the one-time capital of Egypt "Alexandria," with the accent on the
long i, quoted the authority of Doctor Bentley. "Doctor Bentley and
I," replied Doctor Parr, "may call it 'Alexandria,' but I should
advise you to call it 'Alexandria.'" It was all very well for the
Medici, to ornament their cities and their homes with the fruit of the
great artistic springtime of the world, but I should strongly advise
the Berliners to pronounce it "Alexandria" for some years to come. No
matter how fervid the lover, nor how possessed he may be by his
mistress, he cannot turn out every day, even,
"A halting sonnet of his own poor brain,
Fashion'd to Beatrice."
All this pretentious over-ornamentation is cosmeticism, the powder and
paint of the vulgarian striving to conceal by a futile advertisement
her lack of refinement. Paris was teaching the world when there was no
capital in Germany; London has been a commercial centre for a thousand
years, and Oxford was a hundred years old before even the University
of Prague, the first in Germany, was founded by Charles IV in 1348.
You may like or dislike these cities, but, at any rate, they have a
bouquet; Berlin has none.
When Germany deals with the inanimate and amenable factors of life,
she brings the machinery of modern civilization well-nigh to the point
of perfection. As a municipal and national housewife she has no equal,
none. But art has nothing to do with brooms and dust-pans, and human
nature is woven of surprises and emergencies, and what then? An
interesting example in the streets of Berlin is the difference between
the perfection of the street-cleaning, which deals with the inanimate
and with accurately calculable factors, and the governing of the
street traffic. Horses and men and motor-driven vehicles are not as
dependable as blocks of pavement. When the traffic in the Berlin
streets grows to the proportions of London, Paris, and New York, one
wonders what will happen. Nowhere are there such broad, well-kept
streets in which the traffic is so awkwardly handled.
The police are all, and must be, indeed, noncommissioned officers of
the army, of nine years service, and not over thirty-five years of
age. They are armed with swords and pistols by night, and in the
rougher parts of the town with the same weapons by day as well. After
ten years service they are entitled to a pension of twenty-sixtieths
of their pay, with an increase of one-sixtieth for each further year
of service. They are not under the city, but under state control, and
the chief of police is a man of distinction, nearly always a nobleman,
and nominated by, and in every case approved by, the Emperor. In
Berlin he is appointed by the King of Prussia. He is a man of such
standing that he may be promoted to cabinet rank. The men are well-turned
out, of heavy build, very courteous to strangers, so far as my
experience can speak for them, and quiet and self-controlled. Under
the police president are one colonel of police, receiving from 6,000
to 8,500 marks, according to his length of service; 3 majors,
receiving from 5,400 to 6,600 marks; 20 captains, receiving from 4,200
to 5,400 marks; 156 lieutenants, receiving from 3,000 to 4,500 marks;
450 sergeants, receiving from 1,650 to 2,300 marks; and 5,382
patrolmen, receiving from 1,400 to 2,100 marks. There are also some
300 mounted police, receiving from 1,400 to 2,600 marks. The colonel,
majors, and captains receive 1,300 marks additional, and the
lieutenants 800 marks additional, for house rent. The mounted police
are well-horsed, but it is no slight to them to say, however, that
their horses are not so well trained and well mannered, nor the men
such skilful horsemen, as those of our mounted squad in New York, who,
man for man and horse for horse, are probably unequalled anywhere else
in the world.
The demand for these non-commissioned officers of nine years of army
discipline, who cannot be called upon to serve in the army again, has
grown with the growth of the great city, with its need of porters,
watchmen, and the like, and so valuable are their services deemed that
the present police force of Berlin is short of its proper number by
some seven hundred men.
The examination of those about to become policemen extends over four
weeks, and includes every detail of the multiplicity of duties, which
ranges from the protection of the public from crime, down to tracking
down truants from school, and the regulation of the books of the
maid-servant class. The policeman who aspires to the rank of sergeant
undergoes a still more rigorous examination, extending over twenty
weeks of preparation, during which time he studies -- note this list,
ye "young barbarians all at play," German, rhetoric, writing,
arithmetic, common fractions, geography, history, especially the
history of the House of Hohenzollern from the time of the margraves to
the present time (!), political divisions of the earth, especially of
Prussia and Germany, the essential features of the constitution of the
Prussian Kingdom and German Empire, the organization and working of
the various state authorities in Prussia and Germany, elementary
methods of disinfection, common veterinary remedies, the police law as
applicable to innumerable matters from the treatment of the drunk,
blind, and lame, to evidences of murder, and the press law. The man
who passes such an examination would be more than qualified to take a
degree, at one of our minor colleges, if he knew English and the
classics were not required, and could well afford to sniff
disdainfully at the pelting shower of honorary degrees of Doctor of
Divinity, which descend from the commencement platforms of our more
girlish intellectual factories of orthodoxy.
The cost of the police in Berlin in 1880 was 2,494,722 marks; in 1890,
3,007,879 marks; in 1900, 6,065,975 marks; and in 1910, 8,708,165
marks.
I fancy that after an accident has taken place the literary, legal,
and hygienic details are cared for by the Berlin police as nowhere
else. In their management of the traffic they are distinctly lacking
in decision and watchfulness. On the western side of the Brandenburger
Tor there is seldom an hour, without a tangle of traffic which is
entirely unnecessary if the police knew their business. On the
Tiergarten Strasse, a rather narrow and much used thoroughfare in the
fashionable part of the town, trucks, cabs, and other vehicles are not
kept close to the curbs, often they drive along in pairs, slowing up
all the traffic, and at the east end of the street is a corner which
could easily be remedied by the building of a "refuge," and an
authoritative policeman to guard the three approaches. Not once, but
scores of times, at the very important corner of Unter den Linden and
Wilhelm Strasse I have seen the policeman talking to friends on the
curb, quite oblivious to a scramble of cabs, wagons, and motors at
cross purposes in the street. Potsdamer Platz presents a difficult
problem at all times of the day, especially when the crowds are coming
from or going toward home, but a few ropes and iron standards, and
four alert Irish policemen, would make it far plainer sailing than now
it is. It is to be remembered, too, that the traffic is a mere dribble
as compared to a torrent, when one remembers Paris, New York, and
London. In 1909 the street accidents in Paris numbered 65,870, and
there was one summons for every 77 motor taxicabs, but Paris is now
without a rival as the dirtiest, worst-paved capital in Europe, and
the home of social anarchy; a place where adventurous spirits will go
soon rather than to Africa, or to the Rocky Mountains, for excitement
in affrays with revolvers, vitriol, and chloroform.
In London, in 1909, there were 13,388 accidents. In Berlin there was a
total of 4,895 accidents in 1900; 4,797 in 1905; and 4,233 in 1910.
One hundred persons were killed in 1900; 115 in 1905; and 136 in 1910.
In this connection it is to be said, that Berlin has fewer and much
less adventurous inhabitants, very much less complicated traffic, much
broader and better streets, and far fewer problems than the older
cities. If the citizens of Berlin were anything like as capable of
taking care of themselves in the streets, as they should be, there
would be hardly any accidents at all. The new police regulation of the
traffic has been only some four or five years in existence in its more
rigid form, and perhaps neither people nor police are accustomed to
it. Even then, out of the total of 4,233 accidents in 1910, 1,876 of
them were caused by the street-railway cars. This shows of itself how
light the traffic must be, for worse driving and more awkward
pedestrians one would go far to find.
The cost of Berlin housekeeping increases by leaps and bounds. The
total city expenses were: 45,221,988 marks in 1880; 89,364,270 in
1890; 121,405,356 in 1900; and 355,424,614 in 1910. The debt of Berlin
has risen from 126,161,605 marks in 1880, and 272,912,350 in 1900, to
475,799,231 in 1910, with a very considerable addition voted for 1912.
In the ten years alone between 1897 and 1907 the debt of German cities
including only those with a population of more than 10,000, increased
by $1,050,000,000. Municipal expenditure in Paris has risen in the
last ten years from $59,200,000 to $76,000,000. The budget expenditure
of France has reached $1,040,000,000. In 1898 it was only
$600,000,000.
It cannot be expected that the best-kept, cleanest, and most orderly
cities in the world, and there need be no hesitation in saying this of
the German cities, should not spend much money, and the states in
which they are situated much money as well. The various states of the
empire spent, according to a report of four years ago, $1,352,500,000;
and the empire itself $738,250,000, or a total of $2,090,750,000. From
the various state or empire controlled enterprises, such as railways,
forests, mines, post and telegraph, imperial printing-office, and so
on, the states and empire received a net income of $216,525,000, and
the balance was, of course, raised by direct and indirect taxation.
One may put appropriately enough under this heading, the invaluable
and unpaid services of a host of honorary officials, who render expert
service both in the state and city governments. There are over ten
thousand honorary officials in the city of Berlin alone, more than
three thousand of whom serve under the school authorities. They are
chosen from citizens of standing, education, wealth, and ability, and
assist in all the departments with advice and expert knowledge, and
sit upon the various committees. The German citizen has not only his
pocket taxed, but his patriotism also, and a capital philosophy of
government this implies.
A friend, a large landholder in Saxony, gives, between his services as
a reserve officer in the army and his magisterial and other duties,
something over nine weeks of his time to the state every year, and he
is by no means an exception, he tells me. A certain amount of this is
required of him by the state, with a heavy fine for nonperformance of
these duties. The same is true of the many members of the various
standing committees in the cities. Each citizen is compelled to
contribute a certain proportion of his mental and moral prowess to the
service of his state and city, but he receives a return for it in his
beautifully kept city, in the educational advantages, in the theatres,
concerts, opera, and in the peaceful orderliness, the value of which
only the foreigner can fully appreciate.
Almost all the court theatres, for example, throughout Germany are
under a director who works in harmony with the reigning prince. The
King of Prussia gives for his theatres in Berlin, Wiesbaden, Hanover,
and Cassel, more than $625,000 a year from his private purse; the Duke
of Anhalt, $75,000 a year to the Dessauer theatre. The players have a
sure position under responsible and intelligent government, and feel
themselves to be not mere puppets, but educational factors with a
certain pride and dignity in their work.
There are more Shakespeare plays given in Germany in a week than in
all the English-speaking countries together in a year. This is by no
means an exaggeration. The theatre is looked upon as a school. Fathers
and mothers arrange that their older children as well as themselves
shall attend the theatre all through the winter, and subscribe for
seats as we would subscribe to a lending library. During the last year
in Germany, the plays of Schiller were given 1,584 times, of
Shakespeare 1,042 times, the music-dramas of Wagner 1,815 times, the
plays of Goethe 700 times, and of Hauptmann 600 times. There is no
spectacular gorgeousness, as when an Irving, a Booth, or a Beerbohm
Tree sugarcoats Shakespeare to induce us barbarians to go, in the
belief that we are after all not wasting our time, since the
performance tastes a little of the more gorgeous music halls. The
scenery and costumes are sufficient, and the performance always worth
intelligent attention, for the reason that both the director and his
players have given time and scholarship to its interpretation. The
acting is often indifferent as compared to the French stage, but it is
at least always in earnest and intelligent. The theatre prices in
Berlin are high, even as compared with New York prices, but in other
cities and towns of Germany cheaper than in England, France, or
America.
Pericles passed a law in Athens by which each citizen was granted two
oboli, one to pay for his seat at the theatre, the other to provide
himself with refreshment. In Athens the play began at 6 or 7 A. M.,
and during the morning three tragedies and a satirical drama were
played, followed in the afternoon by a comedy. The theatre of
Dionysius seated 30,000 people, who brought their cushions, food, and
drink, and occasionally used them to express their dislike of the
performance or the performers. At one of the larger industrial towns
in Germany, during a Sunday of my visit, there were three
performances; one at 11 A. M., of a patriotic melodrama, "Glaube und
Heimat"; another, at 3.30 P. M., of "Der Freischuetz"; and another, at
7.30 P. M., of Sudermann's play, "Die Ehre." The prices of seats for
the morning performance ranged from eight cents to forty-five cents; a
little more in the afternoon; and from seventeen cents to $1.15 in the
evening. At the performance I attended the house was crowded and
attentive. I was not enough of an Athenian to attend all three. Even
at the Music Hall in Berlin, where, as in other cities, the thinly
covered salacious is ladled out to the animal man, there was a capital
stage caricature of Oedipus, which atoned for the customary ewig
Legliche, which now rules in these resorts. If for some untoward
reason women ceased to have legs, what would the British and American
theatrical trust managers do!
The German takes his theatre and his music, as from the beginnings of
these it was intended we all should do. They are not a distraction
merely, but an education, an education of the senses, and through the
senses of the whole man. There are music-lovers and serious playgoers
in America; but for the most part our theatres cater to, and are
filled by, a public seeking a soothing and condimented mental
atmosphere, in which to finish digestion. Theatrical salmagundi is
served everywhere, and seems to be the dish best suited to the
American aesthetic palate as thus far educated. We cannot complain,
since other wares would be quickly provided did we but ask for them.
America has suffered because she was overtaken by a great material
prosperity before she had a sufficient spiritual and intellectual
development, and up to now the material side of life has had the upper
hand. We buy the best pictures, the rare books and manuscripts, armor
and silver and porcelain, and it must be said that there is a fine
idealism here, because they are bought almost without exception by
uncultured, often almost unlettered, rich men, who know nothing and
care very little for these things, but who are providing rare
educational opportunities for another generation. In 1910 objects of
art to the value of $22,000,000 were imported, in 1911 $36,000,000
worth, and in 1912 sixty per cent. more than in 1911. In the same way
we hire the best musicians and singers, but our surroundings and the
powerful circumambient ambitions, have not tempted us as yet to live
contentedly and understandingly in any such atmosphere as the Germans
do. It is a striking contrast, perhaps of all the contrasts the most
interesting to the student, this of America growing from industrialism
toward idealism, of Germany growing out of idealism into
industrialism.
Germany floats in music; in America a few, a very few, float on it. In
Germany everybody sings, almost everybody plays some instrument, and
from the youngest to the oldest everybody understands music; at least
that is the impression you carry away with you from the land of Bach,
Handel, Haydn, Mozart, and Brahms, and Beethoven, and Wagner, and I
might fill the page with the others.
You are at least on the ramparts of Paradise, in the Thomas Kirche in
Leipsic at the weekly Saturday concert of the scholars of the Thomas
Schule. The worldliness is melted out of you, as you sit in the cool,
quiet church with the sunlight slanting in upon you, and the
atmosphere alive with sweet sounds. And this is only one of hundreds
of such experiences all over Germany. At the Kreuz Kirche in Dresden,
at the great Dom church in Berlin at Easter time, for the asking you
may have the oil and wine of music's Good Samaritan poured upon the
wounds of those sore-pressed travellers, your hopes and ideals, your
dreams and ambitions, that have fallen among thieves, on the long,
long way from Jericho to Jerusalem.
It is, I must admit, a drab and dreary crowd to look at, these Germans
at the theatre, at the opera, in the concert halls. They do not dress,
or if they are women undress, for their music as do we; their music
dresses for them. They come, most of them, in the clothes that they
have worn all day, each quidlibet induitus. They have many of them a
meal of meat, bread, and beer during the long pause between two of the
acts, always provided for this purpose. Some of them bring little bags
with their own provisions, and only buy a glass of beer. They are
solemnly attentive, an educated and experienced audience there for a
purpose, and not to be trifled with, the most competently critical
audience in the world. I wonder as I look at them whether the fact
that they have no backs to their heads, emphasized nowadays by the
fact that many men wear their hair clipped close to the head, and no
chins (the lack of chins in Germany is almost a national peculiarity)
has any physiological or psychological relation to their prowess in,
and love of, and critical appreciation of, the more nebulous arts:
music, poetry, philosophy, and the serious drama.
They are as adamant in their observance of the rules in such matters.
More than once I arrived at the opera a few minutes late, once four
minutes late, the doors are closed and guarded, and I listen to the
overture from the outside. At a concert led by the famous von Buelow
half a dozen women come in after the music has begun, rustling,
sibilant, and excited. The music stops, the great conductor turns to
glare at them, and, referring to the geese which are said to have
saved Rome by their hissing, thunders: "Hier ist kein Capitol zu
retten!"
There are some forty thousand professional musicians in Germany. The
town council of Berlin is now discussing gravely the sum to be
allotted to the support of the Symphony Orchestra, and Charlottenburg
is building an opera house of its own, and Spandau a theatre; and
there has just been formed in Berlin a "Society of the German
Artistes' Theatre," with a capital of $200,000, which is a project
along the general lines of the Comedie Francaise. The discussions and
arguments relating to these municipal expenditures, as I read them in
the newspapers, are all based upon the assumption that the people have
a right to good and cheap music, just as they have a right to good and
cheap beer and bread.
At Duesseldorf one of the theatres, managed by a woman, and supported
by the best people in the town, is not only a playhouse, but a school
for actors, and a proving-ground for the drama. It is a treat indeed
to attend the performances there. We have tried similar things in
America, but with sad results. Fifty millionaires, no one of whom had
ever read the text of a serious play in his life, build a temple for
the drama, but there are no plays, no actors, no audience, nothing is
accomplished. There is no critical body of real lovers of the drama,
and there are no cheap seats, and there is still that fatuous notion
that exclusiveness, except in the trifling matter of physical
propinquity, can be bought with dollars.
The only impenetrably exclusive thing in the world is intellect, he is
the only aristocrat left in these democratic days, and we are not
devoting much attention as yet to his breeding. We do not realize that
the only valuable democrat must be an aristocrat. "Culture seeks to do
away with classes and sects; to make the best that has been thought
and known in the world current everywhere; to make all men live in an
atmosphere of sweetness and light, where they may use ideas, as it
uses them itself, freely; nourished and not bound by them. This is the
social idea; and the men of culture are the true apostles of
equality."
In Germany there are more men of culture per thousand of the
population than in any other land, but they rule the country not by
"sweetness and light," but by force. This seems at first a
contradiction. It is not. Religion, life, and love are all savage
things. Because we have known men who preach but do not believe; men
who breathe and walk who have not lived; men who protest but who have
not loved, we are prone to think of religion, life, and love as soft.
We have conquered and chastened so much of nature: the air, the water,
the bowels of the earth that we fool ourselves with thinking that
culture also is tame, that religion, life, and love are tame too.
Savage things they are! You may know them by that! If you find them
nice, vivacious, amusing, amenable, be sure that they are forgeries.
This is the profound fallacy underlying the present-day economic peace
propagandism, whose heaviest underwriter, Mr. Carnegie, is, by the
way, an agnostic. While there is faith there will be fighting. Do away
with either and society would crumble. What the Puritans did for us,
the Prussians have done for Germany. They have fought, are fighting,
and will fight for their faith. Though they have many unpleasant
characteristics, this is their most admirable quality. They believe in
an aristocracy of culture with a right to rule. Goethe said of Luther
that he threw back the intellectual progress of mankind by centuries,
by calling in the passions of the multitude to decide on subjects that
ought to have been left to the learned. This is a good example of
imitation culture. This is very much the view that Mr. Balfour holds
in regard to Cromwell. But Luther and Bismarck made Germany. The one
taught Germany to bark, the other taught Germany to bite. The great
deliverers of the world came, not to bring peace, but a sword.
When you leave the drab crowd in the streets, and enter the houses of
the real rulers of Germany, the contrast between the aristocrat and
the plebeian is nowhere so outstanding. I have seen no finer-looking
specimens of mankind in face and figure and manner than the best of
these men. If you stroll though the halls of the Krieges Academie,
where the pick of the young officers of the German army, are preparing
themselves for the examinations which admit a very small proportion of
them, to appointments on the general staff, you will be delighted with
the faces and figures, and the air of alertness and intelligence
there. And you will find as fine a type of gentlemen, in face,
manners, and figure, at their head as exists anywhere.