IV

_The Spirit at Lake Mohonk_

Many years ago the Herr Director and I were tramping through the Hartz

Mountains in northern Germany. He had not yet achieved portliness and

fame; while to me, America was still the land of Indians and buffaloes,

and I had never dreamed of going there. We were climbing the Brocken,

and that which thrilled me more than its granite steeps and deeply

mysterious pines was, the hundreds of school-boys and girls we met,

singing as they climbed, and who, when they rested, listened to their

teachers who stimulated their imagination and their patriotism by

telling them the stories which had woven themselves around those

mountains.

The Catskills are not unlike the Hartz, and I remarked upon it as the

Herr Director and I were climbing the Walkill Range. Our destination

was Lake Mohonk, the scene of the Conference for International

Arbitration, organized and supported by that noble Quaker, Albert K.

Smiley; and now after his death continued by his able and generous

brother Daniel Smiley, and his gracious wife.

The Frau Directorin, with hundreds of other guests, had been met at the

railroad station by carriages, this being one of the few places left

upon earth where the automobile is excluded.

The Herr Director was not climbing as easily as he climbed thirty years

ago, and neither was I, although I made a brave show and led the way,

frequently leaving him in the rear, much to his disgust.

"Yes," he said, mopping his brow and looking about critically, "this is

somewhat like the Hartz," and my heart gave a joyous leap at his

admission; "but several things are missing: Good company, merry songs

and, above all, places of refreshment."

Of course I could offer him no better company than I was, as there are

not many people in America who climb when they can ride for nothing;

and the only refreshment available was clear water from a shaded spring.

As we drank he recalled laughingly how, when we stopped at one of those

nature's fountains in the Hartz, a man who had watched us, came running

out of his house and warned us that we might catch cold in our stomachs,

at the same time politely offering to guide us to a place where we would

get something not so dangerously cold, and with tempting foam at the

top.

I have long ago been weaned from the German custom of mixing

refreshments and scenery; but one does miss the boys and girls, the

merry, happy throngs, their sentimental songs and their fervent, poetic

patriotism. Involuntarily my mind reverted to a scene the Herr Director

and I witnessed after we had finally reached the summit of our mountain

in the Hartz. It was nearly evening, and we could look far and wide

above the forest into the happy and beautiful country. On the very

topmost peak stood a corpulent German, surrounded by his genial group.

He was reciting with fervor and genuine passion, in the broadest

Berlinese dialect, one of their treasured poems which begins with these

lines:

"High upon the hilltops of thy mountains stand I,

Thou beautiful and mighty Fatherland."

If this should happen over here, of which there is no danger, he would

be laughed at, if noticed at all; over there he was treated like a high

priest who called the faithful to prayer.

As a people we lack not only poetic imagination, we lack also this

identification of our country with the best in nature. Our youth may be

to blame for that, or perhaps we have so much of nature and so much

which is beautiful that we have not been able to encompass it. Yet there

must be something very important lacking in such Americans as the one

whom I met very recently. He had just returned from a "Seeing America

First" tour, and had seen everything from Niagara to the Big Tree groves

of California. When I asked him what he thought of it all he said,

coolly, "Oh! it's a big country." Naturally I did not tell this nor the

following to the Herr Director.

A few years ago I went with a group of Americans to see one of the

famous ice caves in the Alps. The accommodating guides had lighted

candles in the labyrinth and the sight was enchanting. One of my party,

a dry-goods dealer, said with genuine enthusiasm: "My! I wish I could

get such a shade of silk in New York." The other said: "Too bad; so much

perfectly good ice going to waste." He belonged to the much maligned

tribe of ice-men. The rest of the men said nothing, although one of them

did remark when we reached our hotel: "This only shows how slow they are

over here. In the good old United States we would light that show with

electricity." He belongs to the tribe whose name is legion.

The Herr Director, as my readers have found, was very chary of his

praise, in fact thus far I had not heard a good word from him for my

United States; but that evening as we looked from the Mountain House

down upon the dark, deep lake, the rock gardens and the quaint bowers

on every promontory, granite walls broken and scattered, and the rich

valley between us and the Catskills, he did say: "This is the most

beautiful spot I have ever seen!"

Of course his generous mood was partially gendered by the unequalled

hospitality of our host and hostess and by the sight of his fellow

guests, who represented not only the entire United States, but the

United States at its best. Moreover, he and his wife had received a more

than cordial welcome because they were representative foreigners and

spoke English with a "cute accent."

I almost felt a slight touch of jealousy upon that point although I am

not of a jealous nature. But I have noticed this: to the degree that my

English has improved, to that degree I have become less interesting to

my American friends, so that I have sometimes been tempted to wish that

I too might speak English with a "cute accent."

The happy day was almost spoiled for me by the discovery that our trunks

had not arrived. The Herr Director worked himself into a frenzy and the

Frau Directorin had dire forebodings of having to spend the three days

in the same shirt-waist. Telegrams were sent in all directions, while

the Herr Director called our much boasted of baggage system hard names;

my "best laid schemes" seemed about to "gang agley" when much to my

relief the trunks arrived, and I felt once more assured of the divine

favor in my most strenuous efforts to "boost" my United States.

The Herr Director had come to this country to take part in the Mohonk

Conference, and being a prudent man, he submitted his address to me. It

was written with Teutonic thoroughness and as void of places of

refreshment as the Sahara Desert or the Walkill Range we had climbed.

I suggested a thorough revision, the cutting out of many statistics and

resting his case, not upon pure business, but upon the higher plane of

pure justice. He insisted upon retaining his statistics and also his

appeal to the selfish and materialistic side of his audience; for he

knew "something about Americans" and still doubted their idealism.

The next morning after breakfast we attended prayers, which is a part of

the daily program of this hostelry, and presided over by the host, who

usually reads the Scriptures, announces a hymn and then leads in prayer.

It is as impressive as it is simple and dignified, and the Herr Director

and his wife did their first singing in America when they joined in a

hymn whose tune is an old German folk-song.

The program which followed the prayer service was dominated by

specialists in International Law and they were dry and concise enough to

suit even the Herr Director; while the dreamers and agitators, whom he

expected to hear, were almost altogether unrepresented. In fact they

have grown less in this assembly each year, largely because it is

thought that the whole subject has reached the point when it is a

practical question to be discussed by men of affairs. No one knew better

than the Herr Director how inevitable was the next great war and how far

we were from the practical Court of International Arbitration.

The epilogue to that great world drama had been spoken in the Balkan,

and spoken with vehemence, passion and fierce cruelty, and he knew its

bearing upon the whole tense situation in Europe. Yet I am sure that

even he did not know how many nations would be involved, nor how costly

and deadly would be the conflict. He did foreshadow in his own

condemnation of England and of England's foreign policy the element of

hate between the two related nations, which was to play so important a

part in the present war.

The afternoon is playtime at Lake Mohonk, and most generous are the

provisions for recreation; but the Herr Director did not ride or drive,

nor play golf or tennis. He stayed in his room rewriting his paper,

having sensed something of the Spirit of Lake Mohonk.

It is a very dignified room in which the problem of International

Arbitration is discussed, and although it never loses its hospitable,

home-like air, one always has the feeling of being before a high

tribunal, where anything but the most serious mood seems out of place;

although a jest sometimes relieves the discussion.

An audience of about four hundred people gathered that evening, men and

women in varied walks of life, coming from all the states in the Union

and from many foreign countries.

There were captains of industry and of infantry, admirals of fleets and

presidents of colleges, statesmen and politicians, ministers, lawyers

and journalists. Their views ranged from those who believe that war is

an unavoidable event in human history, and that a little blood letting

now and then is necessary for the best of men, to those who teach that

war is a curse and that a certain warrior who compared it to the worst

place which human imagination can conceive, might be sued for libelling

his Satanic Majesty who presides over that place or state. On the whole,

they represented the men of action and men without illusions although

with high ideals. The Herr Director's paper, minus its statistics, and

keenly critical rather than laudatory, was received with applause, and

he stepped from the platform in the best humor in which I had seen him

since he reached the United States.

The real joy of the Lake Mohonk Conference, and of all conferences, is

the human touch, and after the long evening session the Herr Director

became the center of an interesting group of men who, while smoking

their cigars, lost some of their American reserve and became

sufficiently animated to hear and tell stories; so it was long past

midnight when the informal session ended.

Frequently the Herr Director asked questions about things which he could

not understand, and it was at such times that I sought to enlighten him,

or have him enlightened by others; for he had become sceptical as to my

own ability to inform him regarding anything American.

He could not understand, for instance, that all this lavish

entertainment was free, and suggested that it must be a sort of gigantic

American advertising scheme, carefully concealed. When he was told that

to secure a room during the season one must apply long in advance, and

most likely have fair credentials before being accepted as a guest, he

merely shook his head and murmured something about these "inexplicable

Americans."

He also did not see how an hotel could flourish in any civilized country

without permitting the accepted social diversions, such as card playing,

dancing, and drinking something stronger than the mild beverages served

at the soda fountain.

He wanted to know how it was that three or four hundred Americans would

take three days of their time to discuss a theme which had little or

nothing to do with profits. All the Americans he had known about were

void of ideals, and had no time for anything but business or poker. In

fact he was astonished not to see poker chips littering the sidewalks.

I told him that while it is true that the average American business man

is always in a hurry, and gives little time to wholesome recreation, it

is also true that in no country with which I am familiar do men of

business give their time so generously to the consideration of the

common welfare as here. They do this, not having the incentive

constantly held out to the European business man, namely: Recognition by

the state and the reward which sovereigns may bestow, in much coveted

titles and decorations. The average well-inclined American business man

is incredibly patient, sitting through tedious meetings, listening to

reports of various philanthropies, and earns a martyr's crown attending

those interminably long banquets with their assault upon his digestion

and their appeal to his sympathies.

At Lake Mohonk the Herr Director met business men employing thousands of

clerks to whom they grant vacations and holidays without legal

compulsion, and for whom they have inaugurated welfare plans of

far-reaching importance. It was certainly a revelation to him that the

number of Americans who are something more than animated money bags is

growing larger every day.

The still more difficult thing to explain to him was the frank and open

discussions of national policies and the evident international

view-point of those who took part in them. In all the discussions the

most striking note was: "The United States wants not territory, not

unfair advantage over other nations nor aggrandizement at the expense of

lesser peoples, nor war, certainly not for conquest."

The Herr Director intimated that in the exalted mood induced by being

members of this conference, we could afford to be generous; but that at

a time of national excitement we are no better than other people, taking

what we can get and asking no questions.

"Uncle Sam was not wholly disinterested in Cuba, was he? and as far as

Mexico is concerned, who fermented the trouble there but this same Uncle

Sam, that you might have an excuse to swallow as much of Mexico as you

wanted?"

Instantly my mind travelled to the time of the Spanish-American war,

when I was in Europe, and the Herr Director was editing an influential

German newspaper. He wrote an editorial, accusing the United States of

beginning the war with Spain for the sole purpose of annexing the "Pearl

of the Antilles," and when I disputed his theory we nearly severed our

"diplomatic relations."

I now again vigorously pressed my point, to the great amusement of my

friends and the chagrin of the Herr Director, who could not easily

refute my statements; for while I acknowledged being an

"_Unausstehlicher Americaner_," I happen to know the Old World policies

as well as he does.

I mentioned Austria-Hungary, and its taking over of Bosnia and

Herzegovina, without so much as "by your leave"--and Germany which, to

salve its hurt, sent a fleet of warships to China and helped the German

eagle bury its beak in the Yellow Dragon's tail. I mentioned France in

Algeria, and England everywhere--"and Uncle Sam in the Philippines," he

interrupted.

I took full advantage of that interruption to remind him that Uncle Sam

is the only power which ever paid for anything gained by that right

which in Europe seems to be the only right;--the right of might.

It was a difficult task which I had undertaken, to convince the Herr

Director that the American Spirit is different from that of the Old

World, and in spite of me he insisted that we are not a bit better than

other people, but only so situated that we can afford to be generous. I

assured him that I preferred to boast of our fair dealing with lesser

peoples than of our victorious battles, and that I am never so loyally

and enthusiastically American as when I think of our being just, rather

than mighty.

I have since been at Lake Mohonk at a time when national passions were

aroused, and when those who had prophesied the early passing of the

battle fever were discredited prophets. While there, a letter reached me

from the Herr Director, in which he sent greetings to his host and

hostess and the members of the conference, and in which he recalled his

former accusation that we are no better than other people; for "are you

not pro-Ally and filling your pockets with the proceeds from the sale of

war munitions? Where now is your boasted fairness?"

My reply was that I in common with many others wish we could wash our

hands of this bloody business of selling ammunition, and that I still

firmly believe that the American people will retain their poise during

this dreadful upheaval.

Yes, even to-day I can say with no less pride than usual that I believe

in the American Spirit, in its sense of fairness and its love of

justice, and while I trust that this country may be kept from so great a

catastrophe as war, and I be kept from so severe a trial of my loyalty

as having to choose on which side to fight, I know I would freely and

unhesitatingly be on the side of my country, the United States of

America.

Three glorious days had passed at Lake Mohonk and when the guests left

that mountain top no one went more reluctantly than the Herr Director

and his wife, and all the way back to the great city they felicitated

upon their delightful experiences, while I rejoiced in my country and

its spirit. When the Herr Director wrote his book I found that he

acknowledged having discovered four things at Lake Mohonk. First, an

unparallelled hospitality. Secondly, that the leading men of America are

soberly practical, unemotional, somewhat self-centered; but, at the same

time, men of high ideals. Thirdly, that its military men attend

conferences for international arbitration, that they do not rattle their

sabers, and in appearance cannot be distinguished from mere civilians.

Finally, that the American man boasts most and loudest of his sense of

fairness; and while I write these lines, I am hoping and praying that

this may indeed be not an empty boast, but an integral part of the

American Spirit.

V

_Lobster and Mince Pie_

If I were gastronomically inclined I would study New York's cosmopolitan

population and its progress towards Americanization from the standpoint

of its restaurants; for the appetite is most loyally patriotic. A man

may cease to speak his mother tongue and have forsworn allegiance to

Kaiser and to King, but still cling to his ancestral bill of fare.

If I were an absolute monarch and wished my alien people quickly

assimilated, I would permit them to speak their native tongue and cling

to the faith of their fathers; but I would close all foreign

restaurants, and as speedily as possible obliterate from their memory

the taste of viands "like mother used to make."

I fear that it is neither Goethe nor Schiller, nor Bismarck nor Kaiser

Wilhelm who has kept the memory of the Fatherland alive in the minds and

hearts of many German people in America. Dare I say that possibly much

of their patriotism and loyalty is due to the taste of rye bread and

sweet butter, _Rindsbrust_ and _Pell Cartoffel_, not to mention a

certain frothy amber fluid?

Be that as it may, when I discovered that the Herr Director and the Frau

Directorin were homesick, I took them to a German restaurant to assuage

their pangs; just as if, did I detect the same symptoms in an American

whom I wished to make thoroughly at home in a foreign country, I would

take him where a meal could be properly concluded with apple pie and

cheese or ice-cream.

The restaurant I selected lent itself particularly well to my purpose,

for everything was imported, from the Bavarian architecture to the

_Frankfurter_ sausages. The _menu_ card was adorned by illuminated,

medieval lettering, and on the smoked rafters were painted pious and

impious verses, which gave the room a literary atmosphere.

It was as crowded and full of tobacco smoke and the odors of savory

meats as the most loyal German could desire, and my guests were

thoroughly at home. They ate their food happily, praised it

discriminatingly, and studied the familiar environment carefully. As

usual, certain things were lacking; for the Herr Director is a keen

critic and never accepts anything as perfect.

I agreed with him that the orchestra was too noisy and on the whole

superfluous, and that the native American dining there could be easily

recognized by the indifference with which he ate. We heard no loud

complaining, and little or no quarrelling with the waiters. The food was

accepted in a humble sort of way whether it was satisfactory or not;

bills were paid, tips were given in the spirit of meekness, and accepted

in the opposite way, and the guests left without any ceremony except

that of paying their toll to the keepers of their hats and coats, a form

of extortion quite unparallelled abroad.

In striking contrast to our mere eating was my guests' enjoyment of

every morsel of the food which they had selected, not simply because it

was food, but because it was a note fitting into the gastronomic

harmony. The head waiter and all his minions hovered about them with due

reverence, and woe to him who by pose or gesture disturbed the perfect

accord.

A friend from Nebraska who was staying at our hotel had joined us at

dinner. When the waiter handed him the bewildering bill of fare, he

waved it aside saying: "Just bring me a big lobster stewed in milk, with

a dish of pickles and a mince pie."

The waiter turned pale, the Herr Director gasped, almost strangling on

the salad he was eating, and the Frau Directorin looked at me

despairingly. The waiter was the first to recover his composure, and

cautiously suggested that the gentleman might like some Lobster à la

Newburgh.

"Nix," said the Nebraskan, "I want lobster à la Milkburgh, and don't

forget the pickles."

The waiter retreated and after a long conference with his superior,

informed the gentleman that he could have his lobster stewed in milk,

but that it would cost him one dollar and fifty cents.

"Hustle it along," was the curt reply, and in about fifteen minutes he

was deep in his bowl of lobster stew, flanked on either side by pickles

and mince pie, while the rest of us were eating our way leisurely and

artistically through a _menu_ which began with _caviar_ and ended with

_Camambert_ and _demitasse_.

After dinner, American men, manners and ideals became the subject of a

discussion into which my Western friend good-naturedly entered, although

he was made a horrible example of the fact that we are ill-mannered. The

Herr Director insisted that our nation is too young to have any except

bad manners, and while no doubt we had improved in the years since he

first made our acquaintance, the improvement had not yet permeated the

masses.

That which I called the American Spirit was the spirit of the few

cultured, academic persons I knew, but the majority of the people was as

alien to it as was our Nebraska friend's lobster and mince pie to our

delicious and dietetically correct dinner.

"I don't give a hang for your 'dietetically correct dinner.' I want what

I want, when I want it!" the Nebraskan said, smiting the table with his

fist, and evidently suppressing stronger language with an apologetic

glance at the ladies of our party.

"That is exactly it; you want what you want, when you want it," the Herr

Director repeated, "whether or not it is on the bill of fare, or in the

statute book, or among the laws of the Universe. In that I suppose you

Americans all agree; that is your _American Spirit_." He uttered the

last phrase with special emphasis, and with no attempt to hide the

sneer.

I admitted that my friend's demand for the thing he wanted, regardless

of the bill of fare and in defiance of a dietary law (of which he was

not as yet conscious), was a manifestation of our individualism, a

rather wide-spread characteristic. I was fain also to admit that our

individualism is not always as harmless to others as in the case under

discussion. It is an attitude of mind which has developed into a system

to which we are committed for better or worse, and is in striking

contrast to the German ideal of submission to an accepted order.

"Yes," from the Herr Director with evident pride. "That which makes

Germany great and strong is our willing submission to authority; but

remember it must be intelligent authority, and at the same time it must

be efficient. To be sure," he acknowledged, "we are often chagrined by

the '_Streng Verboten_' to the right of us and the '_Nicht Erlaubt_' to

the left of us. We are much governed but we are well governed, and you,

too, will some day discover that the common weal has to be above the

individual's caprice. Your evident disrespect of laws and conventions

results from the lack of intelligence back of them, and you have no

respect for your lawmakers because they do not deserve it."

At this point the Nebraskan astonished us by saying that he had recently

been in Europe on business, selling grindstones, that he knew something

about Germany, and he never was gladder to get back to God's country

than when he finally set foot upon his native soil. He had many

adventures, and as an example of what he had to suffer from one of

Germany's well enforced laws, he told a story which proved his sense of

humor, though the "laugh was on him."

"When I was in Berlin I made out a small bill for some goods I had sold,

and the man told me that I must affix to it some revenue stamps. I

didn't want to bother with it, and told him so. The thing was too

trifling anyway.

"I never thought of that bill again till I was forcibly reminded of it

in Hamburg as I was about to sail for home. I was haled before the

court, and the judge fined me fifty _marks_. Of course I knew I had to

pay it, so I handed him the money and told him in good English to take

it and go to the hot place with it. I didn't dream that he understood,

but he replied in as good English as I gave him: 'Officials of my rank

travel first-class. I must therefore have fifty _marks_ more.' That

little joke cost me a lot of money. I wouldn't want to live in a

country where I couldn't tell anybody I pleased what I felt like

telling him."

The Herr Director doubted the accuracy of the story because "no German

official would show so little dignity." I, too, doubted it; but on the

ground that no German official would have so keen a sense of humor.

There followed an animated argument between the Nebraskan and the Herr

Director as to which is of more importance, the individual or the state.

The Nebraskan insisted that the state being the creation of individuals,

they are of supreme importance, while the Herr Director persisted in his

theory that the state is supreme and that it is the business of the

individual to make it dominant and powerful, to which end the state must

make him effective.

"An ineffective individual is a menace to the state, and a state which

cannot impress its will upon the individual and make him submissive and

effective will be vanquished in the great competitive struggle

constantly going on."

"I suppose you're effective enough, but you're as slow as molasses in

January."

"Oh, yes, we are slow, but we are thorough; we take our time to do a

thing well, while your hurry is as wearing as it is useless. When we

came down here this evening we were in a hurry. We were rushed to your

crowded subway to take a certain train, although the next one would have

done as well. In about three minutes we were pushed out of that train

into another, because it went faster, and we reached here breathless. We

saved time, but for what purpose? To see you eat your lobster and mince

pie?" And he looked contemptuously at the Nebraskan.

"What are we going to do now with the two or three minutes we saved?"

This was a question I could not answer, for I did not know why I had

hurried. Perhaps because of the excess of ozone in the air, or possibly

because every one else was hurrying.

"You see," he continued, "we Germans never make the mistake of

confounding hurry with efficiency. We hurry, too, when we must, or when

we have a rational purpose. We know that great things cannot be

accomplished in a hurry. We lay our foundations not only patiently, but

thoroughly and cheerfully.

"You work like slaves who are eager to finish the job, as you call it.

We cherish towards our job a sentiment of love and loyalty which we call

'_Pflichttreue_,' a word for which you have no equivalent, proving of

course that you have not the thing itself."