his career as senator and Secretary of
the Treasury, and had for his character, abilities, and services
the most profound respect. I now saw him often. He had become
somewhat infirm, but his mind seemed still clear; whether at the
State Department or in social circles his reminiscences of public
men and affairs were always interesting, and one of these
confirmed an opinion I have expressed in another chapter. One
night, at a dinner-party, the discussion having fallen upon
President Andrew Johnson, and some slighting remarks having been
made regarding him by one of our company, Mr. Sherman, who had
been one of President Johnson's strongest opponents, declared him
a man of patriotic motives as well as of great ability, and
insisted that the Republican party had made a great mistake in
attempting to impeach him. In the course of the conversation one
of the foremost members of the House of Representatives, a man of
the highest standing and character, stated that he had himself,
when a young man, aided Mr. Johnson as secretary, and that he was
convinced that the ex-President could write very little more than
his signature. We had all heard the old story that after he had
become of age his newly wedded wife had taught him the alphabet,
but it was known to very few that he remained to the last so
imperfectly equipped.

Of conversations with many other leading men of that period at
Washington I remember that, at the house of my friend Dr. Hill,
afterward assistant secretary of state, mention being made of the
Blaine campaign, an eminent justice of the Supreme Court said
that Mr. Blaine always insisted to the end of his life that he
had lost the Presidency on account of the Rev. Dr. Burchard's
famous alliteration, "Rum, Romanism, and rebellion," and that the
whole was really a Democratic trick. Neither the judge nor any
other person present believed that Mr. Blaine's opinion in this
matter was well founded.

An important part of my business during this visit was to confer
with the proper persons at Washington, including the German
ambassador, Baron von Thielmann, regarding sundry troublesome
questions between the United States and Germany. The addition to
the American tariff of a duty against the sugar imports from
every other country equivalent to the sugar bounty allowed
manufactures in that country had led to special difficulties. It
had been claimed by Germany that this additional duty was
contrary to the most-favored-nation clause in our treaties; and,
unfortunately, the decisions on our side had been conflicting,
Mr. Gresham, Secretary of State under Mr. Cleveland, having
allowed that the German contention was right, and his successor,
Mr. Olney, having presented an elaborate argument to show that it
was wrong. On this point, conversations, not only with the
Secretary of State and the German ambassador, but with leading
members of the committees of Congress having the tariff in
charge, and especially with Mr. Allison and Mr. Aldrich of the
Senate and Governor Dingley of the House, showed me that the case
was complicated, the various interests somewhat excited against
each other, and that my work in dealing with them was to be
trying.

There were also several other questions no less difficult, those
relating to the exportation of American products to Germany and
the troubles already brewing in Samoa being especially prominent;
so that it was with anything but an easy feeling that, on the
29th of May, I sailed from New York.

On the 12th of June I presented the President's letter of
credence to the Emperor William II. The more important of my new
relations to the sovereign had given me no misgivings; for during
my stay in Berlin as minister, eighteen years before, I had found
him very courteous, he being then the heir apparent; but with the
ceremonial part it was otherwise, and to that I looked forward
almost with dismay.

For, since my stay in Berlin, the legation had been raised to an
embassy. It had been justly thought by various patriotic members
of Congress that it was incompatible, either with the dignity or
the interests of so great a nation as ours, to be represented
simply by a minister plenipotentiary, who, when calling at the
Foreign Office to transact business, might be obliged to wait for
hours, and even until the next day, while representatives from
much less important countries who ranked as ambassadors went in
at once. The change was good, but in making it Congress took no
thought of some things which ought to have been provided for. Of
these I shall speak later; but as regards the presentation, the
trying feature to me was that there was a great difference
between this and any ceremonial which I had previously
experienced, whether as commissioner at Santo Domingo and Paris,
or as minister at Berlin and St. Petersburg. At the presentation
of a minister plenipotentiary he goes in his own carriage to the
palace at the time appointed; is ushered into the presence of the
sovereign; delivers to him, with some simple speech, the
autograph letter from the President; and then, after a kindly
answer, all is finished. But an ambassador does not escape so
easily. Under a fiction of international law he is regarded as
the direct representative of the sovereign power of his country,
and is treated in some sense as such. Therefore it was that, at
the time appointed, a high personage of the court, in full
uniform, appeared at my hotel accompanied by various other
functionaries, with three court carriages, attendants, and
outriders, deputed to conduct me to the palace. Having been
escorted to the first of the carriages,--myself, in plain
citizen's dress, on the back seat; my escort, in gorgeous
uniform, facing me; and my secretaries and attaches in the other
carriages,--we took up our march in solemn procession--carriages,
outriders, and all--through the Wilhelmstrasse and Unter den
Linden. On either side was a gaping crowd; at the various corps
de garde bodies of troops came out and presented arms; and on our
arrival at the palace there was a presentation of arms and
beating of drums which, for the moment, somewhat abashed me. It
was an ordeal more picturesque than agreeable.

The reception by the Emperor was simple, courteous, and kindly.
Neither of us made any set speech, but we discussed various
questions, making reference to our former meeting and the changes
which had occurred since. Among these changes I referred to the
great improvement in Berlin, whereupon he said that he could not
think the enormous growth of modern cities an advantage. My
answer was that my reference was to the happy change in the
architecture of Berlin rather than to its growth in population;
that, during my first stay in the city, over forty years before,
nearly all the main buildings were of brick and stucco, whereas
there had now been a remarkable change from stucco to stone and
to a much nobler style of architecture. We also discussed the
standing of Germans in America and their relations to the United
States. On my remarking that it was just eighteen years and one
day since the first Emperor William had received me as minister
in that same palace, he spoke of various things in the history of
the intervening years; and then ensued an episode such as I had
hardly expected. For just before leaving New York my old friend
Frederick William Holls, after a dinner at his house on the
Hudson, had given his guests examples of the music written by
Frederick the Great, and one piece had especially interested us.
It was a duet in which Mr. Holls played one part upon the organ,
and his wife another upon the piano; and all of us were greatly
impressed by the dignity and beauty of the whole. It had been
brought to light and published by the present Emperor, and after
the performance some one of the party remarked, in a jocose way,
"You should express our thanks to his Majesty, when you meet him,
for the pleasure which this music has given us." I thought
nothing more of the subject until, just at the close of the
conversation above referred to, it came into my mind; and on my
mentioning it the Emperor showed at once a special interest,
discussing the music from various points of view; and on my
telling him that we were all surprised that it was not
amateurish, but really profound in its harmonies and beautiful in
its melodies, he dwelt upon the musical debt of Frederick the
Great to Bach and the special influence of Bach upon him. This
conversation recurred to me later, when the Emperor, in erecting
the statue to Frederick the Great on the Avenue of Victory,
placed on one side of it the bust of Marshal Schwerin, and on the
other that of Johann Sebastian Bach, thus honoring the two men
whom he considered most important during Frederick's reign.

After presenting my embassy secretaries and attaches, military
and naval, I was conducted with them into the presence of the
Empress, who won all our hearts by her kindly, unaffected
greeting. On my recalling her entrance into Berlin as a bride, in
her great glass coach, seventeen years before, on one of the
coldest days I ever knew, she gave amusing details of her stately
progress down the Linden on that occasion; and in response to my
congratulations upon her six fine boys and her really charming
little daughter, it was pleasant to see how

 "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,"

her eyes lighting up with pride and joy, and her conversation
gladly turning to the children.

It may be added here that the present Empress seems to have
broken the unfortunate spell which for about half a century hung
over the queens and empresses of the house of Hohenzollern. I
remember well that, among the Germans whom I knew in my
Berlin-University days, all the sins of the period, political and
religious, seemed to be traced to the influence of Queen
Elizabeth, the consort of the reigning King Frederick William IV;
and that, during my first official stay in the same capital as
minister, a similar feeling was shown toward the Empress Augusta,
in spite of her most kindly qualities and her devotion to every
sort of charitable work; and that the crown princess, afterward
the Empress Frederick, in spite of all her endowments of head and
heart, was apparently more unpopular than either of her two
predecessors. But the present Empress seems to have changed all
this, and, doubtless, mainly by her devotion to her husband and
her children, which apparently excludes from her mind all care
for the great problems of the universe outside her family. So
strong is this feeling of kindness toward her that it was comical
to see, at one period during my stay, when she had been brought
perilously near a most unpopular course of action, that everybody
turned at once upon her agent in the matter, saying nothing about
her, but belaboring him unmercifully, though he was one of the
most attractive of men.

These presentations being finished, our return to the Kaiserhof
Hotel was made with the same ceremony as that with which we had
come to the palace, and happy was I when all was over.

Of the other official visits at this time, foremost in importance
was that to the chancellor of the empire, Prince Hohenlohe.
Although he was then nearly eighty years old and bent with age,
his mind in discussing public matters was entirely clear. Various
later conversations with him also come back to me--one,
especially, at a dinner he gave at the chancellor's palace to
President Harrison. On my recalling the fact that we were in the
room where I had first dined with Bismarck, Prince Hohenlohe gave
a series of reminiscences of his great predecessor, some of them
throwing a strong light upon his ideas and methods. On one
occasion, at my own table, he spoke very thoughtfully on German
characteristics, and one of his remarks surprised me: it was that
the besetting sin of the Germans is envy (Neid); in which remark
one may see a curious tribute to the tenacity of the race, since
Tacitus justified a similar opinion. He seemed rather melancholy;
but he had a way of saying pungent things very effectively, and
one of these attributed to him became widely known. He was
publicly advocating a hotly contested canal bill, when an
opponent said, "You will find a solid rock in the way of this
measure"; to which the chancellor rejoined, "We will then do with
the rock as Moses did: we will smite it and get water for our
canal."

As to the next visit of importance, I was especially glad to find
at the Foreign Office the newly appointed minister, Baron (now
Count) von Bulow. During the first part of my former stay, as
minister, I had done business at the Foreign Office with his
father, and found him in every respect a most congenial
representative of the German Government. It now appeared that
father and son were amazingly like each other, not only in
personal manner, but in their mode of dealing with public
affairs. With the multitude of trying questions which pressed
upon me as ambassador during nearly six years, it hardly seems
possible that I should be still alive were it not for the genial,
hearty intercourse, at the Foreign Office and elsewhere, with
Count von Bulow. Sundry German papers, indeed, attacked him as
yielding to much to me, and sundry American papers attacked me
for yielding too much to him; but both of us exerted ourselves to
do the best possible, each for his own country, and at the same
time to preserve peace and increase good feeling.

Interesting was it to me, from my first to my last days in
Berlin, to watch him in the discharge of his great duties,
especially in his dealings with hostile forces in Parliament. No
contrast could be more marked than that between his manner and
that of his great predecessor, the iron chancellor. To begin
with, no personalities could be more unlike. In the place of an
old man, big, rumbling, heavy, fiery, minatory, objurgatory,
there now stood a young man, quiet, self-possessed, easy in
speech, friendly in manner, "sweet reasonableness" apparently his
main characteristic, bubbling at times with humor, quick to turn
a laugh on a hostile bungler, but never cruel; prompt in
returning a serious thrust, but never venomous. Many of his
speeches were masterpieces in their way of handling opponents. An
attack which Bismarck would have met with a bludgeon, Bulow
parried with weapons infinitely lighter, but in some cases really
more effective. A very good example was on an occasion when the
old charge of "Byzantinism" was flung at the present regime, to
which he replied, not by a historical excursus or political
disquisition, but by humorously deprecating a comparison of the
good, kindly, steady-going, hard-working old privy councilors and
other state officials of Berlin with fanatics, conspirators, and
assassins who played leading parts at Constantinople during the
decline of the Eastern Empire. In the most stormy discussions I
never saw him other than serene; under real provocation he
remained kindly; more than one bitter opponent he disarmed with a
retort; but there were no poisoned wounds. The German Parliament,
left to itself, can hardly be a peaceful body. The lines of
cleavage between parties are many, and some of them are old
chasms of racial dislike and abysses of religious and social
hate; but the appearance of the young chancellor at his desk
seemed, even on the darkest days, to bring sunshine.

Occasionally, during my walks in the Thiergarten, I met him on
his way to Parliament; and, no matter how pressing public
business might be, he found time to extend his walk and prolong
our discussions. On one of these walks I alluded to a hot debate
of the day before and to his suavity under provocation, when he
answered: "Old ----, many years ago, gave me two counsels, and I
have always tried to mind them. These were: 'Never worry; never
lose your temper.'"

A pet phrase among his critics is that he is a diplomatist and
not a statesman. Like so many antitheses, this is misleading. It
may be just to say that his methods are, in general, those of a
diplomatist rather than of a statesman; but certain it is that in
various debates of my time he showed high statesmanlike
qualities, and notably at the beginning of the war with China and
in sundry later contests with the agrarians and socialists. Even
his much criticized remark during the imbroglio between Turkey
and Greece, picturing Germany as laying down her flute and
retiring from the "European Concert," which to many seemed mere
persiflage, was the humorous presentation of a policy dictated by
statesmanship. Nor were all his addresses merely light and
humorous; at times, when some deep sentiment had been stirred, he
was eloquent, rising to the height of great arguments and taking
broad views.

No one claims that he is a Richelieu, a William Pitt, or a
Cavour; but the work of such men is not what the German Empire
just now requires. The man needed at present is the one who can
keep things GOING, who can minimize differences, resist
extremists, turn aside marplots, soothe doctrinaires, and thus
give the good germs in the empire a chance to grow. For this work
it would be hard to imagine a better man than the present
chancellor. His selection and retention by the Emperor prove that
the present monarch has inherited two of the best qualities of
his illustrious grandfather: skill in recognizing the right man
and firmness in standing by him.

The next thing which an ambassador is expected to do, after
visiting the great representatives of the empire, is to become
acquainted with the official world in general.

But he must make acquaintance with these under his own roof. On
his arrival he is expected to visit the Emperor and the princes
of his family, the imperial chancellor, and the minister of
foreign affairs, but all others are expected to visit him; hence
the most pressing duty on my arrival was to secure a house, and,
during three months following, all the time that I could possibly
spare, and much that I ought not to have spared, was given to
excursions into all parts of the city to find it. No house, no
ambassador. A minister plenipotentiary can live during his first
year in a hotel or in a very modest apartment; an ambassador
cannot. He must have a spacious house fully furnished before he
can really begin his duties; for, as above stated, one of the
first of these duties is to make the acquaintance of the official
world,--the ministers of the crown, the diplomatic corps, the
members of the Imperial Parliament, the members of the Prussian
legislature, the foremost men in the army and navy, and the
leaders in public life generally,--and to this end he must give
three very large receptions, at which all those personages visit
him. This is a matter of which the court itself takes charge, so
far as inviting and presenting the guests is concerned, high
court officials being sent to stand by the side of the ambassador
and ambassadress and make the introductions to them; but, as
preliminary to all this, the first thing is to secure a residence
fit for such receptions and for entertainments in connection with
them.

Under the rules of European nations generally, these receptions
must be held at the ambassador's permanent residence; but,
unfortunately, such a thing as a large furnished apartment
suitable for a foreign representative is rarely to be found in
Berlin. In London and Paris such apartments are frequently
offered, but in Berlin hardly ever. Every other nation which
sends an ambassador to Berlin--and the same is true as regards
the other large capitals of Europe--owns a suitable house, or at
least holds a long lease of a commodious apartment; but, although
President Cleveland especially recommended provision for such
residence in one of his messages, nothing has yet been done by
the American Congress, and the consequence is that every
ambassador has to lose a great amount of valuable time, effort,
and money in securing proper quarters, while his country loses
much of its proper prestige and dignity by constant changes in
the location of its embassy, and by the fact that the American
representative is not infrequently obliged to take up his
residence in unfit apartments and in an unsuitable part of the
town.

After looking at dozens of houses, the choice was narrowed down
to two; but, as one was nearly three miles from the center of the
city, selection was made of the large apartment which I occupied
during nearly four years, and which was bought from under my feet
by one of the smallest governments in Europe as the residence for
its minister. Immediately after my lease was signed there began a
new series of troubles. Everything must be ready for the three
receptions by the eighth day of January; and, being at the mercy
of my landlord, I was at a great disadvantage. Though paying
large rent for the apartment, I was obliged, at my own expense,
to put it thoroughly in order, introducing electric light,
perfecting heating apparatus, getting walls and floors in order,
and doing a world of work which, under other circumstances, would
have been done by the proprietor himself. As to furnishing, a
peculiar difficulty arose. Berlin furnishers, as a rule, have
only samples in stock, and a long time is required for completing
sets. My former experience, when, as minister, I had been obliged
to go through a similar ordeal, had shown me that the Berlin
makers could never be relied upon to get the apartment furnished
in time; and therefore it was that, having secured what was
possible in Berlin, I was obliged to make large purchases at
Dresden, London, and Paris, and to have the furniture from the
last-named city hurried on to Berlin in special wadded cars, with
attendants to put it in place. It was a labor and care to which
no representative of the United States or of any other power
ought to be subjected. The vexations and difficulties seemed
unending; but at last carpenters, paper-hangers, electric-light
men, furniture men, carpet-layers, upholsterers, and the like
were driven from the house just five minutes before the
chancellor of the empire arrived to open the first of these three
official receptions. Happily they all went off well, and thereby
began my acquaintance with the leaders in various departments of
official life.

On my settling down to the business of the embassy, it appeared
that the changes in public sentiment since my former stay as
minister, eighteen years before, were great indeed. At that time
German feeling was decidedly friendly to the United States. The
Germans had sided with us in our Civil War, and we had come out
victorious; we had sided with them in their war of 1870-1871, and
they had come out victorious. But all this was now changed.
German feeling toward us had become generally adverse and, in
some parts of the empire, bitterly hostile. The main cause of
this was doubtless our protective policy. Our McKinley tariff,
which was considered almost ruinous to German manufactures, had
been succeeded by the Dingley tariff, which went still further;
and as Germany, in the last forty years, had developed an amazing
growth of manufactures, much bitterness resulted.

Besides this, our country was enabled, by its vast extent of
arable land, as well as by its cheap conveyance and skilful
handling of freights, to sweep into the German markets
agricultural products of various sorts, especially meats, and to
undersell the native German producers. This naturally vexed the
landed proprietors, so that we finally had against us two of the
great influential classes in the empire: the manufacturers and
the landowners.

But this was not all. These real difficulties were greatly
increased by fictitious causes of ill feeling. Sensational
articles, letters, telegrams, caricatures, and the like, sent
from America to Germany and from Germany to America, had become
more and more exasperating, until, at the time of my arrival,
there were in all Germany but two newspapers of real importance
friendly to the United States. These two journals courageously
stood up for fairness and justice, but all the others were more
or less hostile, and some bitterly so. The one which, on account
of its zeal in securing news, I read every morning was of the
worst. During the Spanish War it was especially virulent, being
full of statements and arguments to show that corruption was the
main characteristic of our government, cowardice of our army and
navy, and hypocrisy of our people. Very edifying were its
quasi-philosophical articles; and one of these, showing the
superiority of the Spanish women to their American sisters,
especially as regards education, was a work of genius. The love
of Spanish women for bull-fights was neatly glossed over, and
various absurd charges against American women were put in the
balance against it. A few sensational presses on our side were
perhaps worse. Various newspapers in America repaid Teutonic
hostility by copious insults directed at everything German, and
this aroused the Germans yet more. One journal, very influential
among the aristocratic and religious public of Northern Germany,
regularly published letters of considerable literary merit from
its American correspondent, in which every scandal which could be
raked out of the gutters of the cities, every crime in the
remotest villages, and all follies of individuals everywhere,
were kneaded together into statements showing that our country
was the lowest in the scale of human civilization. The tu-quoque
argument might have been used by an American with much effect;
for just about this period there were dragging along, in the
Berlin and other city journals, accounts of German trials for
fraud and worse, surpassing, in some respects, anything within my
memory of American tribunals. The quantity of fig-leaves required
in some of these trials was enormous; and, despite all
precautions, some details which escaped into the press might well
bring a blush to the most hardened American offender. It was both
vexatious and comical to see the smug, Pharisaical way in which
many journals ignored all these things, and held up their hands
in horror at American shortcomings. Some trials, too, which at
various times revealed the brutality of sundry military officers
toward soldiers, were heartrending; and especially one or two
duels, which occurred during my stay, presented features
calculated to shock the toughest American rough-rider. But all
this seemed not for a moment to withdraw the attention of our
Teutonic censors from American folly and wickedness. One of the
main charges constantly made was that in America there was a
"Deutschen Hetze." Very many German papers had really persuaded
themselves, and apparently had convinced a large part of the
German people, that throughout our country there existed a hate,
deep and acrid, of everything German and especially of
German-Americans. The ingenuity of some German papers in
supporting this thesis was wonderful. On one occasion a petty
squabble in a Roman Catholic theological school in the United
States between the more liberal element and a reactionary German
priest, in which the latter came to grief, was displayed as an
evidence that the American people were determined to drive out
all German professors and to abjure German science. The doings of
every scapegrace in an American university, of every silly woman
in Chicago, of every blackguard in New York, of every snob at
Newport, of every desperado in the Rocky Mountains, of every club
loafer anywhere, were served up as typical examples of American
life. The municipal governments of our country, and especially
that of New York, were an exhaustless quarry from which specimens
of every kind of scoundrelism were drawn and used in building up
an ideal structure of American life; corruption, lawlessness, and
barbarism being its most salient features.

Nor was this confined to the more ignorant. Men who stood high in
the universities, men of the greatest amiability, who in former
days had been the warmest friends of America, had now become our
bitter opponents, and some of their expressions seemed to point
to eventual war.

Yet I doubt whether we have any right to complain of such attacks
and misrepresentations. As a matter of fact, no nation washes so
much of its dirty linen in the face of the whole world as does
our own; and, what is worse, there is washed in our country, with
much noise and perversity, a great deal of linen which is not
dirty. Many demagogues and some "reformers" are always doing
this. There is in America a certain class of excellent people who
see nothing but the scum on the surface of the pot; nothing but
the worst things thrown to the surface in the ebullition of
American life. Or they may be compared to people who, with a
Persian carpet before them, persist in looking at its seamy side,
and finding nothing but odds and ends, imperfect joints,
unsatisfactory combinations of color; the real pattern entirely
escaping them. The shrill utterances of such men rise above the
low hum of steady good work, and are taken in Germany as exact
statements of the main facts in our national life.

Let me repeat here one example which I have given more than once
elsewhere. Several years since, an effort was made to impeach the
President of the United States. The current was strong, and most
party leaders thought it best to go with it. Three senators of
the United States sturdily refused, their leader being William
Pitt Fessenden of Maine, who, believing the impeachment an
attempt to introduce Spanish-American politics into our country,
resolutely opposed it. The State convention of his party called
upon him to vote for it, the national convention of the party
took the same ground, his relatives and friends besought him to
yield, but he stood firmly against the measure, and finally, by
his example and his vote, defeated it. It was an example of
Spartan fortitude, of Roman heroism, worthy to be chronicled by
Plutarch. How was it chronicled? I happened to be traveling in
Germany at the time, and naturally watched closely for the result
of the impeachment proceedings. One morning I took up a German
paper containing the news and read, "The impeachment has been
defeated; three senators were bribed," and at the head of the
list of bribed senators was the name of Fessenden! The time will
come when his statue will commemorate his great example; let us
hope that the time will also come when party spirit will not be
allowed to disgrace our country by sending out to the world such
monstrous calumnies.

As to attacks upon the United States, it is only fair to say that
German publicists and newspaper writers were under much
provocation. Some of the American correspondents then in Germany
showed wonderful skill in malignant invention. My predecessors in
the embassy had suffered much from this cause. One of them, whom
I had known from his young manhood as a gentleman of refined
tastes and quiet habits, utterly incapable of rudeness of any
sort, was accused, in a sensational letter published in various
American journals, of having become so noisy and boisterous at
court that the Emperor was obliged to rebuke him. Various hints
of a foul and scandalous character were sent over and published.
I escaped more easily, but there were two or three examples which
were both vexatious and amusing.

Shortly after my arrival at my post, letters and newspaper
articles began coming deploring the conduct of the Germans toward
me, expressing deep sympathy with me, exhorting me to "stand
firm," declaring that the American people were behind me, etc.,
etc., all of which puzzled me greatly until I found that some
correspondent had sent over a telegram to the effect that the
feeling against America had become so bitter that the Emperor
himself had been obliged to intervene and command the officials
of his empire to present themselves at my official reception; and
with this statement was coupled a declaration that I had made the
most earnest remonstrance to the Imperial Government against such
treatment. The simple fact was that the notice was in the
stereotyped form always used when an ambassador arrives. On every
such occasion the proper authorities notify all the persons
concerned, giving the time of his receptions, and this was simply
what was done in my case. On another occasion, telegrams were
sent over to American papers stating that the first secretary of
the embassy and myself, on visiting Parliament to hear an
important debate, had been grossly insulted by various members.
The fact was that we had been received by everybody with the
utmost kindness; that various members had saluted us in the most
friendly manner from the floor or had come into the diplomatic
gallery to welcome us; and that there was not the slightest
shadow of reason for the statement. As an example of the genius
shown in some of these telegrams, another may be mentioned. A
very charming American lady, niece of a member of Mr. McKinley's
cabinet, having arrived on the Norwegian coast, her children were
taken on board the yacht of the Emperor, who was then cruising in
those regions; and later, on their arrival at Berlin, they with
their father and mother were asked by him to the palace to meet
his own wife and children. A few days afterward a telegram was
published in America to the effect that the Emperor, in speaking
to Mrs. White and myself regarding the children, had said that he
was especially surprised, because he had always understood that
American children were badly brought up and had very bad manners.
The simple fact was that, while he spoke of the children with
praise, the rest of the story was merely a sensational invention.
One of the marvels of American life is the toleration by decent
fathers and mothers of sensational newspapers in their
households. Of all the demoralizing influences upon our people,
and especially upon our young people, they are the most steadily
and pervasively degrading. Horace Greeley once published a
tractate entitled, "New Themes for the Clergy," and I would
suggest the evil influence of sensation newsmongering as a most
fruitful theme for the exhortations of all American clergymen to
their flocks, whether Catholic, Jewish, or Protestant. May we not
hope, also, that Mr. Pulitzer's new College of Journalism will
give careful attention to this subject?

As to public questions then demanding attention, the first which
I now recall was a bit of international comedy, serving as a
prelude to more important matters, and worth mentioning here only
as showing a misconception very absurd, yet not without dangers.

One morning, as I had just sat down to my office work, there was
ushered in, with due ceremony, a young gentleman of light color,
Parisian to the tips of his fingers,--in accent, manner, and
garb,--who was announced as the charge d'affaires of Haiti. He
was evidently under deep concern, and was soon in the midst of a
somewhat impassioned statement of his business.

It appeared that his government, like so many which had preceded
it, after a joyous career of proclamations, revolutions,
throat-cutting, confiscation, paper money, and loans, public and
private, had at last met a check, and that in this instance the
check had come in the shape of a German frigate which had dropped
into the harbor of Port-au-Prince, run out its guns, and demanded
redress of injuries and payment of debts to Germany and German
subjects; and the charge, after dwelling upon the enormity of
such a demand, pointed out the duty of the United States to
oblige Germany to desist,--in short, to assert the Monroe
Doctrine as he understood it.

The young diplomatist's statement interested me much; it brought
back vividly to my mind the days when, as a commissioner from the
United States, I landed at Port-au-Prince, observed the wreck and
ruin caused by a recent revolution, experienced the beauties of a
paper-money system carried out so logically that a market-basket
full of currency was needed to buy a market-basket full of
vegetables, visited the tombs of the presidents from which the
bodies of their occupants had been torn and scattered, saw the
ring to which President Salnave had recently been tied when the
supporters of his successor had murdered him, and mused over the
ruins of the presidential mansion, which had been torn in pieces
by bombs from a patriotic vessel. My heart naturally warmed
toward the representative of so much glory, and it seemed sad to
quench his oratorical fire and fervor with a cold statement of
fact. But my duty was plain: I assured him that neither the
President whose name the famous "Doctrine" bears, nor the
Secretary of State who devised it, nor the American people behind
them, had any idea of protecting our sister republics in such
conduct as that of which the Germans complained; and I concluded
by fervently exhorting him to advise his government and people
simply to--pay their debts.

It gave me pleasure to learn, somewhat later, that this very
prosaic solution of the difficulty had been adopted.

I make haste to add that nothing which may be said here or
elsewhere in these recollections regarding sundry equatorial
governments has any reference to our sister republics of South
America really worthy of the name. No countries were in my time
more admirably represented at Berlin than the Argentine Republic,
Chile, and Brazil. The first-named sent as its minister the most
eminent living authority on international law; the second, a
gentleman deeply respected for character and ability, whose
household was one of the most beautiful and attractive I have
ever known; and the third, a statesman and scholar worthy of the
best traditions of his country.

As to more complicated international matters with which my
embassy had to deal, the first to assume a virulent form was that
of the Samoan Islands.

During the previous twenty-five years the United States, Germany,
and Great Britain had seemed to develop equal claims in Samoa.
There had been clashes from time to time, in which good sense had
generally prevailed; but in one case a cyclone which destroyed
the German and American vessels of war in the main port of the
islands seemed providential in preventing a worse form of
trouble.

But now the chronic difficulties became acute. In the consuls of
the three powers what Bismarck used to call the furor consularis
was developed to the highest degree. Yet this was not the worst.
Under the Berlin agreement, made some years before, there was a
German president of the municipality of Apia with ill-defined
powers, and an American chief justice with powers in some
respects enormous, and each of these naturally magnified his
office at the expense of the other. To complete the elements of
discord, there were two great native parties, each supporting its
candidate for kingship; and behind these, little spoken of, but
really at the bottom of the main trouble, were
missionaries,--English Wesleyans on one side, and French Roman
Catholics on the other,--each desiring to save the souls of the
natives, no matter at what sacrifice of their bodies.

This tea-pot soon began to boil violently. The old king having
died, the question arose as to the succession. The power of
appointing the successor having been in the most clear and
definite terms bestowed by the treaty upon the chief justice, he
named for the position Malietoa Tanu, a young chieftain who had
been induced to call himself a Protestant; but on the other side
was Mataafa, an old chief who years before had made much trouble,
had been especially obnoxious to the Germans, and had been
banished, but had been recently allowed to return on his taking
oath that he would abstain from all political action, and would
be true to his allegiance to the Malietoan kings. He had been
induced to call himself a Catholic.

But hardly had he returned when, having apparently been absolved
from his oath, he became the leader of a political party and
insisted on his right to the kingship.

The result was a petty civil war which cost many lives. Nor was
this all. A drunken Swiss having one day amused himself by
breaking the windows of the American chief justice's court and no
effective punishment having been administered by the German
president of Apia, the Yankee chief justice took the matter into
his own hands, and this Little Pedlington business set in motion
sensation-mongers throughout the world. They exerted themselves
to persuade the universe that war might, and indeed ought to,
result between the three great nations concerned. On the arrival
of the American Admiral Kautz, he simply and naturally supported
the decree which the chief justice had made, in strict accordance
with the treaty of Berlin, and was finally obliged to fire upon
the insurgents. Now came a newspaper carnival: screams of wrath
from the sensation press of Germany and yells of defiance from
the sensation press of the United States.

It was fortunate, indeed, that at this period the American
Secretary of State was Mr. John Hay and the German minister of
foreign affairs Count von Bulow. Both at Washington and Berlin
the light of plain common sense was gradually let into this
jungle of half truths and whole falsehoods; the appointment of an
excellent special commission, who supplanted all the officials in
the islands by new men, solved various preliminary problems, so
that finally a treaty was made between the three nations
concerned which swept away the old vicious system, partitioned
the islands between the United States and Germany, giving Great
Britain indemnity elsewhere, and settled all the questions
involved, as we may hope, forever.

Among my duties and pleasures during this period was attendance
upon important debates in the Imperial Parliament. That body
presents many features suggestive of thought. The arrangement
under which the Senate, representing the various states of the
empire, and the House, representing the people as a whole, sit
face to face in joint deliberation, strikes an American as
especially curious; but it seems to work well, and has one
advantage in bringing the most eminent servants of the various
states into direct personal relations with the rank and file from
the country at large. The German Parliament has various good
points. Some one has asserted that the United States Senate is as
much better than the British House of Lords as the British House
of Commons is better than the American House of Representatives.
There is much to be said for this contention, and there are some
points in which the German Parliament also struck me as an
improvement upon our Lower House: they do less than we in
committee, and more in the main assemblage; German members are
more attentive to the work in hand, and spread-eagleism and
speeches to the galleries which are tolerated at Washington are
not tolerated at Berlin. On the other hand, the members at
Berlin, not being paid for their services, absent themselves in
such numbers that the lack of a sufficient deliberating body has
been found, at times, a serious evil.

As to men prominent in debate, allusion has already been made to
the chancellor, and various ministers of the crown might be
added, of whom I should give the foremost place to the minister
of the interior, Count Posadowski. His discussions of all matters
touching his department, and, indeed, of some well outside it,
were masterly. Save, perhaps, our own Senator John Sherman, I
have never heard so USEFUL a speaker on fundamental questions of
public business. As to the representatives, there were many well
worth listening to; but the two who attracted most attention were
Richter, the head of the "Progressist," or, as we should call it,
the radical fraction, and Bebel, the main representative of the
Socialists. Richter I had heard more than once in my old days,
and had been impressed by his extensive knowledge of imperial
finance, his wit and humor, his skill in making his points, and
his strength in enforcing them. He was among the few still
remaining after my long absence, and it was clear to me that he
had not deteriorated,--that he had, indeed, mellowed in a way
which made him even more interesting than formerly. As to Bebel,
though generally disappointing at first, he was quite sure, in
every speech, to raise some point which put the conservatives on
their mettle. His strongest characteristic seems to be his
earnestness: the earnestness of a man who has himself known what
the hardest struggle for existence is, and what it means to
suffer for his opinions. His weakest point seems to be a tendency
to exaggeration which provokes distrust; but, despite this, he
has been a potent force as an irritant in drawing attention to
the needs of the working-classes, and so in promoting that steady
uplifting of their condition and prospects which is one of the
most striking achievements of modern Germany.

Among the many other members interesting on various accounts was
one to whom both Germans and Americans might well listen with
respect--Herr Theodor Barth, editor of "Die Nation," a
representative of the best traditions of the old National Liberal
party. He seemed to me one of the very few Germans who really
understood the United States. He had visited America more than
once, and had remained long enough to get in touch with various
leaders of American thought, and to penetrate below the mere
surface of public affairs. Devoted as he was to his own
fatherland, he seemed to feel intuitively the importance to both
countries of accentuating permanent points of agreement rather
than transient points of difference; hence it was that in his
paper he steadily did us justice, and in Parliament was sure to
repel any unmerited assault upon our national character and
policy. He was clear and forcible, with, at times, a most
effectively caustic utterance against unreason.

While the whole parliamentary body is suggestive to an American,
the Parliament building is especially suggestive to a New-Yorker.
This great edifice at Berlin is considerably larger on the ground
than is the State Capitol at Albany. It is built of a very
beautiful and durable stone, and, in spite of sundry criticisms
on the dome in the center and the pavilions at the corners, is
vastly superior, as a whole, to the Albany building. It is
enriched in all parts, without and within, with sculpture
recalling the historical glories of all parts of the empire and
calculated to stir patriotic pride; it is beautified by paintings
on a great scale by eminent artists; its interior fittings, in
stone, marble, steel, bronze, and oak, are as beautiful and
perfect as the art of the period has been able to make them; and
the whole, despite minor architectural faults, is worthy of the
nation. The building was completed and in use within ten years
from the time of its beginning. The construction of the
State-house at Albany, a building not so large, and containing
to-day no work of art either in painting or sculpture worthy of
notice, has dragged along during thirty years, and cost nearly
four times as much as the Berlin edifice; the latter having
demanded an outlay of a trifle over five million dollars, and the
former considerably over twenty millions.

The German Parliament House, apart from slight defects, as a
great architectural creation is in a style worthy of its
purpose--a style which is preserved in all its parts; while that
at Albany is, perhaps, the most curious jumble in the whole
history of architecture,--the lower stories being Palladian; the
stories above these being, if anything, Florentine; the summit
being, if anything, French Renaissance; while, as regards the
interior, the great west staircase, which is said to have cost
half a million of dollars, is in the Richardsonesque style; the
eastern staircase is in classic style; and a circular staircase
in the interior is in the most flamboyant Gothic which could be
got for money. To be sure, there are rooms at Albany on which
precious Siena marble and Mexican onyx are lavished, but these
are used so as to produce mainly the effect of an unintelligent
desire to spend money.

While in or near the Berlin edifice there is commemoration by
sculpture or painting of a multitude of meritorious public
servants, there is nowhere in the whole building at Albany a
statue or any fit remembrance of the two greatest governors in
the history of the State, DeWitt Clinton and William H. Seward.

The whole thing plunges one into reflection. If that single
building at Albany, which was estimated, upon plans carefully
made by the best of architects, to cost five millions of dollars,
and to be completed in four years, required over thirty years and
an expenditure of over twenty millions, what is a great "barge
canal" to cost, running through the whole length of the State,
encountering enormous difficulties of every sort, estimated at
the beginning to cost one hundred millions of dollars, but
including no estimate for "land damages," "water damages,"
"personal damages," "unprecedented floods," "unforeseen
obstacles," "quicksands," "changes of plan," etc., etc., which
have played such a costly and corrupting part in the past history
of our existing New York canals? And how many years will it take
to complete it? This was the train of thought and this was its
resultant query forced upon me whenever I looked upon the
Parliament House at Berlin.



CHAPTER XLI

AMERICA, GERMANY, AND THE SPANISH WAR--1897-1903

During the early days of this second official stay of mine at
Berlin, Russia had, in one way and another, secured an entrance
into China for her trans-Siberian railway, and seemed to have
taken permanent possession of the vast region extending from her
own territory to the Pacific at Port Arthur. Germany followed
this example, and, in avenging the murder of certain
missionaries, took possession of the harbor of Kiao-Chau. Thereby
other nations were stirred to do likewise,--England, France, and
Italy beginning to move for extensions of territory or commercial
advantages, until it looked much as if China was to be parceled
out among the greater European powers, or at least held in
commercial subjection, to the exclusion of those nations which
had pursued a more dilatory policy.

Seeing this danger, our government instructed its representatives
at the courts of the great powers to request them to join in a
declaration in favor of an "open-door policy" in China, thus
establishing virtually an international agreement that none of
the powers obtaining concessions or controlling "spheres of
influence" in that country should secure privileges infringing
upon the equality of all nations in competing for Chinese trade.
This policy was pushed with vigor by the Washington cabinet, and
I was instructed to secure, if possible, the assent of the German
Government, which, after various conferences at the Foreign
Office and communications with the minister of foreign affairs,
some more, some less, satisfactory, I was at last able to do. The
assent was given very guardedly, but not the less effectively.
Its terms were that Germany, having been from the first in favor
of equal rights to all nations in the trade of China, would
gladly acquiesce in the proposed declaration if the other powers
concerned would do so.

The Emperor William himself was even more open and direct than
his minister. At his dinner to the ambassadors in the spring of
1900, he spoke to me very fully on the subject, and, in a
conversation which I have referred to elsewhere, assured me of
his complete and hearty concurrence in the American policy,
declaring, "We must stand together for the open door."

Finally, on the 9th of April, 1900, I had the satisfaction of
sending to the German Foreign Office the proofs that all the
other powers concerned, including Japan, had joined in the
American declaration, and that the government of the United
States considered this acquiescence to be full and final.

It was really a great service rendered to the world by Mr.
McKinley and Secretary Hay; their action was far-seeing, prompt,
bold, and successful.

Yet another subject of contention was the exclusion of sundry
American insurance companies from Germany, due in part to a
policy of "protection," but also to that same distrust of certain
American business methods which had given me much trouble in
dealing with the same question at St. Petersburg. The discussions
were long and tedious, but resulted in a sort of modus vivendi
likely to lead to something better.

The American sugar duties were also a sore subject. Various
writers in the German press and orators in public bodies
continued to insist that America had violated the treaties;
America insisted that she had not; and this trouble, becoming
chronic, aggravated all others. The main efforts of Count von
Bulow and myself were given to allaying inflammation by doses of
common sense and poultices of good-will until common sense could
assert its rights.

The everlasting meat question also went through various vexatious
phases, giving rise to bitter articles in the newspapers,
inflammatory speeches in Parliament, and measures in various
parts of the empire which, while sometimes honest, were always
injurious. American products which had been inspected in the
United States and Hamburg were again broken into, inspected, and
reinspected in various towns to which they were taken for retail,
with the result that the packages were damaged or spoiled, and
the costs of inspection and reinspection ate up all profits. I
once used an illustration of this at the Foreign Office that
seemed to produce some effect. It was the story of the Yankee
showman who, having been very successful in our Northern and
Middle States, took his show to the South, but when he returned
had evidently been stripped of his money. Being asked regarding
it, he said that his show had paid him well at first, but that on
arriving in Texas the authorities of each little village insisted
on holding an inquest over his Egyptian mummy, charging him
coroner's fees for it, and that this had made him a bankrupt.

Speeches, bitter and long, were made on both sides of the
Atlantic; the cable brought reports of drastic reprisals
preparing in Washington; but finally a system was adopted to
which the trade between the two countries has since been uneasily
trying to adjust itself.

Then there was sprung upon us the fruit question. One morning
came a storm of telegrams and letters stating that cargoes of
American fruits had been stopped in the German harbors, under the
charge that they contained injurious insects. The German
authorities were of course honest in this procedure, though they
were doubtless stimulated to it by sundry representatives of the
land-owning class. Our beautiful fruits, especially those of
California, had come to be very extensively used throughout the
empire, and the German consumers had been growing more and more
happy and the German producers more and more unhappy over this
fact, when suddenly there came from the American side accounts of
the scale-insects discovered on pears in California, and of
severe measures taken by sundry other States of our Union to
prohibit their importation. The result was a prohibition of our
fruits in Germany, and this was carried so far that not only
pears from California, but all other fruits, from all other parts
of the country, were at first put under the ban; and not only
fresh but dried and preserved fruits. As a matter of fact, there
was no danger whatever from the scale-insect, so far as fruit was
concerned. The creature never stirs from the spot on the pear to
which it fastens itself, and therefore by no possibility can it
be carried from the house where the fruit is consumed to the
nurseries where trees are grown. We took pains to show the facts
in the case; dealing fairly and openly with the German
Government, allowing that the importation of scale-infested trees
and shrubs might be dangerous, and making no objection to any
fair measures regarding these. The Foreign Office was reasonable,
and gradually the most vexatious of these prohibitions were
removed.

But the war with Spain drew on, and animosities, so far as the
press on both sides of the water was concerned, grew worse.
Various newspapers in Germany charged our government with a
wonderful assortment of high crimes and misdemeanors; but,
happily, in their eagerness to cover us with obloquy, they
frequently refuted each other. Thus they one day charged us with
having prepared long beforehand to crush Spain and to rob her of
her West Indian possessions, and the next day they charged us
with plunging into war suddenly, recklessly, utterly careless of
the consequences. One moment they insisted that American sailors
belonged to a deteriorated race of mongrels, and could never
stand against pure-blooded Spanish sailors; and the next moment,
that we were crushing the noble navy of Spain by brute force.
Various presses indulged in malignant prophecies: the Americans
would find Spain a very hard nut to crack; Spanish soldiers would
drive the American mongrels into the sea; when Cervera got out
with his fleet, the American fleet would slink away; Spanish
ships, being built under the safeguard of Spanish honor, must win
the victory; American ships, built under a regime of corruption,
would be found furnished with sham plating, sham guns, and sham
supplies of every sort. It all reminded me of sundry prophecies
we used to hear before our Civil War to the effect that, when the
Northern and Southern armies came into the presence of each
other, the Yankee soldiers would trade off their muskets to the
foe.

Against President McKinley every sort of iniquity was charged.
One day he was an idiot; another day, the most cunning of
intriguers; at one moment, an overbearing tyrant anxious to rush
into war; at another, a coward fearing war. It must be confessed
that this was mainly drawn from the American partizan press; but
it was, none the less, hard to bear.

In the meantime President McKinley, his cabinet, and the American
diplomatic corps in Europe did everything in their power to
prevent the war. Just as long as possible the President clearly
considered that his main claim on posterity would be for
maintaining peace against pressure and clamor. Under orders from
the State Department I met at Paris my old friend General
Woodford, who was on his way to Spain as minister of the United
States, and General Porter, the American ambassador to France,
our instructions being to confer regarding the best means of
maintaining peace; and we all agreed that everything possible be
done to allay the excitement in Spain; that no claims of a
special sort, whether pecuniary or otherwise, should be urged
until after the tension ceased; that every concession possible
should be made to Spanish pride; and that, just as far as
possible, everything should be avoided which could complicate the
general issue with personal considerations. All of us knew that
the greatest wish of the administration was to prevent the war,
or, if that proved impossible, to delay it.

For years, in common with the great majority of American
citizens, I had believed that the Spanish West Indies must break
loose from Spain some day, but had hoped that the question might
be adjourned until the middle or end of the twentieth century.
For I knew well that the separation of Cuba from Spain would be
followed, after no great length of time, by efforts for her
annexation to the United States, and that if such annexation of
Cuba should ever occur, she must come in as a State; that there
is no use in considering any other form of government for an
outlying dominion so large and so near; that there is no other
way of annexing a dependency so fully developed, and that, even
if there were, the rivalry of political parties contending for
electoral votes would be sure to insist on giving her statehood.
I dreaded the addition to our country of a million and a half of
citizens whose ability to govern themselves was exceedingly
doubtful, to say nothing of helping to govern our Union on the
mainland. The thought of senators and representatives to be
chosen by such a constituency to reside at Washington and to
legislate for the whole country, filled me with dismay.
Especially was the admission of Cuba to statehood a fearful
prospect just at that time, when we had so many difficult
questions to meet in the exercise of the suffrage. I never could
understand then, and cannot understand now, what Senator Morgan
of Alabama, who once had the reputation of being the strongest
representative from the South, could be thinking of when he was
declaiming in the Senate, first in behalf of the "oppressed
Cubans," and next in favor of measures which tended to add them
to the United States, and so to create a vast commonwealth
largely made up of negroes and mulattos accustomed to equality
with the whites, almost within musket-shot of the negroes and
mulattos of the South, from whom the constituents of Mr. Morgan
were at that very moment withholding the right of suffrage. I
could not see then, and I cannot see now, how he could possibly
be blind to the fact that if Cuba ever becomes a State of our
Union, she will soon begin to look with sympathy on those whom
she will consider her "oppressed colored brethren" in the South;
and that she will, just as inevitably, make common cause with
them at Washington, and perhaps in some other places, and
possibly not always by means so peaceful as orating under the
roof of the Capitol.

Moreover, the nation had just escaped a terrible catastrophe at
the last general election; the ignorant, careless, and perverse
vote having gone almost solidly for a financial policy which
would have wrecked us temporarily and disgraced us eternally.
Time will, no doubt, develop a more conservative sentiment in the
States where this vote for evil was cast; as civilization deepens
and advances, better ideas will doubtless grow stronger; but it
is sure that the addition of Cuba to the United States, if it
ever comes, means the adding of a vast illiterate mass of voters
to those who at that election showed themselves so dangerous.

On all these accounts I had felt very anxious to put off the
whole Cuban question until our Republic should become so much
larger and so much more mature that the addition of a few
millions of Spanish-Americans would be of but small account in
the total vote of the country.

Then, too, I had little sympathy with aspirations for what
Spanish revolutionists call freedom, and no admiration at all for
Central American republics. I had officially examined one of them
thoroughly, had known much of others, and had no belief in the
capacity of people for citizenship who prefer to carry on
government by pronunciamientos, who never acknowledge the rights
of majorities, who are ready to start civil war on the slightest
pretext, and who, when in power, exercise a despotism more
persistent and cruel than any since Nero and Caligula. No Russian
autocrat, claiming to govern by divine right, has ever dared to
commit the high-handed cruelties which are common in sundry West
Indian and equatorial republics. I felt that the great thing was
to gain time before doing anything which might result in the
admission of the millions trained under such influences into all
the rights, privileges, and powers of American citizenship.

But there came the destruction of the Maine in the harbor of
Havana, and thenceforward war was certain. The news was brought
to me at a gala representation of the opera at Berlin, when, on
invitation from the Emperor, the ambassadors were occupying a
large box opposite his own. Hardly had the telegram announcing
the catastrophe been placed in my hands when the Emperor entered,
and on his addressing me I informed him of it. He was evidently
shocked, and expressed a regret which, I fully believe, was
deeply sincere. He instantly asked, with a piercing look, "Was
the explosion from the outside?" My answer was that I hoped and
believed that it was not; that it was probably an interior
explosion. To my great regret, the official report afterward
obliged me to change my mind on the subject; but I still feel
that no Spanish officer or true Spaniard was concerned in the
matter. It has been my good fortune to know many Spanish
officers, and it is impossible for me to conceive one of their
kind as having taken part in so frightful a piece of treachery;
it has always seemed to be more likely that it was done by a
party of wild local fanatics, the refuse of a West Indian
seaport.

The Emperor remained firm in his first impression that the
explosion was caused from the outside. Even before this was
established by the official investigation, he had settled into
that conclusion. On one occasion, when a large number of leading
officers of the North Sea Squadron were dining with him, he asked
their opinion on this subject, and although the great
majority--indeed, almost all present--then believed that the
catastrophe had resulted from an interior explosion, he adhered
to his belief that it was from an exterior attack.

On various occasions before that time I had met my colleague the
Spanish ambassador, Senor Mendez y Vigo, and my relations with
him had been exceedingly pleasant. Each of us had tried to keep
up the hopes of the other that peace might be preserved, and down
to the last moment I took great pains to convince him of what I
knew to be the truth--that the policy of President McKinley was
to prevent war. But I took no less pains to show him that Spain
must aid the President by concessions to public opinion. My
personal sympathies, too, were aroused in behalf of my colleague.
He had passed the allotted threescore years and ten, was
evidently in infirm health, had five sons in the Spanish army,
and his son-in-law had recently been appointed minister at
Washington.

Notice of the declaration of war came to me under circumstances
somewhat embarrassing. On the 21st of April, 1898, began the
festivities at Dresden on the seventieth birthday of King Albert
of Saxony, which was also the twenty-fifth anniversary of his
accession; and in view of the high character of the King and of
the affection for him throughout Germany, and, indeed, throughout
Europe, nearly every civilized power had sent its representatives
to present its congratulations. In these the United States
joined. Throughout our country are large numbers of Saxons, who,
while thoroughly loyal to our Republic, cherish a kindly and even
affectionate feeling toward their former King and Queen.
Moreover, there was a special reason. For many years Dresden had
been a center in which very many American families congregated
for the purpose of educating their children, especially in the
German language and literature, in music, and in the fine arts;
no court in Europe had been so courteous to Americans properly
introduced, and in various ways the sovereigns had personally
shown their good feeling toward our countrymen.

It was in view of this that the Secretary of State instructed me
to present an autograph letter of congratulation from the
President to the King, and on the 20th of April I proceeded to
Dresden, with the embassy secretaries and attaches, for this
purpose. About midnight between the 20th and 21st there came a
loud and persistent knocking at my door in the hotel, and there
soon entered a telegraph messenger with an enormously long
despatch in cipher. Hardly had I set the secretaries at work upon
it than other telegrams began to come, and a large part of the
night was given to deciphering them. They announced the
declaration of war and instructed me to convey to the various
parties interested the usual notices regarding war measures:
blockade, prohibitions, exemptions, regulations, and the like.

At eleven o'clock the next morning, court carriages having taken
us over to the palace, we were going up the grand staircase in
full force when who should appear at the top, on his way down,
but the Spanish ambassador with his suite! Both of us were, of
course, embarrassed. No doubt he felt, as I did, that it would
have been more agreeable just then to meet the representative of
any other power than of that with which war had just been
declared; but I put out my hand and addressed him, if not so
cordially as usual, at least in a kindly way; he reciprocated the
greeting, and our embarrassment was at least lessened. Of course,
during the continuation of the war, our relations lacked their
former cordiality, but we remained personally friendly.

In my brief speech on delivering President McKinley's letter I
tendered to the King and Queen the President's congratulations,
with thanks for the courtesies which had been shown to my
countrymen. This was not the first occasion on which I had
discharged this latter duty, for, at a formal presentation to
these sovereigns some time before, I had taken pains to show that
we were not unmindful of their kindness to our compatriots. The
festivities which followed were interesting. There were dinners
with high state officials, gala opera, and historical
representations, given by the city of Dresden, of a very
beautiful character. On these occasions I met various eminent
personages, among others the Emperor of Austria and his prime
minister, Count Goluchowsky, both of whom discussed current
international topics with clearness and force; and I also had
rather an interesting conversation with the papal nuncio at
Munich, more recently in Paris, Lorenzelli, with reference to
various measures looking to the possible abridgment of the war.

On the third day of the festivities came a great review, and a
sight somewhat rare. To greet the King there were present the
Emperor of Germany, the Emperor of Austria, and various minor
German sovereigns, each of whom had in the Saxon army a regiment
nominally his own, and led it past the Saxon monarch, saluting
him as he reviewed it. The two Emperors certainly discharged this
duty in a very handsome, chivalric sort of way. In the evening
came a great dinner at the palace, at which the King and Queen
presided. The only speech on the occasion was one of
congratulation made by the Emperor of Austria, and it was very
creditable to him, being to all appearance extemporaneous, yet
well worded, quiet, dignified, and manly. The ceremonies closed
on Sunday with a grand "Te Deum" at the palace church, in the
presence of all the majesties,--the joy expressed by the music
being duly accentuated by cannon outside.

I may say, before closing this subject, that Thomas Jefferson's
famous letter to Governor Langdon, describing royal personages as
he knew them while minister to France before the French
Revolution, no longer applies. The events which followed the
Revolution taught the crowned heads of Europe that they could no
longer indulge in the good old Bourbon, Hapsburg, and Braganza
idleness and stupidity. Modern European sovereigns, almost
without exception, work for their living, and work hard. Few
business men go through a more severe training, or a longer and
harder day of steady work, than do most of the contemporary
sovereigns of Europe. This fact especially struck me on my
presentation, about this time, to one of the best of the minor
monarchs, the King of Wurtemberg. I found him a hearty, strong,
active-minded man--the sort of man whom we in America would call
"level-headed" and "a worker." Learning that I had once passed a
winter in Stuttgart, he detained me long with a most interesting
account of the improvements which had been made in the city since
my visit, and showed public spirit of a sort very different from
that which animated the minor potentates of Germany in the last
century. The same may be said of the Grand Duke of Baden, who, in
a long conversation, impressed me as a gentleman of large and
just views, understanding the problems of his time and thoroughly
in sympathy with the best men and movements.

Republican as I am, this acknowledgment must be made. The
historical lessons of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,
and the pressure of democracy, are obliging the monarchs of
Europe to fit themselves for their duties wisely and to discharge
them intelligently. But this is true only of certain ruling
houses. There seems to be a "survival of the fittest." At various
periods in my life I have also had occasion to observe with some
care various pretenders to European thrones, among them the
husband of Queen Isabella of Spain; Prince Napoleon Victor, the
heir to the Napoleonic throne; the Duke of Orleans; Don Carlos,
the representative of the Spanish Bourbons; with sundry others;
and it would be hard to conceive persons more utterly unfit or
futile.

As to the conduct of Germany during our war with Spain, while the
press, with two or three exceptions, was anything but friendly,
and while a large majority of the people were hostile to us on
account of the natural sympathy with a small power battling
against a larger one, the course of the Imperial Government,
especially of the Foreign Office under Count von Bulow and Baron
von Richthofen, was all that could be desired. Indeed, they went
so far on one occasion as almost to alarm us. The American consul
at Hamburg having notified me by telephone that a Spanish vessel,
supposed to be loaded with arms for use against us in Cuba, was
about to leave that port, I hastened to the Foreign Office and
urged that vigorous steps be taken, with the result that the
vessel, which in the meantime had left Hamburg, was overhauled
and searched at the mouth of the Elbe. The German Government
might easily have pleaded, in answer to my request, that the
American Government had generally shown itself opposed to any
such interference with the shipments of small arms to
belligerents, and had contended that it was not obliged to search
vessels to find such contraband of war, but that this duty was
incumbent upon the belligerent nation concerned. This evidence of
the fairness of Germany I took pains to make known, and in my
address at the American celebration in Leipsic on the Fourth of
July declared my belief that the hostility of the German people
and press at large was only temporary, and that the old good
relations would be restored. Knowing that my speech would be
widely quoted in the German press, I took even more pains to show
the reasons why we could bide our time and trust to the
magnanimity of the German people. Of one thing I then and always
reminded my hearers--namely, that during our Civil War, when our
national existence was trembling in the balance and our foreign
friends were few, the German press and people were steadily on
our side.

The occasion was indeed a peculiar one. On the morning of the
Fourth, when we had all assembled, bad news came. Certain German
presses had been very prompt to patch together all sorts of
accounts of American defeats, and to present them in the most
unpleasant way possible; but while we were seated at table in the
evening came a despatch announcing the annihilation of the
Spanish fleet in Cuban waters, and this put us all in good humor.
One circumstance may serve to show the bitterness at heart among
Americans at this period. On entering the dining-hall with our
consul, I noticed two things: first, that the hall was profusely
decorated in a way I had never seen before and had never expected
to see--namely, by intertwined American and British flags; and,
secondly, that there was not a German flag in the room. I
immediately sent for the proprietor and told him that I would not
sit down to dinner until a German flag was brought in. He at
first thought it impossible to supply the want, but, on my
insisting, a large flag was at last found. This was speedily
given a place of honor among the interior decorations of our
hall, and all then went on satisfactorily.

As the war with Spain progressed, various causes of difficulty
arose between Germany and the United States, but I feel bound to
say that the German Government continued to act toward us with
justice. The sensational press, indeed, continued its work on
both sides of the Atlantic. On our side it took pains to secure
and publish stories of insults by the German Admiral Diederichs
to the American Admiral Dewey, and to develop various legends
regarding these two commanders. As a matter of fact, each of the
two admirals, when their relations first began in Manila, was
doubtless rather stiff and on his guard against the other; but
these feelings soon yielded to different sentiments.

The foolish utterances of various individuals, spread by sundry
American papers, were heartily echoed in the German press, the
most noted among these being an alleged after-dinner speech by an
American officer at a New York club, and a Congressional speech
in which the person who made it declared that "the United States,
having whipped Spain, ought now to whip Germany." Still, the
thinking men intrusted with the relations between the two
countries labored on, though at times there must have recurred to
us a sense of the divine inspiration of Schiller's words,
"Against stupidity even the gods fight in vain."

Of course the task of the embassy in protecting American citizens
abroad was especially increased in those times of commotion. At
such periods the number of ways in which American citizens,
native or naturalized, can get into trouble seems infinite; and
here, too, even from the first moment of my arrival in Berlin as
ambassador, I saw evidences of the same evil which had struck me
during my previous missions in Berlin and St. Petersburg--namely,
the constant and ingenious efforts to prostitute American
citizenship. Among the manifold duties of an ambassador is the
granting of passports. The great majority of those who ask for
them are entitled to them; but there are always a considerable
number of persons who, having left Europe just in time to escape
military service, have stayed in America just long enough to
acquire American citizenship, and then, having returned to their
native country, seek to enjoy the advantages of both countries
while discharging the duties of neither. Even worse were the
cases of the descendants of such so-called Americans, most of
them born in Europe and not able even to speak the English
language; worst of all were the cases of sundry
Russians--sometimes stigmatized as "predatory Hebrews"--who,
having left Russia and gone to America, had stayed just long
enough to acquire citizenship, and then returned and settled in
the eastern part of Germany, as near the Russian frontier as
possible. These were naturally regarded as fraudulent interlopers
by both the German and Russian authorities, and much trouble
resulted. Some of them led a life hardly outside the limits of
criminality; but they never hesitated on this account to insist
on their claims to American protection. When they were reminded
that American citizenship was conferred upon them, not that they
might shirk its duties and misuse its advantages in the land of
their birth, but that they might enjoy it and discharge its
duties in the land of their adoption, they scouted the idea and
insisted on their right, as American citizens, to live where they
pleased. Their communications to the embassy were, almost without
exception, in German, Russian, or Polish; very few of them wrote
or even spoke English, and very many of them could neither read
nor write in any language. For the hard-working immigrant,
whether Jew or Gentile, who comes to our country and casts in his
lot with us, to take his share not only of privilege but of duty,
I have the fullest respect and sympathy, and have always been
glad to intervene in his favor; but intervention in behalf of
those fraudulent pretenders I always felt to be a galling burden.

Fortunately the rules of the State Department have been of late
years strengthened to meet this evil, and it has finally become
our practice to inform such people that if they return to America
they can receive a passport for that purpose; but that unless
they show a clear intention of returning, they cannot. Very many
of them persist in their applications in spite of this, and one
case became famous both at the State Department and at the
embassy. Three Russians of the class referred to had emigrated
with their families to America, and, after the usual manner,
stayed just long enough to acquire citizenship, and had then
returned to Germany. One of them committed a crime and
disappeared; the other two went to the extreme eastern frontier
of Prussia and settled there. Again and again the Prussian
Government notified us that under the right exercised by every
nation, and especially by our own, these "undesirable intruders"
must leave Prussian territory or be expelled. Finally we
discovered at the embassy that a secret arrangement had been made
between Germany and Russia which obliged each to return the
undesirable emigrants of the other. This seemed to put the two
families in great danger of being returned to Russia; and, sooner
than risk a new international trouble, a proposal was made to
them, through the embassy, to pay their expenses back to America;
but they utterly refused to leave, and continued to burrow in the
wretched suburbs of one of the German cities nearest the Russian
border. Reams of correspondence ensued--all to no purpose; a
special messenger was sent to influence them--all in vain: they
persisted in living just as near Russia as possible, and in
calling themselves American, though not one of them spoke
English.

From time to time appeared in our own country attacks against the
various American embassies and legations abroad for not
protecting such American citizens, and a very common feature of
these articles was an unfavorable comparison between the United
States and England: it being claimed that Great Britain protects
her citizens everywhere, while the United States does not. This
statement is most misleading. Great Britain, while she is
renowned for protecting her subjects throughout the world,
--bringing the resources of her fleet, if need be, to aid
them,--makes an exception as regards her adopted citizens in the
land of their birth. The person who, having been naturalized in
Great Britain, goes back to the country of his birth, does so at
his or her own risk. The British Government considers itself,
under such circumstances, entirely absolved from the duty of
giving protection. The simple fact is that the United States goes
much further in protecting adopted citizens than does any other
country, and it is only rank demagogism which can find fault
because some of our thinking statesmen do not wish to see
American citizenship prostituted by persons utterly unfit to
receive it, who frequently use it fraudulently, and who, as many
cases prove, are quite ready to renounce it and take up their old
allegiance if they can gain advantage thereby.

Another general duty of the embassy was to smooth the way for the
large number of young men and women who came over as students.
This duty was especially pleasing to me now, as it had been
during my life as minister in Berlin twenty years before. At that
time women were not admitted to the universities; but now large
numbers were in attendance. The university authorities showed
themselves very courteous, and, when there was any doubt as to
the standing of the institution from which a candidate for
admission came, allowed me to pass upon the question and accepted
my certificate. Almost without exception, I found these
candidates excellent; but there were some exceptions. The
applicants were usually persons who had been graduated from some
one of our own institutions; but, from time to time, persons who
had merely passed a freshman year in some little American college
came abroad, anxious to secure the glory of going at once into a
German university. Certificates for such candidates I declined to
sign. To do so would have been an abuse sure to lead the German
authorities finally to reject the great mass of American
students: far better for applicants to secure the best advantages
possible in their own country, and then to supplement their study
at home by proper work abroad.

In sketches of my former mission to Berlin I have mentioned
various applications, some of them psychological curiosities;
these I found continuing, though with variations. Some
compatriots expected me to forward to the Emperor begging
letters, or letters suggesting to him new ideas, unaware that
myriads of such letters are constantly sent which never reach
him, and which even his secretaries never think of reading.
Others sent books, not knowing the rule prevailing among crowned
heads, never to accept a PUBLISHED book, and not realizing that
if this rule were broken, not one book in a thousand would get
beyond the office of his general secretary. Others sent medicine
which they wished him to recommend; and one gentleman was very
persistent in endeavoring to secure his Majesty's decision on a
wager.

Then there were singers or performers on wind or string
instruments wishing to sing or play before him, sculptors and
painters wishing him to visit their studios, and writers of music
wishing him to order their compositions to be brought out at the
Royal Opera.

All these requests culminated in two, wherein the gentle reader
will see a mixture of comic and pathetic. The first was from a
person (not an American) who wished my good offices in enabling
her to obtain a commission for a brilliant marriage,--she having
in reserve, as she assured me, a real Italian duke whom, for a
consideration, she would secure for an American heiress. The
other, which was from an eminently respectable source, urged me
to induce the imperial authorities to station in the United
States a young German officer with whom an American young lady
had fallen in love. And these proposals I was expected to
further, in spite of the fact that the rules for American
representatives abroad forbid all special pleading of any kind in
favor of individual interests or enterprises, without special
instructions from the State Department. Discouraging was it to
find that in spite of the elaborate statement prepared by me
during my former residence, which had been freely circulated
during twenty years, there were still the usual number of people
persuaded that enormous fortunes were awaiting them somewhere in
Germany.

One application, from a truly disinterested man, was grounded in
nobler motives. This was an effort made by an eminent Polish
scholar and patriot to wrest American citizenship for political
purposes. He had been an instructor at various Russian and German
universities had shown in some of his books extraordinary
ability, had gained the friendship of several eminent scholars in
Great Britain and on the Continent, and was finally settled at
one of the most influential seats of learning in Austrian Poland.
He was a most attractive man, wide in his knowledge, charming in
his manner; but not of this world. Having drawn crowds to his
university lectures, he suddenly attacked the Emperor Franz
Josef, who, more than any other, had befriended his compatriots;
was therefore obliged to flee from his post; and now came to
Berlin, proposing seriously that I should at once make him an
American citizen, and thus, as he supposed, enable him to go back
to his university and, in revolutionary speeches, bid defiance to
Austria, Russia, and Germany. Great was his disappointment when
he learned that, in order to acquire citizenship, he would be
obliged to go to the United States and remain there five years.
As he was trying to nerve himself for this sacrifice, I presented
some serious considerations to him. Knowing him to be a man of
honor, I asked him how he could reconcile it with his sense of
veracity to assume the rights of American citizenship with no
intention to discharge its duties. This somewhat startled him.
Then, from a more immediately practical point of view, I showed
that, even if he acquired American citizenship, and could
reconcile his conscience to break the virtual pledge he had made
in order to obtain it, the government of Austria, and, indeed,
all other governments, would still have a full right, under the
simplest principles of international law, to forbid his entrance
into their territories, or to turn him out after he had
entered,--the right of expelling undesirable emigrants being
constantly exercised, even by the United States. This amazed him.
He had absolutely persuaded himself that I could, by some sleight
of hand, transform him into an American citizen; that he could
then at once begin attempts to reestablish the fine old Polish
anarchy in Austria, Russia, and Germany; and that no one of these
nations would dare interfere with him. It was absurd but
pathetic. My advice to him was to go back to his lecture-room and
labor to raise the character of the younger generation of Poles,
in the hope that Poland might do what Scotland had done--rise by
sound mental and moral training from the condition of a conquered
and even oppressed part of a great empire to a controlling
position in it. This advice was, of course, in vain, and he is
now building air-castles amid the fogs of London.

In my life at Berlin as ambassador there was a tinge of sadness.
Great changes had taken place since my student days in that city,
and even since my later stay as minister. A new race of men had
come upon the stage in public affairs, in the university, and in
literary circles. Gone was the old Emperor William, gone also was
the Emperor Frederick, and Bismarck and Moltke and a host of
others who had given dignity and interest to the great
assemblages at the capital. Gone, too, from the university were
Lepsius, Helmholtz, Curtius, Hoffmann, Gneist, Du Bois-Reymond,
and Treitschke, all of whom, in the old days, had been my guests
and friends. The main exceptions seemed to be in the art world.
The number of my artist friends during my stay as minister had
been large, and every one of them was living when I returned as
ambassador; the reason, of course, being that when men
distinguish themselves in art at all, they do so at an earlier
age than do high functionaries of state and professors in the
universities. It was a great pleasure to find Adolf Menzel,
Ludwig Knaus, Carl Beeker, Anton von Werner, and Paul Meyerheim,
though grown gray in their beautiful ministry, still daily at
work in their studios.

Three only of my friends of the older generation in the Berlin
faculty remained; and as I revise these lines the world is laying
tributes upon the grave of the last of them--Theodor Mommsen.
With him my relations were so peculiar that they may deserve some
mention.

During my earlier stays in Berlin he had always seemed especially
friendly to the United States, and it was therefore with regret
that on my return I found him in this respect greatly changed: he
had become a severe critic of nearly everything American; his
earlier expectations had evidently been disappointed; we clearly
appeared to him big, braggart, noisy, false to our principles,
unworthy of our opportunities. These feelings of his became even
more marked as the Spanish-American War drew on. Whenever we met,
and most often at a charming house which both of us frequented,
he showed himself more and more bitter, so that finally our paths
separated. There comes back to me vividly one evening when I
sought to turn off a sharp comment of his upon some recent
American news by saying: "You must give a young nation like ours
more time." On this he exclaimed: "You cannot plead the baby act
any longer. More time! You have HAD time; you are already three
hundred years old!" Having sought in vain to impress on him the
fact that the policy of our country is determined not wholly by
the older elements in its civilization, but very largely by newer
commonwealths which must require time to develop a policy
satisfactory to sedate judges, he burst into a tirade from which
I took refuge in a totally different discussion.

Some days later came another evidence of his feeling. Meeting an
eminent leader in political, and especially in journalistic,
circles, I was shown the corrected proofsheets of an "interview"
on the conduct of the United States toward Spain, given by
Mommsen. It was even more acrid than his previous utterances, and
exhibited sharply and at great length our alleged sins and
shortcomings. Certainly a representative of the American people
was not bound to make supplication, in such a matter, even to so
eminent a scholar and leader of thought, and my comment was
simply as follows: "I have no request to make in the premises--of
Mommsen or of anybody. The article will of course have no effect
on the war; of that there can be but one result: the triumph of
the United States and the liberation of the Spanish islands of
the West Indies; but may there not be some considerations of a
very different order as regards Mommsen himself? Why not ask him,
simply, where his friends are; his readers, his old students, his
disciples? Why not ask him whether he finds fewer clouds over the
policy of Spain than over that of the United States; of which
country, despite all its faults, he has most hope; and for which,
in his heart, he has the greater feeling of brotherhood?"

How far this answer influenced him I know not, but the article
was never published; and thenceforth there seemed some revival of
the older kindly feeling. At my own table and elsewhere he more
than once became, in a measure, like the Mommsen of old. One
utterance of his amused me much. My wife happening, in a talk
with him, to speak of a certain personage as "hardly an ideal
man," he retorted: "Madam, is it possible that you have been
married some years and still believe in the ideal man?"

His old better feeling toward America came out especially when I
next called upon him with congratulations upon his birthday--his
last, alas! But heartiest of all was he during the dinner given
at my departure. My speech was long,--over an hour,--for I had a
message to deliver, and was determined to give it--a message
which I hoped might impress upon my great audience reasons for a
friendly judgment of my country. As I began, Mommsen came to my
side--just back of me, his hand at his ear, listening intently.
There the old man stood from the first word to the last, and on
my conclusion he grasped me heartily with both hands--a
demonstration rare indeed with him. It was our last greeting in
this world.

Would that there were space to dwell upon those in the present
generation of professors who honored me with their friendship;
but one is especially suggested here, since he was selected to
make a farewell address on the occasion above referred to--Adolf
Harnack. At various times I had heard him discourse profoundly
and brilliantly at the university, but came to know him best at
the bicentenary of the Berlin Academy, when he had just added to
the long list of his published works his history of the academy,
in four quarto volumes: a wonderful work, whether considered from
an historical, psychological, or philosophical point of view. His
address on that occasion was masterly, and his conversation at
various social functions instructive and pithy. I remember in one
of them, especially, his delineation of the characteristics and
services of Leibnitz, who was one of the founders of the Royal
Academy, and it was perfection in that kind of conversation which
is worthy of men claiming to possess immortal souls: for it
brought out, especially, examples of Leibnitz's amazing
forethought as to European policy, which seemed at times like
divinely inspired prophecies. He also gave me a number of
interesting things which he had noted in his studies of Frederick
the Great. Some of them I had found already in my own reading,
but one of them I did not remember, and it was both comical and
characteristic. A rural Protestant pastor sent a petition to the
King presenting a grievance and asking redress. It was to the
effect that his church was on one side of a river in Silesia, and
that a younger pastor, whose church was on the opposite side, was
drawing all his parishioners away from him. On the back of the
petition Frederick simply wrote, "Tell him to go and preach on
the other side of the river: that will drive his people back
again."

Hearing Harnack and his leading colleagues in discourse at the
university or academy, or in private, whether in their loftier or
lighter moods, one could understand why the University of Berlin,
though one of the youngest, is the foremost among the
universities of the world.



CHAPTER XLII

AMERICA, GERMANY, AND THE CHINESE WAR--1899-1902

An interesting event of this period was the appearance in Berlin
of ex-President and Mrs. Harrison. The President had but recently
finished his long and wearisome work before the Venezuela
Arbitration Tribunal at Paris, and was very happy in the
consciousness of duty accomplished and liberty obtained. Marks of
high distinction were shown them. The sovereigns invited them to
attend the festivities at Potsdam in honor of the Queen and Queen
Mother of Holland, who were then staying there, and treated them
not only with respect, but with cordiality. The Emperor conversed
long with the President on various matters of public interest: on
noted Americans whom he had met, on the growth of our fleet, on
recent events in our history, and the like, characteristically
ending with a discussion of the superb music which we had been
hearing; and at the supper which followed insisted that Mrs.
Harrison should sit at his side, the Empress giving a similar
invitation to Mr. Harrison. At a later period a dinner was given
to the ex-President by the chancellor of the empire, Prince
Hohenlohe, at which a number of the leading personages in the
empire were present; and it was a pleasure to show my own respect
for the former chief magistrate by a reception which was attended
by about two hundred of our American colony, and a dinner at
which he and Mrs. Harrison made the acquaintance of leading
representative Germans in various fields.

In another chapter of these memoirs I have spoken of President
Harrison as of cold and, at times, abrupt manners; but the
absence of these characteristics during his stay in Berlin, and
afterward in New York, made it clear to me that the cold exterior
which I had noted in him at Washington, especially when Mr.
Roosevelt, Mr. Lodge, and sundry others of us urged upon him an
extension of the classified civil service, was adopted as a means
of preventing encroachments upon the time necessary for his daily
duties. He now appeared in a very different light, his discussion
of men and events showing not only earnest thought and deep
penetration, but a rich vein of humor; his whole bearing being
simple, kindly, and dignified.

During the winter of 1899-1900 came an addition to my experiences
of what American representatives abroad have to expect under our
present happy-go-lucky provision for the diplomatic service. As
already stated, on arriving in Berlin, I had great difficulty in
obtaining any fitting quarters, but at last secured a large and
suitable apartment in an excellent part of the city, its only
disadvantage being that my guests had to plod up seventy-five
steps in order to reach it. Having been obliged to make large
outlays for suitable fittings, extensive repairs, and furniture
throughout, I found that more than the entire salary of my first
year had been thus sunk; but I congratulated myself that I had at
least obtained a residence good, comfortable, and suitable. To be
sure, it was inferior to that of any other ambassador, but I had
fitted it up so that it was considered creditable. Suddenly,
about two years afterward, without a word of warning, came notice
from the proprietor that my lease was void--that he had sold the
house, and that I must leave it; so that it looked as if the
American Embassy would, at an early day, be turned into the
street. This was trying indeed. It was at the beginning of the
social season, and interfered greatly with my duties of every
sort. And there cropped out a feeling, among all conversant with
the case, which I cannot say was conducive to respect for the
wisdom of those who give laws to our country.

But, happily, I had insisted on inserting in the lease a clause
which seemed to make it doubtful whether the proprietor could
turn me out so easily and speedily. Under German law it was a
very precarious reliance, but on this I took my stand, and at
last, thanks mainly to the kindness of my colleague who succeeded
me as a tenant, made a compromise under which I was enabled to
retain the apartment for something over a year longer.

It may be interesting for an American who has a proper feeling
regarding the position of his country abroad to know that the
purchaser of the entire house--not only of the floor which I had
occupied, but of the similar apartment beneath, as well as that
on the ground floor--was the little Grand Duchy of Baden, which
in this way provided for its minister, secretaries, and others
connected with its legation in the German capital.

On the theory of line upon line and precept upon precept, I again
call attention, NOT to the wrong done ME by this American policy,
or rather want of policy,--for I knew in coming what I had to
expect,--but to the injury thus done to the PROPER STANDING OF
OUR COUNTRY BEFORE THE OTHER NATIONS OF THE WORLD. Again I insist
that, in its own interest, a government like ours ought, in every
capital where it is represented, to possess or to hold on long
lease a house or apartment suitable to its representative and
creditable to itself.

Early in the spring of 1900 came an event of some historical
interest. On the 19th of March and the two days following was
celebrated the two-hundredth anniversary of the founding of the
Royal Academy of Sciences. The Emperor, as well as the Academy,
had determined to make it a great occasion, and the result was a
series of very brilliant pageants. These began by a solemn
reception of the delegates from all parts of the world in the
great hall of the palace, my duty being to represent the
Smithsonian Institution at Washington, and my colleagues being
Professors White and Wolf of Harvard, who had been sent by the
American Academy of Sciences. The scene was very striking, all
the delegates, except those from America and Switzerland, being
in the costumes of the organizations they represented; most were
picturesque, and some had a very mediaeval appearance; those from
the ancient universities of Wurzburg and Prague, especially,
looking as if they had just stepped out of an illuminated
manuscript of the fourteenth century. At the time named for the
beginning of the festival the Emperor entered, announced by the
blare of trumpets, preceded by ministers bearing the sword,
standard, and great seal, and by generals bearing the crown,
scepter, and orb. He was surrounded by the highest officials of
the kingdom and empire, and having taken his seat on the throne,
there came majestic music preluding sundry orations and lists of
honors conferred on eminent men of science in all parts of the
world, among whom I was glad to note Professors Gibbs of Yale,
James of Harvard, and Rowland of Johns Hopkins.

The Emperor's speech was characteristic. It showed that his heart
was in the matter; that he felt a just pride in the achievements
of German science, and was determined that no efforts of his
should be wanting to increase and extend them. After the close of
the function, which was made in the same stately way as its
beginning, my colleagues drove home with me, and one of them
said, "Well, I am an American and a republican, but when I am in
a monarchy I like to see a thing of this kind done in the most
magnificent way possible, as it was this morning." A day or two
afterward, at the dinner given to the ambassadors by the Emperor,
I told him this story. He laughed heartily, and then said: "Your
friend is right: if a man is to be a monarch, let him be a
monarch; Dom Pedro of Brazil tried to be something else, and it
did not turn out well."

Impressive in a different way were the ceremonies attendant upon
the coming of age of the German crown prince, on the 6th of May,
1900. To do honor to the occasion, the Emperor Franz Josef of
Austria-Hungary had sent word that he would be present, and for
many days the whole city seemed mainly devoted to decorating its
buildings and streets for his visit; the culmination of the whole
being at the Pariser Platz, in front of the Brandenburg Gate,
where a triumphal arch and obelisks were erected, with other
decorations, patriotic and complimentary. On the morning of the
4th he arrived, and, entering the city at the side of the German
Emperor, each in the proper uniform of the other, he was received
by the burgomaster and town council of Berlin with a most cordial
speech, and then, passing on through the Linden, which was
showily decorated, he was enthusiastically greeted everywhere. No
doubt this greeting was thoroughly sincere, since all good
Germans look upon Franz Josef as their truest ally.

Next evening there was a "gala" performance at the Royal Opera,
the play presented being, of all things in the world, Auber's
"Bronze Horse," which is a farcical Chinese fairy tale set to
very light and pleasing music. The stage setting was gorgeous,
but the audience was still more so, delegates from all the
greater powers of the world being present, including the heirs to
the British and Italian thrones, the Grand Duke Constantine of
Russia, and a multitude of other scions of royalty. One feature
was comical. Near me sat His Excellency the Chinese minister,
surrounded by his secretaries and attaches, all apparently
delighted; and on my asking him, through his interpreter, how he
liked it, he said, "Very much; this shows the Europeans that in
China we know how to amuse ourselves." Of the fact that it was a
rather highly charged caricature of Chinese officialdom he seemed
either really or diplomatically unconscious.
Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White - Part 2
