There were various other journeys on American soil, and among

them a very delightful summer stay, in 1884, at Nantucket; but of

all the impressions upon me at that period perhaps the strongest

was made by a piece of crass absurdity not unusual in a certain

stratum of American society. Making an excursion with my friend

President Gilman from Nantucket to the United States Fisheries

Station at Woods Hole, we stopped overnight at Martha's Vineyard,

a beautiful little island which has now become a sort of saints'

rest where, during the summer, a certain class of pious New

Englanders of the less intellectual type crowd themselves into

little cottages and enjoy a permanent camp-meeting. Never,

except, perhaps, among the dervishes of Cairo, have I seen any

religion more repulsive. On the evening of our arrival, Gilman

and I went into the large skating-rink where a German band was

blowing its best, and a large concourse of young men and women

from the various pious families of the place were disporting

themselves. Dancing was not allowed them, and so, with their arms

around each other's waists, they were executing various gyrations

on roller-skates to the sound of this music. Presently, as I sat

rather listlessly looking on, I was struck by a peculiar change

in the tune. Gilman, too, seemed in a way paralyzed by it; and,

turning to him, I said, "Tell me what that music is." Then he

came out of his daze and said, "Great heavens! it is 'Nearer, my

God, to Thee'--played as a waltz!" So it was. The whole thing, to

any proper religious, moral, or esthetic sense, was ghastly.

These pious young men and women, who, on no account, were allowed

to dance, were going through something far more indecent than any

dancing I had ever seen, and to music which was a travesty of one

of the most sacred of Christian compositions. I have long

regarded camp-meetings as among the worst influences to which our

rural youth are subjected--Joe Miller jokes in the pulpit,

hysterics in the pews, with an atmosphere often blasphemous and

sometimes erotic. A devoted country clergyman doing his simple

duty--trying to lift his congregation to better views of life,

partaking their joys and alleviating their sorrows, often a

martyr to meddlesome deacons or to pompous trustees, and his wife

a prey to the whimsical wives of opinionated pew-owners--such a

man I deeply revere; but the longer I live the more I am

convinced that the professional revivalist and the sensation

preacher are necessarily and normally foes both to religion and

to civilization.

CHAPTER LII

ENGLAND REVISITED--1885

In 1885, having resigned the presidency at Cornell, after twenty

years of service, I went to Europe; my main purpose being to

leave my successor untrammeled as to any changes which he might

see fit to make. He was an old friend and student of mine whom,

when the trustees had asked me to nominate a man to follow me I

had named as the best man I knew for the work to be done; but,

warm as were the relations between us, I made up my mind that it

was best to leave him an entirely free hand for at least a year.

Crossing the ocean, I had the close companionship of Thomas

Hughes ("Tom Brown"), and he was at his best. Among the stories

he told was one of Browning. The poet one morning, hearing a

noise in the street before his house, went to his window and saw

a great crowd gazing at some Chinamen in gorgeous costumes who

were just leaving their carriages to mount his steps. Presently

they were announced as the Chinese minister at the Court of St.

James and his suite. A solemn presentation having taken place,

Browning said to the interpreter, "May I ask to what I am

indebted for the honor of his Excellency's visit?" The

interpreter replied, "His Excellency is a poet in his own

country." Thereupon the two poets shook hands heartily. Browning

then said, "May I ask to what branch of poetry his Excellency

devotes himself?" to which the interpreter answered, "His

Excellency devotes himself to poetical enigmas." At this

Browning, recognizing fully the comic element in the situation,

extended his hand most cordially, saying, "His Excellency is

thrice welcome, he is a brother, indeed."

The month of October was passed in the southwest of England, and

there dwell in my mind recollections of Chatsworth, Haddon Hall,

and Bristol; but, above all, of a stay with the historian Freeman

at Wells. The whole life of that charming cathedral town and its

neighborhood was delightful. Freeman's kindness opened all doors

to us. The bishop, Lord Arthur Hervey, showed us kindly

hospitality at his grand old castle, which we had entered by a

drawbridge over the moat. Of especial interest to me was a

portrait of one of his predecessors--dear old Bishop Ken, whose

morning and evening hymns are among the most beautiful ties

between England and the United States. In the evening, dining

with the magistrates and lawyers, I heard good stories, among

them some characterizing various eminent members of the

profession, and of these I especially remember one at the expense

of the late Lord Chancellors Westbury and Cranworth. Lord

Cranworth, after the amalgamation of law and equity, was for some

time in the habit of going to sit with the new judges in order to

familiarize himself with the reformed practice, whereupon some

one asked Lord Westbury, "Why does 'Cranny' go to sit with the

judges?" to which Westbury answered, "Doubtless from a childish

fear of being alone in the dark."

Next day I was invited to sit with the squires in the Court of

Quarter Sessions, and was greatly interested in their mode of

administering justice. There was a firmness, but at the same time

a straightforward common sense about it all which greatly pleased

me. A visit to Wells Cathedral with Freeman was in its way ideal;

for never in all my studies of mediaeval buildings have I had so

good a guide. But perhaps the most curious experience of our stay

was an attendance upon a political meeting at Glastonbury, in the

Gladstonian interest. The first speech was made by the candidate,

Sir Hugh Davey; and in his anxiety to propitiate his hearers he

began by addressing them as men whose ancestors had for centuries

shown their devotion to free principles, and had especially given

proof of this by hanging the last Abbot of Glastonbury at the old

tower above the town. But, shortly afterward, when Freeman began

his speech, it was evident that his love of historical truth and

his devotion to church principles would not permit him to pass

this part of Davey's harangue unnoticed. Referring then

respectfully to his candidate for Parliament, Freeman went on to

say in substance that his distinguished friend was in error; that

the last Abbot of Glastonbury was not a traitor, but a martyr--a

martyr to liberty, and a victim of that arch-enemy of liberty,

Henry VIII. Any one who had heard Freeman in America as a

lecturer would have been amazed at his ability as a political

speaker. As a lecturer, trying to be eloquent while reading a

manuscript, he was generally ineffective and sometimes

comical,--worse even than the general run of lecturers in the

German universities, and that is saying much; but as a public

speaker he was excellent--so much so that, congratulating him

afterward, and bearing in mind the fact that he had been formerly

defeated for Parliament, I assured him that if he would come to

America and make speeches like that, we would most certainly put

him in Congress and keep him there.

Toward the end of October we went on to Exeter, and there, at

Heavitree Church, heard Bishop Bickersteth preach admirably,

meeting him afterward at our luncheon with the vicar, and taking

supper with him at the episcopal palace. He was perhaps best

known in America as the author of the poem, "Yesterday, To-day,

and Forever"; and of this he gave me a copy, remarking that every

year he received from the American publisher a check for fifty

pounds, though there was no copyright requiring any payment

whatever. In his study he showed me a copy of "The Book Annexed,"

which presented the enrichments and emendations which a number of

devout scholars and thinkers were endeavoring to make in the

Prayer-book of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United

States, and he spoke with enthusiasm of these additions, which,

alas! have never yet been adopted.

Next came a visit to Torquay, where Kent's Cavern, with its

prehistoric relics, interested me vastly. Looking at them, there

could be no particle of doubt regarding the enormous antiquity of

the human race. There were to be seen the evidences of man's

existence scattered among the remains of animals long ago

extinct--animals which must have lived before geological changes

which took place ages on ages ago. Mixed with remains of fire and

human implements and human bones were to be seen not only bones

of the hairy mammoth and cave-bear, woolly rhinoceros and

reindeer, which could have been deposited there only in a time of

arctic cold, but bones of the hyena, hippopotamus, saber-toothed

tiger, and the like, which could have been deposited only when

the climate was torrid. The conjunction of these remains clearly

showed that man had lived in England early enough and long enough

to pass through times of arctic cold, and times of torrid heat;

times when great glaciers stretched far down into England and,

indeed, into the Continent, and times when England had a land

connection with the European continent, and the European

continent with Africa, allowing tropical animals to migrate

freely from Africa to the middle regions of England.

The change wrought by such discoveries as these, not only in

England, but in Belgium, France, and elsewhere, as regards our

knowledge of the antiquity of the human race and the character of

the creation process, is one of the great things of our

epoch.[11]

[11] I have discussed this more fully in my "History of the

Warfare of Science with Theology," Vol. I, chap. vi.

Thence we visited various cathedral towns, being shown delightful

hospitality everywhere. There remains vividly in my memory a

visit to Worcester, where the dean, Lord Alwyn Compton, now

Bishop of Ely, went over the cathedral with us, and showed us

much kindness afterward at the deanery--a mediaeval structure,

from the great window of which we looked over the Severn and the

famous Cromwellian battle-field.

Salisbury we found beautiful as of old; then to Brighton and to

"The Bungalow" of Halliwell-Phillips the Shaksperian scholar, and

never have I seen a more quaint habitation. On the height above

the town Phillips had brought together a number of portable

wooden houses, and connected them with corridors and passages

until all together formed a sort of labyrinth; the only clue

being in the names of the corridors, all being chosen from

Shakspere, and each being enriched with Shaksperian quotations

appropriate and pithy. At his table during our stay we met

various interesting guests, one of whom suggested the idea

regarding the secret of Carlyle's cynicism and pessimism to which

reference is made in my "Warfare of Science." Next came visits to

various country houses, all delightful, and then a stay at

Oxford, to which I was reinitiated by James Bryce; and for two

weeks it was a round of interesting visits, breakfasts,

luncheons, and dinners with the men best worth knowing at the

various colleges. Interesting was a visit to All Souls College,

which, having been founded as a place where sundry "clerks"

should pray for the souls of those killed at the battle of Crecy,

had, as Sir William Anson, its present head, showed me, begun at

last doing good work after four hundred years of uselessness. In

the chapel was shown me the restored reredos, which was of great

size, extending from floor to ceiling, taking the place of the

chancel window usual in churches, and made up of niches filled

with statues of saints. As the heads of all the earlier statues

had been knocked off during the fanatical period, there had been

substituted, during the recent restoration, new statues of saints

bearing the heads of noted scholars and others connected with the

college, among which Max Muller once pointed out to me his own,

and a very good likeness it was. Interesting to me were Bryce's

rooms at Oriel, for they were those in which John Henry Newman

had lived: at that hearth was warmed into life the Oxford

Movement. At one of the Oriel dinners, Bryce spoke of the changes

at Oxford within his memory as enormous, saying that perhaps the

greatest of these was the preference given to laymen over

clergymen as heads of colleges. An example of this was the

president of Magdalen. I had met him not many years before in

Switzerland, as a young man, and now he had become the head of

this great college, one of the foremost in the university. This

impressed me all the more because my memory suggested a

comparison between him and the president at my first visit,

thirty years before: Warren, the present president, being an

active-minded layman hardly over thirty, and his predecessor,

Routh, a doctor of divinity, who was then in his hundredth year.

It was curious to see that, while this change had been made to

lay control, various relics of clerical dominance were still in

evidence, and, among these, the surplice worn by Bryce, a member

of Parliament, when he read the lessons from the lectern in Oriel

chapel. At another dinner I was struck by a remark of his, that

our problems in America seemed to him simple and easy compared

with those of England; but as I revise these recollections,

twenty years later, and think of the questions presented by our

acquisitions in the West Indies and in the Philippine and

Hawaiian islands, as well as the negro problem in the South and

Bryanism in the North, to say nothing of the development of the

Monroe Doctrine and the growth of socialistic theories, the query

comes into my mind as to what he would think to-day.

November 9, 1885.

Dining at All Souls with Professor Dicey, I met Professor

Gardiner, the historian, whom I greatly liked; his lecture on

"Ideas in English History," which I had heard in the afternoon,

was suggestive, thorough, and interesting: he is evidently one of

the historians whose work will last. In the hall I noted Lord

Salisbury's portrait in the place of honor.

Tuesday, November 10.

Breakfasting at Oriel with Bryce, I met Broderick, warden of

Merton, and there was an interesting political discussion. Bryce

thought Chamberlain had alarmed the well-to-do classes, but

trusted to Gladstone to bring matters around right, and, apropos

of some recent occurrences, remarked upon the amazing depth of

spite revealed in the blackballing at clubs. Took lunch at

Balliol, where the discussion upon general and American history

was interesting. Dined with Bryce at Oriel, and, the discussion

falling upon English and American politics, sundry remarks of

Fowler, president of Corpus Christi College, were pungent. He

evidently thinks bitterly of political corruption in America, and

I find this feeling everywhere here; politely concealed, of

course, but none the less painful. I could only say that the

contents of the caldron should not be judged from the scum thrown

to the surface. In the evening to Professor Freeman's and met Mr.

Hunt, known as a writer and an examiner in history. He complained

bitterly of the cramming system, as so many do; thought that

Jowett had done great harm by promoting it, and that the main

work now done is for position in the honor list,--cram by tutors

being everything and lectures nothing.

Wednesday, November 11.

Took luncheon with Fowler, president of Corpus Christi, a most

delightful and open-minded man. I have enjoyed no one here more,

few so much. We discussed the teaching of ethics, he lamenting

the coming in of Hegelianism, which seems mainly used by sophists

in upholding outworn dogmas. Afterward we took a long stroll

together, discussing as we walked his admirable little book on

"Progress in Morals"; I suggesting some additions from my own

experience in America. In the afternoon came Professor Freeman's

lecture on Constantine. It was a worthy presentation of a great

subject, but there were fewer than ten members of the university

present, and only two of these remained until the close. In the

evening I dined at Balliol, and, the conversation falling upon

the eminent master of the college, Jowett, and his friendship

with Stubbs, Bishop of Oxford, and Freeman, a budding cynic

recalled the verses:

"I go first; my name is Jowett;

I am the Master of Balliol College;

Whatever's worth knowing, be sure that I know it;

Whatever I don't know is not knowledge."[12]

[12] This is given differently in Tuckwell's reminiscences.

Whereupon some one cited a line from an Oxford satire: "Stubbs

butters Freeman, and Freeman butters Stubbs"; at which I could

only say that Jowett, Stubbs, and Freeman had seemed to me, in my

intercourse with them, anything but dogmatic, pragmatic, or

unctuous.

November 13.

In the morning breakfasted with Bryce and a dozen or more

graduates and undergraduates in the common room at Oriel, and was

delighted with the relations between instructors and instructed

then shown. Nothing could be better. The discussion turning upon

Froude, who had evidently fascinated many of the younger men by

his style, Bryce was particularly severe against him for his

carelessness as to truth. This reminded me of a remark made to me

by Moncure Conway, I think, that Froude had begun with the career

of a novelist, for which he had decided gifts; that Carlyle had

then made him think this sort of work unworthy, urging him to

write history; and that Froude had carried into historical

writing the characteristics of a romance-writer. In the afternoon

to a beautiful concert in the great hall of Christ Church. A

curious sort of accommodation in quasi-boxes was provided by

pushing the dining-tables to the sides of the room and placing

the audience in chairs upon them and in front of them; it seemed

to me more serviceable than cleanly. In the evening dined at

Lincoln College with the rector, Dr. Merry, who was very

agreeable and entertaining, giving interesting accounts of his

predecessor, Mark Pattison, and of Wilberforce when Bishop of

Oxford. One of the guests, a fellow of New College, told me that

some fifty years ago an American, being entertained there showed

the college dons how to make mint-julep, or something of the

sort, and then sent them a large silver cup with the condition

that it should be filled with this American drink every year on

the anniversary of the donor's visit, and that this is regularly

done. This pious donor must have been, I think, "Nat" Willis.

Sunday, November 15.

Lunched with Johnson, fellow of Merton, and met my old friend

Mlle. Blaze du Bury. Her comments, from the point of view of a

brilliant young Frenchwoman, on all she saw about her at Oxford

were pungent and suggestive. In the evening heard the Archbishop

of York Thompson, preach at St. Mary's. He urged the students to

consecrate themselves by their example to the maintenance of a

better standard of morality; but, despite his strength and force,

the sermon seemed heavy and perfunctory.

November 16.

To Windsor with a party of friends, and as we had a special

permit to see a large number of rooms and curious objects not

usually shown, the visit was very interesting. Sadly suggestive

was Gordon's Bible, every page having its margins covered with

annotations in his own hand: it was brought from Khartoum after

his murder, presented by his sister to the Queen, and is now

preserved in an exquisitely wrought silver casket.

Tuesday, November 18.

Visited Somerville Hall for women, which shows a vast advance

over Oxford as I formerly knew it. To think that its creation

honors the memory of a woman who attained her high scientific

knowledge in spite of every discouragement, and who, when she had

attained it, was denounced outrageously from the pulpit of York

Minster for it! Dined at Merton College with the warden, Hon.

George Broderick, in the hall, which has been most beautifully

restored by Sir Gilbert Scott. When will the founders of our

American colleges and universities understand the vast

educational value of surroundings like these, and especially of a

"hall" in which students meet every day, beneath storied windows

and the busts and portraits of the most eminent men in the

history of science, literature, and public service?

In answer to the question whether in American universities there

was anything like the association between instructors and

students in England, I spoke of the evolution of our fraternity

houses as likely to bring about something of the sort. The

fraternal relation between teachers and taught is certainly the

best thing in the English universities, and covers a multitude of

sins. If I were a great millionaire I would establish in our

greater universities a score or so of self-governing colleges,

each with comfortable lodging-rooms and studies and with its own

library and dining-hall. In the common room, after dinner, I sat

next Professor Wallace, whose book on Kant I had read. He thinks

the system of ethics really predominant in England is modified

Kantianism.

November 19.

To Mortimer, near Reading, on a visit to Sir Paul Hunter, who

once visited me at Cornell. Extracts from my diary of this visit

are as follows:

November 20.

To Bearwood, the seat of John Walter, M.P., proprietor of the

"Times," and for the first time in my life saw a fox hunt, with

the meet, the huntsmen in red coats, and all the rest of it.

November 21.

Visited the old Abbey Church at Reading with Sir Paul, and in the

evening met various interesting people at dinner, among them Sir

John Mowbray, M.P. for Oxford and Mr. Walter.

Sunday, November 22.

After morning service in the beautiful parish church which, with

its schools, was the gift of Mr. Benyon, several of us took a

walk to Silchester, with its ruins of an old Roman bath, on the

Duke of Wellington's estate. In the evening Mr. Walter, who

usually appears so reticent and quiet, opened himself to me quite

freely, speaking very earnestly regarding the unfortunate turn

which the question between Catholics and Protestants has taken in

England under pressure from the Vatican, especially as regards

marriages, and illustrating his view by some most suggestive

newspaper cuttings. He also gave me what he claimed was the true

story of Earl Russell's conduct in letting out the Confederate

cruisers against us during the Civil War, attributing it to the

fact that an underling charged with preventing it went suddenly

mad, so that the matter did not receive early attention. But this

did not modify my opinion of Earl Russell. Thank Heaven, he lived

until he saw Great Britain made to pay heavily for his obstinacy.

Pity that he did not live to see the present restoration of good

feeling between the two countries; esto perpetua (1905).

Monday, November 23.

In the afternoon drove to "Bramshill," the magnificent seat of

Sir William Cope; after all, there has never been any domestic

architecture so noble as the Elizabethan and Jacobean. In the

evening to a Tory meeting, Sir John Mowbray presiding; his

opening speech astounded me. Presenting the claims of his party,

he said that the Tories were not only the authors of extended

suffrage under Lord Beaconsfield, but that they ought also to

have the credit of free trade in grain, since Sir Robert Peel had

supported the bill for the repeal of the corn laws. Remembering

the treatment which Sir Robert Peel received from Disraeli and

the Tory party for this very act, it seemed to me that Sir John's

speech was the coolest thing I had ever heard in my life. It was

taken in good part, however. In America I am quite sure that such

a speech would have been considered an insult to the audience.

November 24.

To Cambridge, where I met a number of old friends, including Dr.

Waldstein, director of the Fitzwilliam Museum, and Sedley Taylor,

fellow of Trinity; and in the evening dined at King's College

with the former and a number of interesting men, including

Westcott, the eminent New Testament scholar (since Bishop of

Durham).

November 26.

Dined at Trinity College with Sedley Taylor and others, and

thence to the Politico-Economic Association to hear a discussion

upon cooperation in production; those taking the principal part

in the meeting being sundry leading men among the professors and

fellows devoted to political economy. During the day I called on

Robertson Smith, the eminent biblical critic, who, having been

thrown out of the Free Church of Scotland for revealing sundry

truths in biblical criticism a dozen years too soon, has been

received into a far better place at Cambridge.

November 27.

Had a delightful hour during the morning in King's College chapel

with Bradshaw, the librarian of the university--a most

accomplished man. He has a passion for church architecture, and

his discussions of the wonderful stained windows of the chapel

were very interesting. The evening service at King's College was

most beautiful: nothing could be more perfect than the antiphonal

rendering of the Psalms by the two choirs and the great organ.

More and more I am impressed by the EDUCATIONAL value of such

things.

November 28.

During the greater part of the day in the library of Trinity

College with Sedley Taylor. Years before, I had explored its

treasures with Aldis Wright, but there were new things to

fascinate me. Dining at King's College with Waldstein, met

Professor Seeley, author of the "Life of Stein," a book which,

ever since its appearance, has been an object of my admiration.

November 29.

In the morning, at King's College chapel, I was greatly struck by

the acoustic properties of this immense building; for, having

seated myself near the door at the west end, I distinctly heard

every word of the prayer for the church militant as it was

recited before the altar at the other end. Afterward, at Oscar

Browning's rooms, looked over a multitude of interesting

documents, including British official reports from New York

during our War of the Revolution; and in the evening, at

Waldstein's rooms, met Sir Henry Maine and discussed with him his

book on "Popular Government." He interested me greatly, and I

pointed out to him some things which, in my opinion, he might

well dwell more strongly upon in future editions, and among these

the popularity of the veto power in the United States, as shown

in its extension by recent legislation of various States to items

of supply bills.

At noon to luncheon at Christ's College with Professor Robertson

Smith, the Scotch heretic. This was the Cambridge home of Milton

and Darwin, interesting memorials of whom were shown me. Among

the guests was Dr. Creighton, professor of ecclesiastical

history. The early part of Creighton's book on the "History of

the Papacy During the Reformation Period" had especially

interested me, and I now enjoyed greatly his knowledge of Italian

matters. He discussed Tomasini's book on Machiavelli, and sundry

new Italian books on the relations of the Popes and Fra Paolo

Sarpi.

November 30.

Took tea at St. Mary's Hall with Sir Henry Maine, and continued

our discussion on his "Popular Government," which, while opposed

to democracy, pays a great tribute to the Constitution of the

United States. Dined with Professor Creighton; met various

interesting people, and discussed with him and Mrs. Creighton

sundry points in English history, especially the career of

Archbishop Laud; my opinion of Macaulay's injustice being

confirmed thereby.

December 11.

Went in the morning with Sedley Taylor and Professor Stuart,

M.P., an old friend of former visits, and inspected the

mechanical laboratory and workshops. There were about seventy

university men, more or less, engaged in these, and it was

interesting to see English Cambridge adopting the same line which

we have already taken at Cornell against so much opposition, and

surprising to find the Cambridge equipment far inferior to that

of Cornell. Afterward visited the polling booths for an election

which was going on, and noted the extraordinary precautions

against any interference with the secrecy of the ballot. Also to

the Cavendish physical laboratory, which, like the mechanical

laboratory, was far inferior in equipment to ours at Cornell. In

the evening to the Greek play,--the "Eumenides" of

Aeschylus,--which was wonderfully well done. The Athena, Miss

Case of Girton College, was superb; the Apollo imposing; the

Orestes a good actor; and the music very effective. I found

myself seated next Andrew Lang, so well known for his literary

activity in various fields; and on speaking to him of the evident

delights of life at Cambridge and Oxford, I found that he had

outlived his enthusiasm on that subject.

December 2.

In the morning took a charming walk through St. Peter's, Queen's,

and other colleges, enjoying their quiet interior courts, their

halls and cloisters, the bridges across the Cam, and the walks

beyond. Then to a lecture by Professor Seeley on "Forces of

Government in History." It was admirably clear, though, in parts,

perhaps too subtle. As to England he summed all up by saying that

its present system was simply revolution at any moment. Walking

home with him afterward, I asked why, if his statement were

correct, it did not realize the old ideal in France--namely, that

of "La revolution en permanence." At luncheon with Waldstein at

King's College we found Lord Lytton, recently governor-general of

India, known to literature as "Owen Meredith," with Lady Lytton;

also Sir William Anson, provost of All Souls; as well as the

Athena of last evening, Miss Case; the Orestes, the Apollo, Sir

Henry Maine, and others. I was amused at the difference between

Lord Lytton's way of greeting me and his treatment of Sir William

Anson. When I was introduced, he at once took me by the hand, and

began talking very cordially and openly; but when his eminent

countryman was introduced, each eyed the other as if in

suspicion, did not shake hands, bowed very coldly, and said

nothing beyond muttering some one of the usual formulas. It was a

curious example of the shyness of Englishmen in meeting each

other, and of their want of shyness in meeting men from other

countries. At table Lord Lytton spoke regarding the annexation of

Burmah, likely to be accomplished by the dethronement of the

king, Theebaw; said that it ought to have been accomplished long

ago, and that the delay of action in the premises was due to

English timidity. Both he and Lady Lytton were very agreeable. He

gave an interesting account of a native drama performed before

him in India at the command of one of the great princes, though

speaking of it as "deadly dull." Speaking of difficulties in

learning idioms, he told the story of a German professor who,

priding himself on his thorough knowledge of English idioms,

said, "We must, as you English say, take ze cow by ze corns." At

this some one rejoined with the story of the learned baboo in

India who spoke of something as "magnificent, soul-inspiring, and

tip-top." As another example of baboo English was mentioned the

inscription upon one of the show-cases in an exhibition in India:

"All the goods in this case are for sale, but they cannot be

removed until after the day of judgment."

In the evening met the Historical Club at Oscar Browning's rooms,

and heard an admirable paper by Professor Seeley on "Bourbon

Family Compacts." He said that the fact of their existence was

not fully established until Ranke mentioned them, and that he,

Seeley, then examined the English Foreign Office records and

found them. He spoke of them as refuting the arguments of

Macaulay and others as to the folly of supposing that different

branches of the same family on different thrones are likely to

coalesce. Oscar Browning then read a paper on the flight of Louis

XVI to Varennes. It was elaborate, and based on close study and

personal observation. Browning had even taken measurements of the

distance over which King Louis passed on that fatal night, with

the result that he proved Carlyle's account to be entirely

inaccurate, and his indictment against Louis XVI based upon it to

be absurd. So far from the King having lumbered along slowly

through the night in Mme. Korf's coach because he had not the

force of character to make his driver go rapidly, Browning found

that the journey was made in remarkably quick time.

December 3.

Breakfasting with Sedley Taylor, I met Professor Stuart, M.P.,

who thinks a great liberal, peaceful revolution in the English

constitution will be accomplished within the next fifty years.

Thence walked with Taylor to Newnham College, where we were very

kindly received by Miss Gladstone, daughter of the prime

minister, and shown all about the place. We were also cordially

received by Miss Clough, and made the acquaintance of two

American girls, one from New Jersey and the other from

California. Much progress had been made since my former visit

under the guidance of Professor and Mrs. Fawcett. Thence to Jesus

College chapel and saw William Morris's stained glass, which is

the most beautiful modern work of the kind known to me.

December 4.

Visited St. John's, St. Peter's, and other colleges; in the

afternoon saw the eight-oared boats come down the river in fine

style; and in the evening went to the annual "audit dinner" at

Trinity College, the number of visitors in the magnificent hall

being very large. I found myself between the vice-master,

Trotter, and Professor Humphrey, the distinguished surgeon. The

latter thought Vienna had shot ahead of Berlin in surgery, though

he considered Billroth too venturesome, and praised recent

American works on surgery, but thought England was still keeping

the lead. At the close of the dinner came a curious custom. Two

servants approached the vice-master at the head of the first

table, laid down upon it a narrow roll of linen, and then the

guests rolled this along by pushing it from either side until,

when it had reached the other end, a strip of smooth linen was

left along the middle of the whole table. Then a great silver

dish, with ladles on either side, and containing some sort of

fragrant fluid, was set in front of the vice-master, upon the

narrow strip of linen which had formed the roll, and the same

thing was repeated at each of the other tables. The vice-master

having then filled a large glass at his side from the dish, and

I, at his suggestion, having done the same, the great dish was

pushed down the table to guest after guest, each following our

example. Waiting to see what was to follow, I presently observed

a gentleman near me dipping his napkin into his glass and

vigorously scrubbing his face and neck with it, evidently to cool

himself off after dinner; this was repeated with more or less

thoroughness by others present; and then came a musical grace

after meat--the non nobis, Domine--wonderfully given by the

choir. In the combination room, afterward, I met most agreeably

Mr. Trevelyan, M.P., a nephew of Macaulay, who has written an

admirable biography of his uncle.

December 6.

Dined at Trinity College as the guest of Aldis Wright, and met a

number of interesting men, among them Mahaffy, the eminent

professor of Greek at Trinity College, Dublin. Both he and Wright

told excellent stories. Among those of the latter was one of a

Scotchwoman who, on being informed of the change made by the

revisers in the Lord's Prayer,--namely, "and deliver us from the

evil one,"--said, "I doot he'll be sair uplifted." Mahaffy gave

droll accounts of Whately, Archbishop of Dublin. One of these had

as its hero a country clergyman who came to ask Whately for a

living which had just become vacant. The archbishop, thinking to

have a little fun with his guest, said, "Of course, first of all,

I must know what your church politics are: are you an

attitudinarian, a latitudinarian, or a platitudinarian?" To which

the parson replied, "Thank God, your Grace, I am not an Arian at

all at all, if that's what ye mane." The point of this lay in the

fact that among the charges constantly made by the High-church

party against Whately was that of secret Unitarianism. But the

reply so amused Whately that he bestowed the living on the old

parson at once. Mahaffy also said that when Archbishop Trench,

who was a man exceedingly mindful of the proprieties of life,

arrived in Dublin he assured Mahaffy that he intended to follow

in all things the example of his eminent predecessor, whereupon

Mahaffy answered, "Should your Grace do so, you will in summer

frequently sit in your shirt sleeves on the chains in front of

your palace, swinging to and fro, and smoking a long pipe."

Some one capped this with a story that, on a visitor once telling

Whately how a friend of his in a remote part of Ireland had such

confidence in the people about him that he never locked his

doors, the archbishop quietly replied, "Some fine morning, when

your friend wakes, he will find that he is the only spoon left in

the house."

December 7.

For several days visiting attractive places in London. Of most

interest to me were talks with Lecky, the historian. He

especially lamented Goldwin Smith's expatriation, and referred to

his admirable style, though regretting his lack of continuity in

historical work. Though an Irishman devoted most heartily to

Ireland, Lecky thought Gladstone's home rule policy suicidal. On

my telling him of Oscar Browning's study of Louis XVI's flight to

Varennes, he stood up for Carlyle's general accuracy. He liked

Sir Henry Maine's book, but was surprised at so much praise for

"The Federalist," since he thought Story's "Commentaries" much

better. He thought Draper's "History of the Intellectual

Development of Europe" showed too much fondness for very large

generalizations. He liked Hildreth's "History of the United

States" better than Bancroft's, and I argued against this view.

He praised Buckle's style, and when I asked him regarding his own

"Eighteenth Century," he said it was to be longer than he had

expected. As to his "European Morals," he said that it must be

recast before it could be continued. Returning to the subject of

home rule in Ireland, he said it was sure to lead to religious

persecution and confiscation. He speaks in a very low, gentle

voice, is tall and awkward, but has a very kind face, and pleases

me greatly. During my stay in London I did some work in the

British Museum on subjects which interested me, and at a visit to

Maskelyne and Cooke's great temple of jugglery in Piccadilly saw

a display which set me thinking. Few miracle-mongers have ever

performed any feats so wonderful as those there accomplished; the

men and women who take such pleasure in attributing spiritual and

supernatural origin to the cheap jugglery of "mediums" should see

this performance.

CHAPTER LIII

FRANCE, ITALY, AND SWITZERLAND--1886-1887

New Year's day of 1886 found my wife and myself again in Paris;

and, during our stay of nearly a fortnight there, we met various

interesting persons--among them Mr. McLane, the American minister

at that post, whom I had last seen, over thirty years before,

when we crossed the ocean together--he then going as minister to

China, and I as attache to St. Petersburg. His discussions both

of American and French politics were interesting; but a far more

suggestive talker was Mme. Blaze de Bury. Though a Frenchwoman,

she was said to be a daughter of Lord Brougham; his portrait hung

above her chair in the salon, and she certainly showed a

versatility worthy of the famous philosopher and statesman, of

whom it was said, when he was appointed chancellor, that if he

only knew a little law he would know a little of everything. She

apparently knew not only everything, but everybody, and abounded

in revelations and prophecies.

On the way from Paris to the Riviera we encountered at Lyons very

cold weather, and, giving my wraps to my wife, I hurried out into

the station in the evening, bought of a news-vender a mass of old

newspapers, and, having swathed myself in these, went through the

night comfortably, although our coupe was exposed to a most

piercing wind.

Arriving at Cannes, we found James Bryce of the English

Parliament, Baron George von Bunsen of the German Parliament, and

Lord Acton (since professor of history at the University of

Cambridge), all interesting men, but the latter peculiarly so:

the nearest approach to omniscience I have ever seen, with the

possible exception of Theodore Parker. Another person who

especially attracted me was Sir Charles Murray, formerly British

minister at Lisbon and Dresden. His first wife was an

American,--Miss Wadsworth of Geneseo,--and he had traveled much

in America--once through the Adirondacks with Governor Seymour of

New York, of whom he spoke most kindly. Discussing the Eastern

Question, he said that any nation, except Russia, might have

Constantinople; he gave reminiscences of old King John of Saxony,

who was very scholarly, but the last man in the world to be a

king. Most charming of all were his reminiscences of Talleyrand.

The best things during my stay were my walks and talks with Lord

Acton, who was full of information at first hand regarding

Gladstone and other leaders both in England and on the Continent.

Although a Roman Catholic, he spoke highly of Fraser, late

Anglican Bishop of Manchester. As to Americans, he had known

Charles Sumner in America, but had not formed a high opinion of

him, evidently thinking that the senator orated too much; he had

with him a large collection of books, selected, doubtless, from

his two large libraries, in London and in the Tyrol, and with

this he astonished one as does a juggler who, from a single small

bottle, pours out any kind of wine demanded. For example, one

day, Bunsen, Bryce, and myself being with him, the first-named

said something regarding a curious philological tract by Bernays,

put forth when Bunsen was a student at Gottingen, but now

entirely out of print. At this Lord Acton went to one of his

shelves, took down this rare tract, and handed it to us. So, too,

during one of our walks, the talk happening to fall upon one of

my heroes, Fra Paolo Sarpi, I asked how it was that, while in the

old church on the Lagoon at Venice I had at three different

visits sought Sarpi's grave in vain, I had at the last visit

found it just where I had looked for it before. At this he gave

me a most interesting account of the opposition of Pope Gregory

XVI--who, before his elevation to the papacy, had been abbot of

the monastery--to Sarpi's burial within its sacred precincts,

and of the compromise under which his burial was allowed. This

compromise was that his bones, which had so long been kept in the

ducal library to protect them from clerical hatred, might be

buried in the church on the island, provided Sarpi were, during

the ceremonies, honored simply as the discoverer of the

circulation of the blood,--which he probably was not,--and not

honored as the greatest statesman of Venice--which he certainly

was. This, as I then supposed, closed the subject; but in the

afternoon a servant came over, bringing me from Lord Acton a most

interesting collection of original manuscripts relating to

Sarpi,--a large part of them being the correspondence between the

papal authorities and the Venetians who had wished to give

Sarpi's bones decent burial, over half a century before. I now

found that the reason why I had not discovered the grave was that

the monks, as long as they were allowed control, had persisted in

breaking up the tablet bearing the inscription; that they could

not disturb the bones for the reason that Sarpi's admirers had

inclosed them in a large and strong iron box, anchoring it so

that it was very difficult to remove; but that since the death of

the late patriarch and the abolition of monkish power the

inscription over the grave had been allowed to remain

undisturbed.

During another of our morning walks the discussion having fallen

on witchcraft persecution, Lord Acton called in the afternoon and

brought me an interesting addition to my collection of curious

books on that subject--a volume by Christian Thomasius.

On another of our excursions I asked him regarding the

Congregation of the Index at Rome, and its procedure. To this he

answered that individuals or commissions are appointed to examine

special works and reports thereupon to the Congregation, which

then allows or condemns them, as may seem best; and I marveled

much when, in the afternoon of that day, he sent me specimens of

such original reports on various books.

He agreed with me that the papal condemnation of Victor Hugo's

"Les Miserables" was a mistake as a matter of policy--as great a

mistake, indeed, as hundreds and thousands of other condemnations

had been. Of Pope Leo XIII he spoke with respect, giving me an

account of the very liberal concessions made by him at the

Vatican library, so that it is now freely opened to Protestants,

whereas it was formerly kept closely shut. At a later period this

was confirmed to me by Dr. Philip Schaff, the eminent Protestant

church historian, who told me that formerly at the Vatican

library he was only allowed, as a special favor, to look at the

famous Codex, with an attendant watching him every moment;

whereas after Pope Leo XIII came into control he was permitted to

study the Codex and take notes from it at his ease.

In another of his walks Lord Acton discussed Gladstone, whom he

greatly admired, but pointed out some curious peculiarities in

the great statesman and churchman,--among these, that he

worshiped the memory of Archbishop Laud and detested the memory

of William III.

Very interesting were sundry little dinners on Saturday evenings

at the Cercle Nautique, at which I found not only Lord Acton, but

Sir Henry Keating, a retired English judge; General Palfrey, who

had distinguished himself in our Civil War; and a few other good

talkers. At one of these dinners Sir Henry started the question:

"Who was the greatest man that ever lived?" Lord Acton gave very

interesting arguments in favor of Napoleon, while I did my best

in favor of Caesar; my argument being that the system which

Caesar founded maintained the Roman Empire during nearly fifteen

hundred years after his death; that its fundamental ideas and

features have remained effective in various great nations until

the present day; and that they have in our own century shown

themselves more vigorous than ever. Lord Acton insisted that we

have no means of knowing the processes of Caesar's mind; that we

know the mode of thinking of only two ancients, Socrates and

Cicero; that possibly, if we knew more of Shakspere's mental

processes, the preeminence might be claimed for him, but that we

know nothing of them save from his writings; while we know

Napoleon's thoroughly from the vast collections of memoirs, state

papers, orders, conversations, etc., as well as in his amazing

dealings with the problems of his time; that the scope and power

of Napoleon's mental processes seem almost preternatural and of

this he gave various remarkable proofs. He argued that

considerations of moral character and aims, as elements in

greatness, must be left out of such a discussion; that the

intellectual processes and their results were all that we could

really estimate in comparing men. Sir Henry Keating observed that

his father, an officer in the British army, was vastly impressed

by the sight of Napoleon at St. Helena; whereupon Lord Acton

remarked that Thiers acknowledged to Guizot, who told Lord Acton,

that Napoleon was "un scelerat." That seemed to me a rather

strong word to be used by a man who had done so much to revive

the Napoleonic legend Lord Acton also quoted a well-authenticated

story--vouched for by two persons whom he named, one of them

being the Count de Flahaut, who was present and heard the

remark--that when the imperial guards broke at Waterloo, Napoleon

said, "It has always been so since Crecy."

Toward the end of February we went on to Florence, and there met,

frequently, Villari, the historian; Mantegazzi; and other leading

Florentines. Mention being made of the Jesuit Father Curci, who

had rebelled against what he considered the fatal influence of

Jesuitism on the papacy, Villari thought him too scholastic to

have any real influence. Of Settembrini he spoke highly as a

noble character and valuable critic, though with no permanent

place in Italian literature. He excused the tardiness of Italians

in putting up statues to Giordano Bruno and Fra Paolo Sarpi,

since they had so many other recent statues to put up. As I look

back upon this conversation, it is a pleasure to remember that I

have lived to see both these statues--that of Bruno, on the place

in Rome where he was burned alive, and that of Sarpi, on the

place in Venice where the assassins sent by Pope Paul V left him

for dead.

Early in March we arrived in Naples, going piously through the

old sights we had seen several times before. Revisiting Amalfi, I

saw the archbishop pontificating at the cathedral: he was the

finest-looking prelate I ever saw, reminding me amazingly of my

old professor, Silliman of Yale. Then, during the stay of some

weeks in Sorrento, I took as an Italian teacher a charming old

padre, who read his mass every morning in one of the churches and

devoted the rest of the day to literature. He was at heart

liberal, and it was from him that I received a copy of the famous

"Politico-Philosophical Catechism," adopted by Archbishop Apuzzo

of Sorrento, than which, probably, nothing more defiant of moral

principles was ever written. The archbishop had been made by

"King Bomba" tutor to his son, and no wonder that the young man

was finally kicked ignominiously off his throne, and his country

annexed to the Italian kingdom. This catechism, written years

before by the elder Leopardi, but adopted and promoted by the

archbishop, was devoted to maintaining the righteousness of all

that system of extreme despotism, oath-breaking, defiance of

national sentiment, and violations of ordinary decency, which had

made the kingdom of Naples a byword during so many generations.

Therein patriotism was proved to be a delusion; popular education

an absurdity; observance of the monarch's sworn word opposition

to divine law; a constitution a mere plaything in the monarch's

hands; the Bible is steadily quoted in behalf of "the right

divine of kings to govern wrong"; and all this with a mixture of

cynicism and unctuousness which makes this catechism one of the

most remarkable political works of modern times.

At this time I made an interesting acquaintance with Francis

Galton, the eminent English authority on heredity. Discussing

dreams, he told me a story of a lady who said that she knew that

dreams came true; for she dreamed once that the number 3 drew a

prize in the lottery, and again that the number 8 drew it; and

so, she said, "I multiplied them together, 3 X 8 = 27, bought a

ticket bearing the latter number, and won the prize."

Very interesting were my meetings with Marion Crawford, the

author. Nothing could be more delightful than his villa and

surroundings, and his accounts of Italian life were fascinating,

as one would expect after reading his novels. Another new

acquaintance was Mr. Mayall, an English microscopist; he gave me

accounts of his visit to the Louvre with Herbert Spencer, who,

after looking steadily at the "Immaculate Conception" of Murillo,

said "I cannot like a painted figure that has no visible means of

support."

On my return northward I visited the most famous of Christian

monasteries,--the cradle of the Benedictine order,--Monte

Cassino, and there met a young English novice, who introduced me

to various Benedictine fathers, especially sundry Germans who

were decorating with Byzantine figures the lower story, near the

altar of St. Benedict. At dinner the young man agreed with me

that it might be well to have a Benedictine college at Oxford,

but thought that any college established there must be controlled

by the Jesuit order. He professed respect for the Jesuits, but

evidently with some mistrust of their methods. On my asking if he

thought he could bear the severe rule of his order, especially

that of rising about four o'clock in the morning and retiring

early in the evening, he answered that formerly he feared that he

could not, but that now he believed he could. On my tentative

suggestion that he come and establish a Benedictine convent on

Cayuga Lake, he told me that he should probably be sent to

Scotland.

The renowned old monastery seems to be mindful of its best

traditions, for it has established within its walls an admirably

equipped printing-house, in which I was able to secure for

Cornell University copies of various books by learned

Benedictines--some of them, by the beauty of their workmanship,

well worthy to be placed beside the illuminated manuscripts which

formerly came from the Scriptoria.

At Rome I was taken about by Lanciani, the eminent archaeologist

in control of the excavations, who showed me beautiful things

newly discovered and now kept in temporary rooms near the

Capitol. To my surprise, he told me that there is absolutely no

authentic bust of Cicero dating from his time; but this was

afterward denied by Story, the American sculptor, who pointed out

to me a cast of one in his studio. Story spoke gloomily of the

condition of Italy, saying that formerly there were no taxes, but

that now the taxes are crushing. He added that the greatest

mistake made by the present Pope was that, during the cholera at

Naples, he remained in Rome, while King Humbert went immediately

to that city, visited the hospitals, cheered the

cholera-stricken, comforted them, and supplied their wants.

On Easter Sunday I saw Cardinal Howard celebrate high mass in St.

Peter's. He had been an English guardsman, was magnificently

dressed, and was the very ideal of a proud prelate. The audience

in the immediate neighborhood of the altar were none too

reverential, and in other parts of the church were walking about

and talking as if in a market; all of this irreverence reminding

me of the high mass which I had seen celebrated by Pope Pius IX

at the same altar on Easter day of 1856.

Calling on the former prime minister, Minghetti, who had been an

associate of Cavour, I found him very interesting, as was also

Sambuy, senator of the kingdom and syndic of Turin, who was with

him. Minghetti said that the Italian school system was not yet

satisfactory, though young men are doing well in advanced

scientific, mathematical, historical, and economic studies. On my

speaking of a statistical map in my possession which revealed the

enormous percentage of persons who can neither read nor write in

those parts of Italy most directly under the influence of the

church, he said that matters were slowly improving under the new

regime. He spoke with respect of Leo XIII, saying that he was not

so bitter in his utterances against Italy as Pius IX had been.

Discussing Bismarck and Cavour, he said that both were eminently

practical, but that Cavour adhered to certain principles, such as

free trade, freedom of the church, and the like, whereas Bismarck

was wont to take up any principle which would serve his temporary

purpose. Minghetti hoped much, eventually, from Cavour's idea of

toleration, and spoke with praise of the checks put by the

American Constitution on unbridled democracy, whereupon I quoted

to him the remark of Governor Seymour in New York, the most

eminent of recent Democratic candidates for the Presidency, to

the effect that the merit of our Constitution is not that it

promotes democracy, but that it checks it. Minghetti spoke of Sir

Henry Maine's book on "Free Government" with much praise; in

spite of its anti-democratic tendencies, it had evidently raised

his opinion of the American Constitution. He also praised

American scientific progress. Sambuy said that the present growth

of the city of Rome is especially detested by the clergy, since

it is making the city too large for them to control; that their

bitterness is not to be wondered at, since they clearly see that,

no matter what may happen,--even if the kingdom of Italy were to

be destroyed to-morrow,--it would be absolutely impossible for

the old regime of Pope, cardinals, and priests ever again to

govern the city; that with this increase of the population, and

its long exercise of political power, the resumption of temporal

power by the Pope is an utter impossibility; that even if

revolution or anarchy came, the people would never again take

refuge under the papacy.

Very interesting were sundry gatherings at the rooms of Story,

the sculptor. Meeting there the Brazilian minister at the papal

court, I was amazed by his statements regarding the rules

restricting intercourse between diplomatists accredited to the

Vatican and those accredited to the Quirinal; he said that

although the minister from his country to the Quirinal was one of

his best friends, he was not allowed to accept an invitation from

him.

The American minister, Judge Stallo of Cincinnati, seemed to me

an admirable man, in spite of the stories circulated by various

hostile cliques. At the house of the British ambassador Stallo

spoke in a very interesting way of Cardinal Hohenlohe as far

above his fellows and capable of making a great pope. The

political difficulties in Italy, he said, were very great, and,

greatest of all, in Naples and Sicily. Dining with him, I met my

old friend Hoffmann, rector of the University of Berlin, and a

number of eminent Italian men of science, senators, and others.

At the house of Dr. Nevin, rector of the American Episcopal

church, I met the Dutch minister, who corroborated my opinion

that the British parliamentary system generally works badly in

the Continental countries, since it causes constantly recurring

changes in ministers, and prevents any proper continuity of state

action, and he naturally alluded to the condition of things in

France as an example.

Among other interesting people, I met the abbot of St. Paul

Outside the Walls, to whom Lord Acton, in response to my question

as to whether there was such a thing as a "learned Benedictine"

extant, had given me a letter of introduction. The good abbot

turned out to be an Irishman with some of the more interesting

peculiarities of his race; but his conversation was more vivid

than illuminating. He had reviewed various books for the

Congregation of the Index, one of these, a book which I had just

bought, being on "The Architecture of St. John Lateran." He held

a position in the Propaganda, and I was greatly struck by his

minute knowledge of affairs in the United States. The question

being then undecided as to whether a new bishopric for central

New York was to be established at Utica or Syracuse, he discussed

both places with much minute knowledge of their claims and of the

people residing in them. I put in the best word I could for

Syracuse, feeling that if a bishopric was to be established, that

was the proper place for it; and afterward I had the satisfaction

of learning that the bishop had been placed there. The abbot had

known Secretary Seward and liked him.

Leaving Rome in May, we made visits of deep interest to Assisi,

Perugia, Orvieto, and other historic towns and, arriving at

Florence again, saw something of society in that city. Count de

Gubernatis, the eminent scholar, who had just returned from

India, was eloquent in praise of the Taj Mahal, which, of all

buildings in the world, is the one I most desire to see. He

thinks that the stories regarding juggling in India have been

marvelously developed by transmission from East to West; that

growing the mango, of which so much is said, is a very poor

trick, as is also the crushing, killing, and restoration to life

of a boy under a basket; that these marvels are not at all what

the stories report them to be; that it is simply another case of

the rapid growth of legends by transmission. He said that hatred

for England remains deep in India, and that caste spirit is very

little altered, his own servant, even when very thirsty, not

daring to drink from a bottle which his master had touched.

Dining with Count Ressi at his noble villa on the slope toward

Fiesole, I noted various delicious Italian wines upon the table,

but the champagne was what is known as "Pleasant Valley Catawba,"

from Lake Keuka in western New York, which the count, during his

journey to Niagara, had found so good that he had shipped a

quantity of it to Florence.

A very interesting man I found in the Marquis Alfieri Sostegno,

vice-president of the Senate,--a man noted for his high character

and his writings. He is the founder of the new "School for

Political and Social Studies," and gave me much information

regarding it. His family is of mediaeval origin, but he is a

liberal of the Cavour sort. Preferring constitutional monarchy,

but thinking democracy inevitable, he asks, "Shall it be a

democracy like that of France, excluding all really leading men

from power, or a democracy influenced directly by its best men?"

In his school he has attempted to train young men in the

practical knowledge needed in public affairs, and hopes thus to

prepare them for the inevitable future. This college has

encountered much opposition from the local universities, but is

making its way.

Another man of the grand old Italian sort was Peruzzi, syndic of

Florence, a former associate of Cavour, and one of the leading

men of Italy. Calling for me with two other senators, he took me

to his country villa, which has been in the possession of the

family for over four hundred years, and there I dined with a very

distinguished company. Everything was large and patriarchal, but

simple. The discussions, both at table and afterward, as we sat

upon the terrace with its wonderful outlook over one of the

richest parts of Tuscany, mainly related to Italian matters. All

seemed hopeful of a reasonable solution of the clerical

difficulty. Most interesting was his wife, Donna Emilia, well

known for her brilliant powers of discussion and her beautiful

qualities as a hostess both at the Peruzzi palace in Florence and

in this villa, where one meets men of light and leading from

every part of the world.

From Florence we went on to the Italian lakes, staying especially

at Baveno, Lugano, and Cadenabbia. Especially interesting to me

were the scenes depicted in the first part of Manzoni's "Promessi

Sposi." An eminent Italian told me at this time that Manzoni

never forgave himself for his humorous delineations of the priest

Don Abbondio, who figures in these scenes after a somewhat

undignified fashion. Interesting also was a visit to the tomb of

Rosmini, with its portrait-statue by Vela, in the monastery

looking over the most beautiful part of the Lago Maggiore. Thence

by the St. Gotthard to Zurich, where we visited my old colleague,

Colonel Roth, the Swiss minister at Berlin. Very simple and

charming was his family life at Teufen. In the library I noticed

a curious shield, and upon it several swords, each with an

inscription; and, on my asking regarding them, I was told that

they were the official swords of Colonel Roth's

great-grandfather, grandfather, father, and himself, each of whom

had been Landamman of the canton. He told me that as Landamman he

presided from time to time over a popular assembly of several

thousand people; that it was a republic such as Rousseau

advocated,--all the people coming together and voting, by "yes"

and "no" and showing of hands, on the proposals of the Landamman

and his council. Driving through the canton, I found that, while

none of the people were rich, few were very poor, and that the

Catholic was much behind the Protestant part in thrift and

prosperity.

My love for historical studies interested me greatly in a visit

to the Abbey of St. Gall. The mediaeval buildings are virtually

gone, and a mass of rococo constructions have taken their place.

Gone, too, in the main, is the famous library of the middle ages;

but the eminent historian and archivist, Henne Am Rhyn, showed me

the ancient catalogue dating from the days of Charlemagne, and

one or two of the old manuscripts referred to in it, which have

done duty for more than a thousand years. Then followed my second

visit to the Engadine, reached by two days' driving in the

mountains from Coire; and during my stay at St. Moritz I made the

acquaintance of many interesting people,--among them Admiral

Irvine of the British navy. Speaking of the then recent sinking

of the Cunarder Oregon, he expressed the opinion that a squadron

of seven-hundred-ton vessels with beaks could best defend a

harbor from ironclads; and in support of this contention he cited

an experience of his own as showing the efficiency of the beak in

naval warfare. A few years before he had anchored in the Piraeus,

his ship, an ironclad, having a beak projecting from the bow, of

course under water. Noticing a Greek brig nearing him, he made

signals to her to keep well off; but the captain of the brig,

resenting this interference, and keeping straight on, endeavored

to pass, at a distance which, no doubt, seemed to him perfectly

safe, in front of the bows of the ironclad. The admiral said that

not the slightest shock was felt on board his own vessel; but the

brig sank almost immediately. She had barely grazed the end of

the beak. At another time the admiral spoke of the advance of the

British fleet, in which he held a command, upon Constantinople in

1878. The British Government supposed that the Turks had

virtually gone over to the Russians, and the first order was to

take the Turkish fortresses at Constantinople immediately; but

this order was afterward withdrawn, and the matter at issue was

settled in the ensuing European conference.

It was a pleasure to find at this Alpine resort my old friend

Story the sculptor. He gave us a comical account of the

presentation at the Vatican of Mr. George Peabody by Mr. Winthrop

of Boston. Referring to Mr. Peabody's munificence to various

institutions for aiding the needy, and especially orphans, Mr.

Winthrop, in a pleasant vein, presented his friend to Pope Pius

IX as a gentleman who, though unmarried, had hundreds of

children; whereupon the Pope, taking him literally, held up his

hands and answered, "Fi donc! fi donc!"

Our stay at St. Moritz was ended by a severe snowstorm early in

August. That was too much. I had left America mainly to escape

snow; my traveling all this distance was certainly not for the

purpose of finding it again; and so, having hugged the stove for

a day or two, I decided to return to a milder climate. Passing by

Vevey, we visited our friends the Brunnows at their beautiful

villa on the shore of Lake Leman, where my old president at the

University of Michigan, Dr. Tappan, had died, and it was with a

melancholy satisfaction that I visited his grave in the cemetery

hard by.

Stopping at Geneva over Sunday, I observed at the Cathedral of

St. Peter, Calvin's old church, that the sermon and service

carefully steered clear of the slightest Trinitarian formula, as

did the churches in Switzerland generally. Considering that

Calvin had burned Servetus in that very city for his disbelief in

the doctrine of the Trinity, this omission would seem enough to

make that stern reformer turn in his grave. Returning to Paris, I

again met Lecky, who was making a short visit to the French

capital; and, as we were breakfasting together Mme. Blaze de Bury

being present, our conversation fell on Parisian mobs. She

insisted that the studied inaction of the papal nuncio during the

Commune caused the murder of Darboy, Archbishop of Paris, who was

hated by the extreme clerical party on account of his coolness

toward infallibility and sundry other dogmas advocated by the

Jesuits. Lecky thought Lord Acton's old article in the "North

British Review" the best statement yet made on the St.

Bartholomew massacre The discussion having veered toward the

Jewish question, which was even then rising, Lecky said that

Shakspere probably never saw a Jew--that Jews were not allowed in

England in his time, the only exceptions being Queen Elizabeth's

physician and, perhaps, a few others.

During the latter part of September I started on an architectural

tour through the east of France, and was more than ever

fascinated by the beauty of all I found at Soissons, Laon,

Chalons, Troyes, and Rheims, the cathedral at the latter place

seeming even more grand than when I last saw it. I have never

been able to decide finally which is the more noble--Amiens or

Rheims; my temporary decision being generally in favor of that

one of the two which I have seen last. But I found iniquity

triumphant: the "restorers" had been at work, and had apparently

done their worst. A great scaffolding covered the superb

rose-window of the west front, perhaps the finest of its kind in

Christendom, and, in a little book published by one of the

canons, I soon learned the reason. It appears that the architect

superintending the "restoration" had dug a deep well at one

corner of one of the massive towers for the purpose of inspecting

the foundations; that he had forgotten to fill this well; and

that, during the winter, the water from the roofs, having come

down into it and frozen, had upheaved the tower at one corner,

with the result of crumbling and cracking this immense window

adjacent.

At Troyes it was hardly better. It is a city which probably never

had sixty thousand inhabitants, and yet here are four of the most

magnificent architectural monuments in Europe. But the work

wrought upon them under the pretext of "restoration" was no less

atrocious than that upon the cathedral at Rheims, and of this I

have given an example elsewhere.[13]

[13] See Chapter XXI.

Continuing my way homeward, I stopped a few days in London. From

my diary I select an account of the sermon preached in one of the

principal churches of the city by Dr. Temple,--then bishop of

London, but later archbishop of Canterbury,--before the lord

mayor, lady mayoress, and other notable people. The sermon was a

striking exhibition of plain common sense, without one particle

of what is generally known as spirituality. The text was, "Freely

ye have received, freely give," and the argument simply was that

the congregation worshiping in that old church had received all

its privileges from contributions made centuries before, and that

it was now their duty, in their turn, to contribute money for new

congregations constantly arising in the new population of London.

Of spiritual gifts to be acknowledged nothing was said. In the

afternoon took tea with Lecky, and on my referring to Earl

Russell, he spoke of him as wonderful in getting at the center of

an argument. Of Carlyle he said that he knew him in his last days

intimately, often walking with him; but that his mind failed him

sadly; that the last thing Lecky read him was a selection from

Burns's letters; and that Carlyle, when left to himself, often

toned down his harsh judgments of men. At his funeral, in

Scotland, Lecky was present, and, judging from his account, it

was one of the most dismal things ever known. Speaking of

America, Lecky said that Carlyle was really deeply attached to

Emerson; and he added that Dean Stanley, on his return from

America, told him that the best things he found there were the

private libraries, and the worst the newspapers. Lecky thought

Americans more prone to give themselves up to a purely literary

life than are the English, and cited Prescott, Irving, and

others. He spoke of "The Club," of which he is a member. It is

that to which Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Johnson, Burke, and

Goldsmith belonged; its members dine together every fortnight;

one black ball excludes. Speaking of Gladstone, he thought that

he had greatly declined as a speaker of late years, and that no

one had had such power in clouding truth and obscuring a fact.

Returning to America, I again settled in my old quarters at

Cornell University, hoping to devote myself quietly to the work I

had in hand. My old home on the campus had an especial charm for

me, and I had begun to take up the occupations to which I

purposed to devote the rest of my life, when there came upon me

the greatest of all calamities--the loss of her who had been for

thirty years my main inspiration and support in all difficulties,

cares, and trials. For the time all was lost. In all calamities

hitherto I had taken refuge in work; but now there seemed no

motive for work, and at last, for a complete change of scene, I

returned to Europe, determined to give myself to the preparation

of my "History of the Warfare of Science with Theology."

CHAPTER LIV

EGYPT, GREECE, AND TURKEY--1888-1889

While under the influence of the greatest sorrow that has ever

darkened my life, there came to me a calamity of a less painful

sort, yet one of the most trying that I have ever known. A long

course of mistaken university policy, which I had done my best to

change, and the consequences of which I had especially exerted

myself to avert, at last bore its evil fruit. On the 13th of

June, 1888, I was present at the session of the Court of Appeals

at Saratoga, and there heard the argument in the suit brought to

prevent the institution from taking nearly two millions of

dollars bequeathed by Mrs. Willard Fiske. I had looked forward to

the development of the great library for which it provided as the

culminating event in my administration, and, indeed, as the

beginning of a better era in American scholarship. Never in the

history of the United States had so splendid a bequest been made

for such a purpose. But as I heard the argument I was satisfied

that our cause was lost,--and simply from the want of effective

champions; that this great opportunity for the institution which

I loved better than my life had passed from us during my

lifetime, at least; and then it was that I determined to break

from my surroundings for a time, and to seek new scenes which

might do something to change the current of my thoughts.

At the end of June, taking with me my nephew, a bright and active

college youth, I sailed for Glasgow, and, revisiting the scenes

made beautiful to me by Walter Scott, I was at last able to think

of something beside the sorrow and disappointment which had beset

me. Memorable to me still is a sermon heard at the old Church of

St. Giles, in Edinburgh. The text was, "He wist not that his face

shone," and the argument, while broad and liberal, was deeply

religious. One thought struck me forcibly. The preacher likened

theological controversies to storms on the coast which result

only in heaps of sand, while he compared religious influences to

the dew and gentle rains which beautify the earth and fructify

it.

Healing in their influences upon me were visits to the cathedral

towns between Edinburgh and London. The atmosphere of Durham,

York, Lincoln, Ely, Peterborough, aided to lift me out of my

depression. In each I stayed long enough to attend the cathedral

service and to enjoy the architecture, the music, and my

recollections of previous visits. At Lichfield Cathedral I heard

Bach's "Easter Hymn" given beautifully,--and it was needed to

make up for the sermon of a colonial bishop who, having returned

to England after a long stay in his remote diocese, was fearfully

depressed by the liberal tendencies of English theology. His

discourse was one long diatribe against the tendency in England

toward broad-churchmanship. One passage had rather a comical

effect. He told, pathetically, the story of a servant-girl

waiting on the table of the late Archbishop of Canterbury, who,

after hearing the clergymen present dealing somewhat freely with

the doctrine of the Trinity, rushed out into the passage and

recited loudly the Nicene Creed to strengthen her faith. I, too,

felt the need of doing something to strengthen mine after this

tirade, and fortunately strolled across the meadows to the little

Church of St. Chad, and there took part in a lovely "Flower

Service," ended by a very sweet, kindly sermon to the children

from the fatherly old rector of the parish. Nothing could be

better in its way, and it took the taste of the morning sermon

out of my mouth.

Of various experiences in London, the one of most interest to me

was a visit to the House of Commons, where the Irish Home Rulers

were attempting to bait Mr. Balfour, the government leader. One

after another they arose and attacked him bitterly in all the

moods and tenses, with alleged facts, insinuations, and

denunciations. Nothing could be better than his way of taking it

all. He sat quietly, looking at his enemies with a placid smile,

and then, when they were fully done, rose, and before he had

spoken five minutes his reply had the effect of a musket-shot

upon a bubble. It was evident that these patriots were hardly

taken seriously even by their own side, and, in fact, did not

take themselves seriously. I then realized as never before the

real reasons why the oratorical and other demonstrations of Irish

leaders have accomplished so little for their country.

A Liberal political meeting in Holborn also interested me. The

main speaker was the son of the Marquis of Northampton, Earl

Compton, who was standing for Parliament. His speech was all

good, but its best point was his answer to a man in the crowd who

asked him if he was prepared to vote for the abolition of the

House of Lords. That would seem a trying question to the heir of

a marquisate; but he answered instantly and calmly: "As to the

House of Lords, better try first to mend it, and, if we cannot

mend it, end it."

He was followed by a Home Ruler, Father McFadden, whose speech,

being simply anti-British rant from end to end, must have cost

many votes; and I was not surprised when, a day or two afterward,

his bishop recalled him to Ireland.

Very pleasing to me were sundry excursions. At Rugby I was

intensely interested in the scenes of Arnold's activity. He had

exercised a great influence over my own life, and a new

inspiration came amid the scenes so familiar to him, and

especially in the chapel where he preached.

Visiting some old friends in Hampshire, I drove with them to

Selborne, stood by the grave of Gilbert White, and sat in his

charming old house in that beautiful place of pilgrimage.

Most soothing in its effect upon me was a visit to Stoke Pogis

churchyard and the grave of Thomas Gray. The "Elegy" has never

since my boyhood lost its hold upon me, and my feelings of love

for its author were deepened as I read the inscription placed by

him upon his mother's monument:

"The tender mother of many children, only one of whom had the

misfortune to survive her."

A Sunday afternoon in Kensal Green cemetery, with a visit to the

graves of Thackeray, Thomas Hood, and Leigh Hunt, roused thoughts

on many things.

Somewhat later, revisiting Mr. Halliwell-Phillips's "Bungalow" at

Brighton, I met at his table the most bitter and yet one of the

most just of all critics of Carlyle whom I have ever known. He

spoke especially of Carlyle's treatment of his main historical

authorities,--many of them admirable and excellent men,--and

dwelt on the fact that Carlyle, having used the results of the

life-work of these scholars, then enjoyed pouring contempt and

ridicule over them; he also referred to Carlyle's address to the

Scotch students, in which he told them to study the patents of

nobility for the deeds which made the nobility of England great,

but did not reveal to them the fact that the expressions in these

patents were stereotyped, and the same, during many years, for

men of the most different qualities and services.

Running up to Cambridge for a day or two, and dining with Oscar

Browning at King's College, I afterward saw at his rooms a

collection of intensely interesting papers, and, among others,

reports of British spies during the Revolutionary War in America.

Very curious, among these, was a letter from the British minister

at Berlin in those days, who detailed a burglary which he had

caused in that capital in order to obtain the papers of the

American envoy and copies of American despatches. The

correspondence also showed that Frederick the Great was much

vexed at the whole matter; that the British ministry at home

thought their envoy too enterprising; that he came near

resigning; but that the whole matter finally blew over. This was

brought back to me somewhat later at a dinner of the Royal

Historical Society, where the president, Lord Aberdare, recalled

a story bearing on this matter. It was that Frederick the Great

and the British minister at his court greatly disliked each

other, and that on their meeting one day the old King asked, "Who

is this Hyder Ali who is making you British so much trouble in

India?" to which the bold Briton answered: "Sire, he is only an

old tyrant who, after robbing his neighbors, is now falling into

his dotage" ("Sire, ce n'est qu'un vieux tyran qui, apres avoir

pille ses voisins, commence a radoter").

Having made with my nephew a rapid excursion on the Continent, up

the Rhine, and as far as Munich, I returned to see him off on his

return journey to America, and then settled down for several

weeks in London. It was in the early autumn, Parliament had

adjourned, most people of note had left town, and I was left to

myself as completely as if I had been in the depths of a forest.

Looking out over Trafalgar Square from my pleasant rooms at

Morley's Hotel, with all the hurry and bustle of a great city

going on beneath my window, I was simply a hermit, and now found

myself able to resume the work which for so many years had

occupied my leisure. At the British Museum I enjoyed the

wonderful opportunities there given for investigation; and there,

too, I found an admirable helper in certain lines of work--my

friend Professor Hudson, since of Stanford University,

California.

The only place where I was at all in touch with the outside world

was at the Athenaeum Club; but the main attraction there was the

library.

Now came a sudden change in all my plans. My health having

weakened somewhat under the influence of this rather sedentary

life in the London fog, I consulted two eminent physicians, Sir

Andrew Clarke and Sir Morell Mackenzie, and each advised and even

urged me to pass the winter in Egypt. Shortly came a letter from

my friend Professor Willard Fiske, at Florence saying that he

would be glad to go with me. This was indeed a piece of good

fortune, for he had visited Egypt again and again, and was not

only the best of guides, but the most charming of companions. My

decision was instantly taken, and, having finished one or two

chapters of my book, I left London and, by the way of the St

Gotthard, soon reached Florence. Thence to Rome, Naples, and,

after a charming drive, to Castellammare, Sorrento, Amalfi, and

Salerno, whence we went by rail to Brindisi, and thence to

Alexandria, where we arrived on the 1st of January, 1889.

Now came a new chapter in my life. This journey in the East,

especially in Egypt and Greece, marked a new epoch in my

thinking. I became more and more impressed with the continuity of

historical causes, and realized more and more how easily and

naturally have grown the myths and legends which have delayed the

unbiased observation of human events and the scientific

investigation of natural laws. On a Nile boat for many weeks,

with scholars of high character, and with an excellent library

about me, I found not only a refuge from trouble and sorrow, but

a portal to new and most fascinating studies.

Nor was it only the life of old Egypt which interested me: the

scenes in modern Eastern life also gave a needed change in my

environment. At Cairo, in the bazaar in contact with the daily

life, which seemed like a chapter out of the "Arabian Nights,"

and also in the modern part of the city, in contact with the

newer life of Egypt among English and Egyptian functionaries,

there was constant stimulus to fruitful trains of thought.

For our journey of five weeks upon the Nile we had what was

called a "special steamer," the Sethi; and for our companions,

some fourteen Americans and English--all on friendly terms. Every

day came new subjects of thought, and nearly every waking moment

came some new stimulus to observation and reflection.

Deeply impressed on my mind is the account given me by Brugsch

Bey, assistant director of the Egyptian Museum, of the amazing

find of antiquities two or three years before--perhaps the most

startling discovery ever made in archaeology. It was on this

wise. The museum authorities had for some time noted that

tourists coming down the river were bringing remarkably beautiful

specimens of ancient workmanship; and this led to a suspicion

that the Arabs about the first cataract had discovered a new

tomb. For a long time nothing definite could be found; but, at

last, vigorous measures having been taken,--measures which

Brugsch Bey did not explain, but which I could easily understand

to be the time-honored method of tying up the principal

functionaries of the region to their palm-trees and whipping them

until they confessed,--the discovery was revealed, and Brugsch

Bey, having gone up the Nile to the place indicated, was taken to

what appeared to be a well; and, having been let down into it by

ropes, found himself in a sort of artificial cavern, not

beautified and adorned like the royal tombs of that region, but

roughly hewn in the rock. It was filled with sarcophagi, and at

first sight of them he was almost paralyzed. For they bore the

names of several among the most eminent early sovereigns and

members of sovereign families of the greatest days of Egypt. The

first idea which took hold of Brugsch's mind while stunned by

this revelation was that he was dreaming; but, having soon

convinced himself that he was awake, he then thought that he must

be in some state of hallucination after death--that he had

suddenly lost his life, and that his soul was wandering amid

shadows. But this, too, he soon found unlikely. Then came over

him a sense of the reality and importance of the discovery too

oppressive to be borne. He could stay in the cavern no longer;

and, having gone to the entrance of the well and signaled to the

men above, he was drawn up, and, arriving at the surface, gasped

out a command to them all to leave him. He then sat down in the

desert to secure the calm required for further thought; and,

finally, having become more composed, returned to the work, and

the mummies of Rameses the Great and of the other royal

personages were taken from their temporary home, carried down the

river, and placed in the museum at Cairo.

Another experience was of a very different sort. I had passed a

day with the Egyptian minister of public instruction, Artin

Pasha, at the great technical school of Cairo, which, under the

charge of an eminent French engineer, is training admirably a

considerable number of Egyptians in various arts applied to

industry; and at luncheon, I had noticed on the wall a portrait

of the Khedive, Tewfik Pasha, representing him as most commanding

in manner--over six feet in height, and in a gorgeous uniform. On

the evening of that day I went to dine with the Khedive, and,

entering the reception-rooms, found a large assemblage, and was

welcomed by a kindly little man with a pleasant face, and in the

plainest of uniforms, who, as I supposed, was the prime minister,

Riaz Pasha. His greeting was cordial, and we were soon in close

conversation, I giving him especially the impressions made upon

me by the school, asking questions and making suggestions. He

entered very heartily into it all, and detained me long, I

wondering constantly where the Khedive might be. Presently, the

great doors having been flung open and dinner announced, each

gentleman hastened to the lady assigned him, and all marched out

together, my thought being, "This is the Oriental way of

entertaining strangers; we shall, no doubt, find the sovereign on

his throne at the table." But, to my amazement, the first place

at the table was taken by the unassuming little man with whom I

had been talking so freely. At first I was somewhat abashed,

though the mistake was a very natural one. The fact was that I

had been completely under the impression made upon me by the

idealized portrait of the Khedive at the technical school, and

the thought had never entered my mind that the real Khedive might

be physically far inferior to the ideal. But no harm was done;

for, after dinner, he came to me again and renewed the

conversation with especial cordiality. I also had a long talk

with the real Riaz, and found him intelligent and broad-minded.

One thing he said amused me. It was that he especially liked to

welcome Americans, because they were not seeking to exploit the

country.

In Cairo and Alexandria I enjoyed meeting the American and

English missionaries,--among them my old Yale friend Dr. Henry

Jessup, who has for so many years rendered admirable services at

Beyrout; but the most noteworthy thing was a lecture which I

heard from Dr. Grant, an eminent Presbyterian physician connected

with the mission. It was on the subject of the Egyptian

Trinities. The doctor explained them, as well as the Trimurtis of

India, by expressing his belief that when the Almighty came down

in the cool of the day to refresh himself by walking and talking

with Adam in the garden of Eden, he revealed to the man he had

made some of the great mysteries of the divine existence, and

that these had "leaked out" to men who took them into other

countries, and there taught them!

I also found at Cairo another especially interesting man of a

very different sort, an Armenian, Mr. Nimr; and, on visiting him,

was amazed to find in his library a large collection of English

and French books, scientific and literary--among them the "New

York Scientific Monthly" containing my own articles, which he had

done me the honor to read. I found that he had been, at an

earlier period, a professor at the college established by the

American Protestant missionaries at Beyrout; but that he and

several others who had come to adopt the Darwinian hypothesis

were on that account turned out of their situations, and that he

had taken refuge in Cairo where he was publishing, in Arabic, a

daily newspaper a weekly literary magazine, and a monthly

scientific journal. I was much struck by one remark of his--which

was, that he was doing his best to promote the interests of

Freemasonry in the East, as the only means of bringing Christians

and Mohammedans together under the same roof for mutual help,

with the feeling that they were children of the same God. He told

me that the worst opposition he had met came from a very

excellent Protestant missionary, who had publicly insisted that

the God worshiped by the Mohammedans was not the God worshiped by

Christians. This reminded me of a sermon which one of my friends

heard in Strasburg Cathedral in which a priest, reproving his

Catholic hearers for entering into any relations with

Protestants, especially opposed the idea that they worshiped the

same God, and insisted that the God of the Catholics and the God

of the Protestants are two different beings.

Among the things which gave me a real enjoyment at this period,

and aided to revive my interest in the world about me, was the

Saracenic architecture of Cairo and its neighborhood. Nothing

could be, in its way, more beautiful. I had never before realized

how much beauty is obtainable under the limitations of

Mohammedanism; the exquisite tracery and fretwork of the

Saracenic period were a constant joy to me, and happily, as there

had been no "restorers," everything remained as it had left the

hands of the men of genius who created it.

In this older architecture a thousand things interested me; but

the greatest effect was produced by the tombs at Beni Hassan, as

showing the historical linking together of human ideas both in

art and science--the development of one period out of another. Up

to the time of my seeing them I had supposed that the Doric

architecture of Greece, and especially the Doric column, was of

Greek creation; now I saw the proof that it was evolved out of an

earlier form upon the lower Nile, which had itself, doubtless,

been developed out of forms yet earlier.

At one thing I was especially surprised. I found that, excellent

as are our missionaries in those regions, their work has not at

all been what those who send them have supposed. No Mohammedan

converts are made. Indeed, should the good missionaries at Cairo

wake up some fine morning in the spacious quarters for which they

are so largely indebted to the late Khedive Ismail, and find that

they had converted a Mohammedan, they would be filled with

consternation. They would possibly be driven from the country.

The real Mohammedan cannot be converted. There were, indeed, a

few persons, here and there, claiming to be converted Jews or

Mohammedans; but we were always warned against them, even by

Christians, as far less trustworthy than those who were true to

their original faith. Whatever good is done by the missionaries

is done through their schools, to which come many children of the

Copts, with perhaps a certain number of Mohammedans desirous of

learning English; and the greatest of American missionary

successes is doubtless Robert College at Constantinople, which

has certainly done a very noble work among the more gifted young

men of the Christian populations in the Turkish Empire.

Several times I attended service in the United Presbyterian

church at Cairo, and found it hard, unattractive, and little

likely to influence any considerable number of persons, whether

Mohammedan or Christian. It was evident that the preachers, as a

rule, were entirely out of the current of modern theological and

religious thought, and that even the best and noblest of them

represented ideas no longer held by their leading coreligionists

in the countries from which they came.

After a stay of three months in Egypt, we left Alexandria for

Athens, where I enjoyed, during a considerable stay, the

advantages of the library at the American School of Archaeology,

and the companionship of my friend Professor Waldstein, now of

Cambridge University. Very delightful also were excursions with

my old Yale companion, Walker Fearne, our minister in Greece, and

his charming family, to the Acropolis, the Theater of Dionysus,

the Bay of Salamis, Megara, and other places of interest. An

especial advantage we had in the companionship of Professor

Mahaffy of Trinity College, Dublin, whose comments on all these

places were most suggestive.

Very interesting to me was an interview with Tricoupis, the prime

minister of the kingdom. His talk on the condition of things in

Greece was that of a broad-minded statesman. Speaking of the

relations of the Greek Church to the state, he said that the

church had kept the language and the nationality of the people

alive during the Turkish occupation, but that, in spite of its

services, it had never been allowed to domineer over the country

politically; he dwelt on the importance of pushing railway

communications into Europe, and lamented the obstacles thrown in

their way by Turkey. His reminiscences of Mr. Buchanan and Mr.

Dallas, whom he had formerly known at the Court of St. James

during his stay as minister in London, were especially

interesting.

The most important "function" I saw was the solemn "Te Deum" at

the cathedral on the anniversary of Greek independence, the King,

Queen, and court being present, but I was less impressed by their

devotion than by the irreverence of a considerable part of the

audience, who, at the close of the service, walked about in the

church with their hats on their heads. As to the priests who

swarmed about us in their Byzantine costumes and long hair, I was

reminded of a sententious Moslem remark regarding them: "Much

hair, little brains."

On Good Friday I visited Mars Hill and mused for an hour over

what has come from the sermon once preached there.

Toward the end of April we left the Piraeus, and, after passing

through the aegean on a most beautiful day, arrived in

Constantinople, where I made the acquaintance of Mr. Straus, our

minister at that capital. Thus began a friendship which I have

ever since greatly prized. Mr. Straus introduced me to two of the

most interesting men I have ever met; the first of these being

Hamdi Bey, director of the Imperial Museum at Constantinople.

Meeting him at Mr. Straus's table and in his own house, I heard

him discuss sundry questions relating to modern art--better, in

some respects, than any other person I have ever known. Never

have I heard more admirably discriminating judgments upon various

modern schools of painting than those which he then gave me.

The other person to whom Mr. Straus introduced me was the British

ambassador, Sir William White, who was very hospitable, and

revealed to me much in life and literature. One thing especially

surprised me--namely, that though a Roman Catholic, he had a

great admiration for Renan's writings, of which he was a constant

reader. Here, too, I renewed my acquaintance with various members

of the diplomatic corps whom I had met elsewhere. Curious was an

evening visit to the Russian Embassy, Mrs. Straus being carried

in a sedan-chair, her husband walking beside her in evening dress

at one door, I at the other, and a kavass, with drawn sword,

marching at the head of the procession.

While the Mohammedan history revealed in Constantinople gave me

frequent subjects of thought, I was more constantly carried back

to the Byzantine period. For there was the Church of St. Sophia!

No edifice has ever impressed me more; indeed, in many respects,

none has ever impressed me so much. Bearing in mind its origin,

its history, and its architecture, it is doubtless the most

interesting church in the world. Though smaller than St. Peter's

at Rome, it is vastly more impressive. Taking into account the

view as one enters, embracing the lofty vaults retreating on all

sides, the arches springing above our heads, and, crowning all,

the dome, which opens fully upon the sight immediately upon

passing the door way, it is certainly the most overpowering of

Christian churches. Gibbon's pictures thronged upon me, and very

vividly, as I visited the ground where formerly stood the Great

Circus, and noted the remains of monuments where the "Blues" and

"Greens" convulsed the city with their bloody faction fights, and

where squabbling Christian sects prepared the way for that

Turkish dominion which has now burdened this weary earth for more

than five hundred years.

From Constantinople, by Buda-Pesth, Vienna, Munich, Ulm, and

Frankfort-on-the-Main, to Paris, stopping in each of these

cities, mainly for book-hunting. At Munich I spent considerable

time in the Royal Library, where various rare works relating to

the bearing of theology on civilization were placed at my

disposal; and at Frankfort added largely to my

library--especially monographs on Egypt and illuminated

manuscripts of the middle ages.

At Paris the Exposition of 1889 was in full blast. As to the

American exhibit, there were some things to be lamented. Our

"commission of experts" was in part remarkably well chosen; among

them being a number of the best men in their departments that

America has produced; but, on the other hand, there were some who

had evidently been foisted upon the President by politicians in

remote States--so-called "experts," yet as unfit as it is

possible to conceive any human beings to be. One of these, who

was responsible for one of the most important American

departments, was utterly helpless. Day in and day out, he sat in

a kind of daze at the American headquarters, doing

nothing--indeed, evidently incapable of doing anything. One or

two of his associates, as well as sundry Frenchmen, asked me to

aid in getting his department into some order; and this, though

greatly pressed for time, I did,--devoting to the task several

days which I could ill afford.

Very happy was I over one improvement which the United States had

made since the former exposition, at which I had myself been a

commissioner. Then all lamented and apologized for the condition

of the American Art Gallery; now there was no need either of

lamentation or apology, for there, in all their beauty, were

portraits by Sargent, and Gari Melchers's picture of "A Communion

Day in Holland"--the latter touching the deep places of the human

heart. As I was sitting before it one day, an English gentleman

came with his wife and sat beside me. Presently I heard him say:

"Of all the pictures in the entire exposition, this takes the

strongest hold upon me." Many other American pictures were also

objects of pride to us. I found our minister, Mr. Whitelaw Reid,

very hospitable, and at his house became acquainted with various

interesting Americans. At President Carnot's reception at the

palace of the Elysee I also met several personages worth knowing,

and among them, to my great satisfaction, Senator John Sherman.

During this stay in Paris I took part in two commemorations.

First came the Fourth of July, when, in obedience to the old

custom which I had known so well in my student days, the American

colony visited the cemetery of the Rue Picpus and laid wreaths

upon the tomb of Lafayette,--the American band performing a

dirge, and our marines on duty firing a farewell volley. It was

in every way a warm and hearty tribute. A week later was the

unveiling of the statue of Camille Desmoulins in the garden of

the Palais Royal,--this being the one-hundredth anniversary of

the day on which, in that garden,--and, indeed, on that spot,

before the Cafe Foy,--he had roused the mob which destroyed the

Bastille and begun the whirlwind which finally swept away so much

and so many, including himself and his beloved Lucille. Poor

Camille, orating, gesticulating, and looking for a new heaven and

a new earth, was one of the little great men so important at the

beginning of revolutions and so insignificant afterward. It was

evident that, in spite of the old legends regarding him, the

French had ceased to care for him; I was surprised at the small

number present, and at the languid interest even of these.

Among my most delightful reminiscences of this period are my

walks and talks with my old Yale and Paris student friend of

nearly forty years before, Randall Gibson, who, having been a

general in the Confederate service, was now a United States

senator from Louisiana. Revisiting our old haunts, especially the

Sorbonne, the Pantheon, St. Sulpice, and other monuments of the

Latin Quarter, we spoke much of days gone by, he giving me most

interesting reminiscences of our Civil War period as seen from

the Southern side. One or two of the things he told me are

especially fastened in my mind. The first was that as he sat with

other officers over the camp-fire night after night, discussing

the war and their hopes regarding the future, all agreed that

when the Confederacy obtained its independence there should be no

"right of secession" in it. But what interested me most was the

fact that he, a Democratic senator of the United States,

absolutely detested Thomas Jefferson, and, above all things, for

the reason that he considered Jefferson the real source of the

extreme doctrine of State sovereignty. Gibson was a typical

Kentucky Whig who, in the Civil War, went with the South from the

force of family connections, friendships, social relations, and

the like, but who remained, in his heart of hearts, from first to

last, deeply attached to the Union.

Leaving Paris, we went together to Homburg, and there met Mr.

Henry S. Sanford, our minister at Belgium during the Civil War,

one of Secretary Seward's foremost agents on the European

continent at that period. His accounts of matters at that time,

especially of the doings of sundry emissaries of the United

States, were all of them interesting, and some of them

exceedingly amusing. At Homburg, too, I found my successor in the

legation at Berlin, Mr. Pendleton, who, though his mind remained

clear, was slowly dying of paralysis.

Thence with Gibson and Sanford down the Rhine to Mr. Sanford's

country-seat in Belgium. It was a most beautiful place, a lordly

chateau, superbly built, fitted, and furnished, ample for the

accommodation of a score of guests, and yet the rent he paid for

it was but six hundred dollars a year. It had been built by a

prince at such cost that he himself could not afford to live in

it, and was obliged to rent it for what he could get. Thence we

made our way to London and New York.

CHAPTER LV

MEXICO, CALIFORNIA, SCANDINAVIA, RUSSIA, ITALY, LONDON, AND

BERLIN--1892-1897

Arriving at New York in the autumn of 1889, I was soon settled at

my accustomed work in the university,--devoting myself to new

chapters of my book and to sundry courses of lectures. Early in

the following year I began a course before the University of

Pennsylvania; and my stay in Philadelphia was rendered very

agreeable by various new acquaintances. Interesting to me was the

Roman Catholic archbishop, Dr. Ryan. Dining in his company, I

referred admiringly to his cathedral, which I had recently

visited, but spoke of what seemed to me the defective mode of

placing the dome upon the building; whereupon he made one of the

most tolerable Latin puns I have ever heard, saying that during

the construction of both the nave and the dome his predecessors

were hampered by lack of money,--that, in fact, they were greatly

troubled by the res angustae domi. Interesting also was

attendance upon the conference at Lake Mohonk, which brought

together a large body of leading men from all parts of the

country to discuss the best methods of dealing with questions

relating to the freedmen and Indians. The president of the

conference, Mr. Hayes, formerly President of the United States, I

had known well in former days, when I served under him as

minister to Germany, and the high opinion I had then formed of

him was increased as I heard him discuss the main questions

before the conference. It was the fashion at one time among

blackguards and cynics of both parties to sneer at him, and this,

doubtless, produced some effect on the popular mind; but nothing

could be more unjust: rarely have I met a man in our own or any

other country who has impressed me more by the qualities which a

true American should most desire in a President of the United

States; he had what our country needs most in our public

men--sobriety of judgment united to the power of calm, strong

statement.

The two following years, 1890-1891, were passed mainly at

Cornell, though with excursions to various other institutions

where I had been asked to give addresses or lectures; but in

February of 1892, having been invited to lecture at Stanford

University in California, I accepted an invitation from Mr.

Andrew Carnegie to become one of the guests going in his car to

the Pacific coast by way of Mexico. Our party of eight, provided

with cook, servants, and every comfort, traveled altogether more

than twelve thousand miles--first through the Central and

Southern States of the Union, thence to the city of Mexico and

beyond, then by a series of zigzag excursions from lower

California to the northern limits of Oregon and Washington, and

finally through the Rocky Mountains and the canons of Colorado to

Salt Lake City and Denver. Thence my companions went East and I

returned alone to Stanford to give my lectures. During this long

excursion I met many men who greatly interested me, and

especially old students of mine whom I found everywhere doing

manfully the work for which Cornell had aided to fit them. Never

have I felt more fully repaid for any labor and care I have ever

given to the founding and development of the university. Arriving

in the city of Mexico, I said to myself, "Here certainly I shall

not meet any more of my old Cornellians"; but hardly was I

settled in my room when a card came up from one of them, and I

soon learned that he was doing honor to the Sibley College of the

university by superintending the erection of the largest

printing-press which had ever been brought into Mexico. The

Mexican capital interested me greatly. The cathedral, which, up

to that time, I had supposed to be in a debased rococo style, I

found to be of a simple, noble Renaissance character, and of real

dignity. Being presented to the President, Porfirio Diaz, I was

greatly impressed by his quiet strength and self-possession, and

then understood for the first time what had wrought so beneficent

a change in his country. His ministers also impressed me

favorably, though they were evidently overshadowed by so great a

personality. One detail struck me as curious: the room in which

the President received us at the palace was hung round with satin

draperies stamped with the crown and cipher of his

predecessor--the ill-fated Emperor Maximilian.

California was a great revelation to me. We arrived just at the

full outburst of spring, and seemed to have alighted upon a new

planet. Strong and good men I found there, building up every sort

of worthy enterprise, and especially their two noble

universities, one of which was almost entirely officered by

Cornell graduates. To this institution I was attached by a

special tie. At various times the founders, Governor and Mrs.

Stanford, had consulted me on problems arising in its

development; they had twice visited me at Cornell for the purpose

of more full discussion, and at the latter of the two visits had

urged me to accept its presidency. This I had felt obliged to

decline. I said to them that the best years of my life had been

devoted to building up two universities,--Michigan and

Cornell,--and that not all the treasures of the Pacific coast

would tempt me to begin with another; that this feeling was not

due to a wish to evade any duty, but to a conviction that my work

of that sort was done, and that there were others who could

continue it far better than I. It was after this conversation

that, on their asking whether there was any one suitable within

my acquaintance, I answered, "Go to the University of Indiana;

there you will find the president, an old student of mine, David

Starr Jordan, one of the leading scientific men of the country,

possessed of a most charming power of literary expression, with a

remarkable ability in organization, and blessed with good, sound

sense. Call him." They took my advice, called Dr. Jordan, and I

found him at the university. My three weeks' stay interested me

more and more. Evening after evening I walked through the

cloisters of the great quadrangle, admiring the solidity, beauty,

and admirable arrangement of the buildings, and enjoying their

lovely surroundings and the whole charm of that California

atmosphere.

The buildings, in simplicity, beauty, and fitness, far surpassed

any others which had at that time been erected for university

purposes in the United States; and I feel sure that when the

entire plan is carried out, not even Oxford or Cambridge will

have anything more beautiful. President Jordan had more than

fulfilled my prophecies, and it was an inspiration to see at

their daily work the faculty he had called together. The students

also greatly interested me. When it was first noised abroad that

Senator Stanford was to found a new university in California,

sundry Eastern men took a sneering tone and said, "What will it

find to do? The young men on the Pacific coast who are as yet fit

to receive the advantages of a university are very few; the State

University of California at Berkeley is already languishing for

want of students." The weakness of these views is seen in the

fact that, at this hour, each of these universities has nearly

three thousand undergraduates. The erection of Stanford has given

an impetus to the State University, and both are doing noble

work, not only for the Pacific coast, but for the whole country.

One of the most noteworthy things in the history of American

university education thus far is the fact that the university

buildings erected by boards of trustees in all parts of the

country have, almost without exception, proved to be mere jumbles

of mean materials in incongruous styles; but to this rule there

have been, mainly, two noble exceptions: one in the buildings of

the University of Virginia, planned and executed under the eye of

Thomas Jefferson, and the other in these buildings at Palo Alto,

planned and executed under the direction of Governor and Mrs.

Stanford. These two groups, one in Virginia and one in

California, with, perhaps, the new university buildings at

Philadelphia and Chicago, are almost the only homes of learning

in the United States which are really satisfactory from an

architectural point of view.

The "City of the Saints," which I saw on my way, had much

interest for me. I collected while there everything possible in

the way of publications bearing on Mormonism, beginning with a

copy of the original edition of the "Book of Mormon"; but nothing

that I could find in any of these publications indicated any

considerable intellectual development, as yet.

More encouraging was a rapid visit, on my way home, to the

Chicago Exposition buildings, which, though not yet fully

completed, were very beautiful; and still more pleasure came from

a visit to the new University of Chicago, which was evidently

beginning a most important work for American civilization. Its

whole plan is remarkably well conceived, and with the means that

it is rapidly accumulating, due to the public spirit of its main

benefactor and a multitude of others hardly second to him in the

importance of their gifts, it cannot fail to exercise a great

influence, especially throughout the Northwestern States. First

of all, it will do much to lift the city in which it stands out

of its crude materialism into something higher and better. It is

a pleasure to note that its buildings are worthy of it: they seem

likely to form a fourth in the series of fit homes for great

centers of advanced education in the United States,--Virginia,

Stanford, and the University of Pennsylvania being the others.

Having returned to Cornell, I went on quietly with my work until

autumn, when, to my surprise, I received notice that the

President had appointed me minister to St. Petersburg; and on the

4th of November I arrived at my post in that capital. Of my

experience as minister I have spoken elsewhere, but have given no

account of two journeys which interested me at that period. The

first of these was in the Scandinavian countries. The voyage of a

day and night across the Baltic through the Aland Islands was

like a dream, the northern twilight making night more beautiful

than day, and the approach to the Swedish capital being, next to

the approaches to Constantinople and to New York, the most

beautiful I know.

Very instructive to me was a visit to Upsala--especially to the

university and cathedral. As to the former, the "Codex of

Ulfilas," in the library, which I had long desired to see,

especially interested me; and visits to the houses of the various

"nations" showed me that out of the social needs of Swedish

students in the middle ages had been developed something closely

akin to the fraternity houses which similar needs have developed

in our time at American universities. The cathedral, containing

the remains of Gustavus Vasa and Linnaeus, was fruitful in

suggestions. By a curious coincidence I was at that time

finishing my chapter entitled "From Creation to Evolution," and

had been paying special attention to the ancient and mediaeval

conceptions of the creation of the world as a work done by an

individual in human form, laboring with his hands during six

days, and taking needed rest on the seventh; and here I found, at

the side entrance of the cathedral, a delightfully naive

mediaeval representation of the whole process,--a series of

medallions representing the Almighty toiling like an artisan on

each of the six days and reposing, evidently very weary, on the

seventh.

The journey across Sweden, through the canals and lakes, was very

restful. At Christiania Mr. Gade, the American consul, who had

served our country so long and so honorably in that city, took me

under his guidance during various interesting excursions about

the fiords. At Gothenburg I took pains to obtain information

regarding their system of dealing with the sale of intoxicating

liquors, and became satisfied that it is, on the whole, the best

solution of the problem ever obtained. The whole old system of

saloons, gin-shops, and the like, with their allurements to the

drinking of adulterated alcohol, had been swept away, and in its

place the government had given to a corporation the privilege of

selling pure liquors in a restricted number of decent shops,

under carefully devised limitations. First, the liquors must be

fully tested for purity; secondly, none could be sold to persons

already under the influence of drink; thirdly, no intoxicant

could be sold without something to eat with it, the effects of

alcohol upon the system being thus mitigated. These and other

restrictions had reduced the drink evil, as I was assured, to a

minimum. But the most far-reaching provision in the whole system

was that the company which enjoyed the monopoly of this trade was

not allowed to declare a dividend greater than, I believe, six

per cent.; everything realized above this going into the public

treasury, mainly for charitable purposes. The result of this

restriction of profits was that no person employed in selling

ardent spirits was under the slightest temptation to attract

customers. Each of these sellers was a salaried official and knew

that his place depended on his adhering to the law which forbade

him to sell to any person already under the influence of liquor,

or to do anything to increase his sales; and the whole motive for

making men drunkards was thus taken away.

I was assured by both the American and British consuls, as well

as by most reputable citizens, that this system had greatly

diminished intemperance. Unfortunately, since that time, fanatics

have obtained control, and have passed an entirely "prohibitory"

law, with the result, as I understand, that the community is now

discovering that prohibition does not prohibit, and that the

worst kinds of liquors are again sold by men whose main motive is

to sell as much as possible.

The most attractive feature in my visit to Norway was Throndheim.

With my passion for Gothic architecture, the beautiful little

cathedral, which the authorities were restoring Judiciously, was

a delight, and it was all the more interesting as containing one

of those curiosities of human civilization which have now become

rare. In one corner of the edifice is a "holy well," the

pilgrimages to which in the middle ages were, no doubt, a main

source of the wealth of the establishment. The attendant shows,

in the stonework close to the well, the end of a tube coming from

the upper part of the cathedral; and through this tube pious

monks in the middle ages no doubt spoke oracular words calculated

to enhance the authority of the saint presiding over the place.

It was the same sort of thing which one sees in the Temple of

Isis at Pompeii, and the zeal which created it was no doubt the

same that to-day originates the sacred fire which always comes

down from heaven on Easter day into the Greek church at

Jerusalem, the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius in the

cathedral at Naples, and sundry camp-meeting utterances and

actions in the United States.

Sweden and Norway struck me as possessing, in some respects, the

most satisfactory civilization of modern times. With a

monarchical figurehead, they are really a republic. Here is no

overbearing plutocracy, no squalid poverty, an excellent system

of education, liberal and practical, from the local school to the

university, a population, to all appearance, healthy, thrifty,

and comfortable.

And yet here, as in other parts of the world, the resources of

human folly are illimitable. A large party in Norway urges

secession from Sweden, and both remain divided from Denmark,

though the three are, to all intents and purposes, of the same

race, religion, language, and early historical traditions. And

close beside them looms up, more and more portentous, the Russian

colossus, which, having trampled Swedish Finland under its feet,

is looking across the Scandinavian peninsula toward the good

harbors of Norway, just opposite Great Britain. Russia has

declared the right of her one hundred and twenty millions of

people to an ice-free port on the Pacific; why shall she not

assert, with equal cogency, the right of these millions to an

ice-free port on the Atlantic? Why should not these millions own

a railway across Scandinavia, and a suitable territory along the

line; and then, logically, all the territory north, and as much

as she needs of the territory south of the line? The northern

and, to some extent, the middle regions of Norway and Sweden

would thus come under the sway of a czar in St. Petersburg,

represented by some governor-general like those who have been

trying to show to the Scandinavians of Finland that newspapers

are useless, petitions inadmissible, constitutions a fetish,

banishment a blessing, and the use of their native language a

superfluity. The only sad thing in this fair prospect is that it

is not the objurgatory Bjornson, the philosophic Ibsen, and the

impulsive Nansen, with their compatriots, now groaning under what

they are pleased to call "Swedish tyranny," who would enjoy this

Russian liberty, but their children, and their children's

children.

At Copenhagen I was especially attracted by the Ethnographic

Museum, which, by its display of the gradual uplifting of

Scandinavian humanity from prehistoric times, has so strongly

aided in enforcing on the world the scientific doctrine of the

"rise of man," and in bringing to naught the theological doctrine

of the "fall of man."

A short stay at Moscow added to my Russian points of view, it

being my second visit after an interval of nearly forty years.

Although the city had spread largely, there was very little

evidence of real progress: everywhere were filth, fetishism,

beggary, and reaction. The monument to Alexander II, the great

emancipator, stood in the Kremlin, half finished; it has since, I

am glad to learn, been completed; but this has only been after

long and slothful delays, and the statue in St. Petersburg has

not even been begun. It is well understood that one cause of this

delay has been the reluctance of the reactionary leaders in the

empire to glorify so radical a movement as the emancipation of

the serfs.