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 G.o.d 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.sion, 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 encompa.s.s 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 a.s.sured 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 a.s.sembly 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, pa.s.sion 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 t.i.tles 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 a.s.sault 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 a.s.sured 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.