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.