Chapter II: Part 2

When the Frau Directorin in typical German phraseology complained about the draft: "_Um Gottes Willen ein Zug!_" I decided to save the day, and we retreated to the Pullman stateroom.

There they rested themselves back and looked tolerably happy while I, silently but fervently, prayed that this particular train would not disgrace itself by "committing" an accident.

The big, American out-of-doors, even where it is old and its waste spaces are cultivated and hedged about, has something which is characteristically American. Of course nature knows no political boundary; the grass is green everywhere, the sky is blue, cattle and sheep, like man, have a long and honorable ancestry. Yet there is a difference which may not be due to what nature is, but to man's attitude towards her and his treatment of her.

I have noticed this in passing through Europe; how unerringly one knows where Germanic boundaries end and those of the Slav begin. German fields and forests are trim and orderly; Slavic territory so ill kept and ill used that when one has a glimpse of a village even from the swift moving train, the difference is obvious.

Sometimes I am inclined to believe that this attitude of man affects his environment as much as we know the environment affects him. I wonder just how much of the American out-of-doors, with its generous but not gentle aspect, its subdued but untamed spirit, is due to those valiant men who came from across the sea, and in so doing restored a bit of their long-lost courage, and made masters of men who so long had been serfs and knaves.

I had hoped that the sudden burst of the Hudson upon my guests' vision would thrill them; but if they were thrilled, they were careful to conceal it. When I suggested the likeness of the Hudson to the Rhine, the Herr Director took it as a personal affront and said you might as well compare St. Patrick's Cathedral and that of Cologne. They are both churches and Gothic; the Hudson and the Rhine are two rivers, and both are big.

Nevertheless I insisted that there is an evident resemblance which would be complete if the Hudson had a ruined castle here and there, or a picturesquely cramped village huddling against the hillside.

"Yes, and beside castles and picturesque villages," the Herr Director replied tartly, "you need a thousand years of culture and the same traditions which make the shores of the Rhine sacred to us; you also need generations of patiently plodding peasants who have made a sacrament of their toil. One glance at your rotting boats lying along the shore, at the untilled, gaping spaces and glaring, inartistic sign-boards which disfigure it, is sufficient to distinguish the two rivers or perhaps even the two countries."

Having thus forcefully delivered himself, he scornfully pointed out the waste places and the unkempt-looking fields, asking me whether I still dared compare anything in this out-of-doors with the fine economy and splendid supervision of the natural resources of his own country.

Shamefacedly I acknowledged my country's guilt, and the guilt which was evident on the majestic shores of the Hudson. We are wasteful, extravagant and reckless--great defects in our national spirit, and most in evidence in our treatment of nature's beauty and wealth. We shall have to remedy that, in fact we are just beginning to do it; if not from any sense of guilt, from the same sheer necessity which makes the nations of the Old World careful of their national wealth.

"The Conservation of our National Resources" is a fine phrase; it represents not only an economic, but a spiritual gain--this feeling of responsibility for the next generation. It is a new and most valuable asset of our national spirit; yet I must confess that I fear the coming of a day when we, too, shall have to practice the sordid little economies of the Old World and think with anxiety about the to-morrow.

It has always seemed to me that here the miracle of the loaves and fishes might be performed indefinitely, and that there always would be left over the baskets full of fragments. Somehow, in common with the rest of mankind, I have associated generous plenty with the American spirit, and I trust we shall never have just our dole and no more.

I recall walking one evening with the Herr Director and the Frau Directorin through the well-regulated, officially trimmed and "_Streng Verboten_" forest which encircles his native city. My children were with us--young, vigorous, American savages, who have a superabundance of the American spirit although they have not a drop of American blood in their veins. We passed a small mound of freshly mown hay and they promptly jumped into it, tossing a few handfuls as an offering to their aboriginal deity, the wind. If they had dashed into the plateglass window of a jeweler's shop or had desecrated the most holy shrine, they could not have caused greater consternation.

"_Um Gottes Himmels Willen die Polizei!_" cried the Herr Director and the Frau Directorin echoed: "_Die Polizei!_"

Although this happened about ten years ago, my children have not forgotten their fright.

I suppose we still lack this virtue of economy, and yet I hope we may not lose that certain largeness of nature and that generosity of spirit which have characterized us.

I love the generous spaces, the unfenced lawns, which make of the whole village one common park; the grass and clover free to the touch of our children's feet, the fragrant flowers wasting their bloom, and berries and cherries enough for the wild things of the woods. May the future not bring more high walls and narrow lanes, big game preserves for the rich, and scant patches of soil for the poor; castles for capital and tenements for labor. And may we never see written over every blade of grass: "_Streng Verboten_."

I realized that the Herr Director spoke truly when he said that what we lack over here is a healthy class spirit, which the German farmer has. A sort of pride in his calling which makes him care for the soil and nourish it with a lover's passion. To him robbing the soil is as great a crime as it would be to rob his children. It is not only the Emperor who regards himself as a partner with God, and sometimes the senior partner; the commonest, poorest peasant is apt to say as he drenches his field with the accumulated compost: "_Ich und Gott_."

Speaking of the farmer, the Herr Director admitted that in Germany as elsewhere there is a trend to the city; but the tide is held back by the pride of the German farmer, who glories in having his traditions, his folksongs, and, above all, this sense of partnership with God.

We scarcely have such a thing as a farmer class; we have merely merchandizers in dirt who sell not only the products of the soil, but unhesitatingly the soil itself.

The land which we see from the car window, which the pioneers won from this boundless space, these houses and sheltering groves, the homesteads in which a great race was cradled, are all for sale, now that the soil is robbed of its fertility and the robbers have moved on to repeat the process elsewhere. We are doing something, he admitted, to stem the tide to the cities; we are introducing agricultural training into our public schools and are making the raising of corn and wheat a science, but not as yet a sacrament.

We stayed over night in one of the half-asleep towns on the shores of the river, a town whose history is written upon the headstones in the cemetery, in the center of which the stately meeting-house stands. We met the descendants of those who sleep there, whose pride lies in the fact that their forefathers were the pioneers who fought the Indians, the fevers and each other. Their houses are full of old furniture shipped from England and Holland, and we ate their food and drank their tea from costly silver and exquisite china which they have inherited.

We looked upon the portraits of their ancestors and were told of their virtues and their fame; we saw fine memorials to the past in churches and town halls and rode in their automobiles, to see the farms bequeathed to them. One thing, alas! they have not and never will have--descendants.

On one of the farms we saw a swarthy Italian with a bright red rose behind his ear. His wife and children were working with him in the field, and they were doing this strange thing as they pulled weeds from the onion beds--they were singing. The Herr Director said significantly, "These are the heirs to all this," and I think he was a true prophet.

It is a wonderful thing to invent agricultural machinery and to discover new methods by which two blades of grass can be made to grow where but one grew; yet if only some one could tune our dull American ears, so that our farmers might catch the melody of the singing land and sing with it; if our boys and girls would love wild roses well enough to wear them--if, and that is a very big if--some one could teach us Americans to be proud of having descendants, we might add a new note to the great American out-of-doors, and keep it American.

That night we sat upon a wide verandah, overlooking a valley through which the Hudson rolled majestically; we saw populous cities, picturesque villages and bounteous farms; we looked into the heart of the out-of-doors and I was proud of it and of its free people, who ought to be a grateful people. There was deep silence everywhere; no sound except that of the birds, and they did not sing jubilantly as birds ought to sing in so blessed a place and on so glorious an evening. No one sang except the same Italian who was coming home with his wife and numerous progeny. He still wore the rose behind his ear, although it had faded. Those who sat with us had every luxury and more money than they knew how to spend; but they could not sing, for they were old, children there were none, and if there had been, they would not have been singing--they would have had a victrola.

After the Italian had eaten his frugal but pungent fare he came to the big verandah to get his orders for the next day, and the Herr Director spoke Italian to him and he replied in that language which in itself is almost a song. His mistress asked him to bring his wife and children to sing for us. His wife did not come but the children came. They would not sing an Italian song, it is true--that was just for themselves, in the fields where only God heard. They sang some sentimental thing they had heard in the "movies"--chewing gum the while. I asked them to sing something their teacher taught them but they knew nothing except "My Country 'tis of Thee" and the "Star Spangled Banner," both of which they sang joylessly and not understandingly. How and why should they understand when the Americans did not?

It was a day full of dismal failure in my attempt to impress upon my guests the American spirit, and the failure of it was "rubbed" in by the Herr Director, who, as he bade me good-night, quoted as a parting shot this bit of German verse:

"Und wo Man singt
Da las dich froelich nieder,
Denn boese Menchen haben keine Lieder."

The rub was in his inference that we have no song because we have no noble spirit.

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."

I translated the word as loyalty to duty.

"Yes, that may be correct, but it does not ring true. _Pflichttreue_ has an ethical significance which your translation does not convey.

"I have noticed that your conductors shed their uniforms the instant they leave their trains, as if they were ashamed of their job. With us, any uniform, whether a railroad conductor's or a general's, is gloried in, and honored because of the work it represents."

The Nebraskan thought us too democratic for uniforms, which is the reason we do not value them more than we do.

"It is not the uniform, it is our work in which we glory. A shoemaker with us is as proud of his job as the Emperor is of his. He is Emperor by the grace of God, because he believes it is a God-given task to which he must be faithful, and we once had a shoemaker who called himself with equal pride, 'Shoemaker by the grace of God.'

"This pride spiritualizes the simplest and commonest work by making every man a conscious part of the state, and he works for its glory and power. It is a glory shared by his wife and family," and the Herr Director pulled from his pocket a German newspaper. "Look at this funeral notice. The widow signs herself not only as the widow of a particular man, but as the widow of a man who did something of which she is still proud. While she remains a widow she will sign herself _Amalia Henrietta Schmidt Koenigliche Hof Opern Obo Spieler's Wittwe_."

"How can we be proud of our jobs," queried the Nebraskan, after his hearty laugh at _Amalia Henrietta Schmidt_, "when we never have a job which we expect to hold permanently? I started out with school teaching, then I got hold of a good thing in the way of Carborundum and made grindstones. That's what took me to Europe. When that business went bad, I bought out the livery stable in my town, and now I am in the moving picture business. If I could sell out at a good price I'd do it and take up any old thing as long as there is money in it."

He was right. Our work is not sacred to us, for too often it is only the means to an end, and frequently a very selfish end. Because Germany has had centuries of carpenters and tinkers and shoemakers who planed boards and mended pots and shoes "by the grace of God," and swung the hammer as if it were a sword, they are now wielding the sword as if it were a hammer.

In some way we must get this spiritual appeal of the job, which means not only that we shall have to dedicate ourselves to our task in a manner worthy of its significance, but that the state must have this spiritual attitude towards the worker, and treat him as though worthy of his place in the economy of the nation. It is this wise provision for the workers' efficient education, the state's recognition that the well-being of the individual is its concern, which has given to Germany the unfailing devotion of all her people.

I was roused from these meditations by hearing the Nebraskan's voice.

"You see I never had a chance to learn just one thing. I can do many things tolerably well, for I had to do them. I can splice a rope, repair a machine, shingle a house and if necessary build a barn. I can play ragtime on the piano, throw a steer or ride a bucking broncho. I can even make soda biscuits. I am the child of the pioneers, and in order to survive, they had to be jacks of all trades.

"I bought a tool in a department store the other day," and he drew it from his pocket. "It can do sixteen things tolerably well, but it isn't worth shucks for any one job, if you want to do it right. That's me."

The Herr Director wanted to know what "shucks" meant, and after I laboriously explained it to him and he had handled the patent tool he said:

"Your travelling men have come over to Germany and tried to sell us this kind of thing, but they found no market. When we want a gimlet, or a saw, or a coat-hanger we want that one thing and want it as good as it can be made. We marvel at your adaptability, but we are too thorough to be adaptable, and we do not need to be. You Americans will never be able to compete with us until you learn to specialize and do one thing well."

We sat long into the night comparing the German and the American Spirit, but there was one phase of the former which the Herr Director clearly demonstrated. There was a religious fervor in his patriotism which the average American lacks. To him his country was not only above himself but beyond everything else on Earth or in Heaven. There often seems something sordid about our patriotism, something connected solely with the individual's well-being. I glory in our sense of liberty, in the opportunity to live unmolested, and in every man's chance to be himself; but I fear we have as yet not learned to value our duty to this country as much as we do our privilege.

I am sure there will be no lack of fighters if the country is in danger; but shall we be able to fight the long, exhausting battle which presupposes discipline and subordination?

The United States gives much to the individual, more, I think, than any other country; but she has not given intelligently, she has nearly pauperized us all by her beneficence, and has demanded nothing in return, nor even taught us common gratitude.

Our children are told that they must love their country, but what that means beyond fighting when it is in danger they know not. That it means to do their work thoroughly, that they must learn to do things well, and exalt the nation by becoming efficient workmen that they may help win their country's battles in the factory, or behind the counter, they do not yet know; and what we have not learned, we cannot teach.

This questioning mood of mine is never gendered as I contemplate the mob, the many who are driven to revolt either by their unbridled passions or by the unbearable conditions under which they have to labor; my fear is strongest when I look into the schools and when I face our youth which comes out of them, inefficient, but above all, undisciplined. They do not lack physical courage, nor yet devotion to the country, in a sort of abstract way; they do lack the submission to intelligent authority.

In this latter-day test of different ideals of the state, through the cruel, undecisive test of war, we may learn from Germany to instill this "_Pflichttreue_," this loyalty to the job. We may also learn the more difficult lesson for us individualists--submission to authority which we must make intelligent, as well as conscientious.

Necessity will soon teach us to be thorough, and thoroughness presupposes patience. Add these qualities and this discipline to the enterprise, the love of fair play, the courage, the faith in God and man, which we possess, and we too may ultimately develop a patriotism which will stand the test of adversity, and emerge from it purified and strengthened.

When we stepped out of the restaurant and its German atmosphere into the unmistakably American Broadway, my German guests felt that my rampant Americanism had been thoroughly subdued. However they had literally "reckoned without their host." My protracted silence had misled them, but I could contain myself no longer.

"We are now walking in the streets of the second largest city in the world, its population thrown together and blown together from every quarter of the globe, and the most of these people, if not the worst of them, have come here in the last thirty-five years. They brought neither love of their new country nor knowledge of its language and institutions; they all came to make money, and to-morrow morning four millions of people will begin again the competitive battle from which they are resting to-night.

"The laws which govern them are illy made, but they have made them, or at least had a chance to select those who did make them. They have not always chosen well; the officers who govern them are often not good men; frequently they are only the most cunning politicians and one has but scant respect for them. Yet in spite of it all, this is a fairly well governed city and it is quite remarkable that these four million people live together in comparative peace and order. Neither is there any ill from which this great city or any group of its individuals suffers for which there is not some help or healing or some attempt to heal.

"If I were an absolute stranger without money, knowing neither the language of the people nor their ways, I would rather be on the streets of the city of New York than anywhere else."

"How do you account for it?" the Frau Directorin ventured to ask, although the Herr Director had been violently expressing his dissent.

"We have several things to count on here, even when conditions seem intolerable. Let me name them.

"We are all human beings; some of us have inherited the Old Testament righteousness and the passion for justice, and many of us have the New Testament desire for service. These together make a very effective combination, and go a great way towards the glorious results we shall ultimately achieve."

For once the Herr Director was silent, and as we had reached our hotel, I think I might have slept peacefully that night had not the Nebraskan triumphantly remarked as we were being shot up to the topmost floor: "Say, I did get that lobster à la Milkburgh with pickles and mince pie, didn't I? I always get what I want when I want it."

VI

_The Herr Director and the "Missoury" Spirit_

The anteroom of the editor's office was crowded when the Herr Director and I arrived to meet the men of the staff at luncheon.

The Herr Director is a publicist himself, and has edited one of the best known German newspapers. Having called on him when he was trying to mould an already moulded public opinion I made some interesting comparisons which he did not approve. I could not forbear reminding him how, when I once called on him in his office, I had to wait in a similar anteroom over an hour, that I had to pass through a number of other rooms with a longer or shorter period of waiting in each, and was finally admitted to his august presence as if he were a king on his throne.

As editor in chief, he was a more or less cloistered mystery, and not the man of affairs one is likely to be over here. Whatever comparisons I made in spite of the Herr Director's protest, were not entirely fair; for editors are scarcely a species anywhere, and the particular one upon whom we were calling was an uncommon editor of an uncommon journal. Neither he nor it has a counterpart in Germany if anywhere in the world; they are both products of our Spirit and have had no small share in shaping it and giving it expression.

While I was explaining to the Herr Director the functions of this journal and how intelligently it interprets current events, and was extolling the virtues of its editors who, in spite of being persons of national reputation and great importance, have retained their simple, democratic ways, they emerged from the inner sanctum.

After a vigorous hand-shake all around to which the Herr Director visibly braced himself, the first contact was made, and we were taken to a handsomely appointed dining-room in the same building, where luncheon was served.