Under
Four Administrations

FROM CLEVELAND TO TAFT

RECOLLECTIONS OF

OSCAR S. STRAUS, Litt.D., LL.D.

Member of the Permanent Court of Arbitration at The Hague
Three Times Minister and Ambassador to Turkey
Former Secretary of Commerce and Labor
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

Boston and New York
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY OSCAR S. STRAUS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
SECOND IMPRESSION
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE·MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U·S·A

DEDICATED TO
MY GRANDCHILDREN
AND THEIR CONTEMPORARIES
OF EVERY RACE AND CREED

PREFACE

I am drawing these memories to a close in my log cabin in the primitive Maine woods, where my wife and I have been coming for rest and for fishing for the past twenty years. Here we renew our youth, and far from tumult and crowds, near to nature, we realize anew how little is required in order to be contented and happy. Here I am taken back to the memories of my childhood in the little town in Georgia where too our home was a log house, but for appearances had the luxurious outer and inner dressing of clap-boarding painted white. The logs of the upper story where we children played and slept had no covering, which pleased us all the more.

In a highly organized society, we are often attracted by pomp and circumstance, rather than by qualities of heart and mind, which after all are the true measure of enlightenment. Here in these woods, fair dealings and human relations are not regulated by statutes, but by the golden rule of conduct. We need not hide our possessions behind locked doors, honesty is the accepted rule of life; there are no treasures to hide and no bars to break.

It has been permitted me to do useful work and to have interesting experiences. Privileged opportunities have been afforded me for public service. Of these I write.

Perhaps in chronicling the experiences of a life which at many points touched vital affairs and the most interesting personalities, I may be able to add something to the record of men, movements, and events during those decades still absorbing to us because they are so near.

The story is one of service at home and abroad, of personal relations with six of our Presidents, with diplomats, labor leaders, foreign rulers, leaders of industry, and some plain unticketed citizens who were the salt of the earth and certainly not the least of those whom it was a pleasure to know.

To write of one's self requires a certain amount of egotism. The autobiographer usually tries to justify this vanity by explaining it as a desire to gratify his children and kinsmen, or as a yielding to the urgent request of his friends. Benjamin Franklin, whose autobiography, incomplete though it be, is one of the most human in our language, frankly conceded that he was prompted by the weakness of praise. He says: "I may as well confess it, since my denial of it will be believed by nobody, perhaps I shall a good deal gratify my own vanity."

I do not wish to conceal from those who may from interest or curiosity read what I write, that I am not entirely free from that vanity, even though it be my chief aim and purpose to cast some additional light upon our country's development and upon events in which, in public and private life, I have been permitted to take part. Having held official positions at home and abroad under four administrations, and having come in close relationship with many of the statesmen and others of distinction in this and foreign countries, perhaps my narrative will serve to give more intimate knowledge and truer appreciation of their personal traits and their exceptional qualities.

I have also been influenced by a desire to bring a message of encouragement to the youth of our country, especially to those who may be conscious of handicaps in the race, not to lose heart, but to be patient, considerate, and tactful, and not to withhold the saving extra ounce of effort which often spells the difference between failure and success.

So long as our democracy remains true to its basic principles and jealously guards the highways of opportunity, the golden age will not be in the past, but ever in the future. In externals the age in which we live has changed, but the qualities of effort, of industry, and the will to succeed which were required when I was a boy, have not changed; they lead to the same goals now as then, with this difference: that the boy of to-day has greater advantages, better educational facilities, and more avenues of advancement than the boy of two generations ago. There never was a time in our history when more men of humble origin have attained commanding positions in industry, in commerce, and in public affairs than now. While our American system is not without fault, the fact that an enlightened public is ever watchful to maintain our democratic principles and to correct abuses is convincing proof of our country's wholesome development in conformity with the changing conditions of modern life.

I desire to make acknowledgment to my long-time and esteemed friend, Mr. Lawrence Abbott, the President of "The Outlook," who encouraged and advised me to write these memoirs and even outlined the chapter plan which I have largely followed.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

Under Four Administrations

CHAPTER I

ANCESTRY AND EARLY YEARS

Napoleonic Era: the Sanhedrin—A forefather in Napoleon's councils—My father and the German Revolution of 1848—My father emigrates to America —My father starts business in Talbotton, Georgia—My mother and her children arrive, 1854—We attend the Baptist Church—My early schooling —Deacons duel with knives—Household slaves—Life in a small Southern town—Frugal and ingenious housekeeping—Outbreak of the Civil War—Our family moves to Columbus, Georgia—First lessons in oratory—General Wilson's capture of the city—The town is looted—Our family moves North —My father surprises Northern creditor by insisting upon paying his debts in full—I attend Columbia Grammar School in New York City—My accidental schoolroom glory before Morse, the inventor—I enter Columbia College in 1867 with Brander Matthews, Stuyvesant Fish, and other distinguished classmates —My classroom début in diplomacy—Poetic ambitions—Military aspirations and an interview with President Grant—Choosing law as a career.

My ancestors, on both my father's and my mother's side, were natives of the Palatinate of Bavaria, of the town of Otterberg and immediate vicinity. Up to the time of Napoleon's taking possession of that part of the country the Jews of the Palatinate had not adopted family names. This they did later, beginning in 1808, when, under Napoleon, the Palatinate became the Department of Mont Tennérre and part of France. My great-grandfather, for instance, before adopting the family name of Straus, was known as Jacob Lazar, from Jacob ben Lazarus, or Jacob son of Lazarus, as in biblical times.

Jacob Lazar, afterwards Jacob Straus, had three sons: Jacob, Lazarus, and Salomon. My father, Lazarus Straus, born April 25, 1809, was the son of the eldest, Jacob; and my mother, Sara Straus, born January 14, 1823, was the daughter of the youngest, Salomon. My paternal grandfather died when my father was a young man, but my grandfather Salomon Straus and his brother Lazarus were known to us as children, particularly to my eldest brother, Isidor, who knew them quite well. They were men of culture and education, landowners who sent their crops—mainly wheat, oats, clover and clover seed—and those of their neighbors to the markets of Kaiserslautern and Mannheim, the chief commercial towns of the section. They spoke German and French fluently, and had also, of course, been thoroughly educated in the Hebrew language and literature.

The name of Straus was well known among the Jews of Bavaria, and both my great-grandfather and my father contributed to its prominence. During 1806 a spirit of reaction, political and religious, swept over France, making itself especially troublesome in Alsace and in the German departments of the upper and lower Rhine. Exceptionable and restrictive laws were advocated to deprive the Jews there of rights they were enjoying throughout France. As had happened often before, and not unknown since, the reactionaries fanned the hatred against Jews, making them the scapegoats in their campaign against the advancing spirit of liberalism. Thus the cause of the Jews was linked with the cause of liberty itself.

MOTHER AND FATHER OF OSCAR S. STRAUS

Napoleon himself was at first prejudiced against the Jews, regarding them as usurers and extortioners. He soon realized, however, that the characteristics which confronted him could not be imputed to Judaism, but were due rather to the restricted civil and industrial rights of the Jews and to their general unhappy condition. It was made manifest to him that in Bordeaux, Marseilles, and the Italian cities of France, as well as in Holland, some of the most useful and patriotic citizens were Jews. Napoleon always had an eye on his historical reputation, and desiring to do nothing that would obscure his fame, he decided to convene a council of representative Jews from the various provinces. Accordingly, on May 30, 1806, he issued his decree, famous in the annals of the Jews in modern times, summoning the Assembly of Notables of the Jewish nation to meet in Paris the following July. The prefects in the various provinces were required to aid in the selection of the most distinguished men from among the rabbis and the laity.

The deputies came to Paris from all parts of the French Empire. They numbered one hundred and eleven in all, and spoke French, German, and Italian. Many of them were themselves well known, others achieved a posthumous glamour in the deeds of descendants who have since won distinction in European history and in the annals of Jewry. There were Joseph Sinzheim, first rabbi of Strasbourg, foremost Talmudist and considered the most scholarly member of the Assembly, who was made president of the Assembly and later chairman of the Great Sanhedrin; Michel Berr, afterwards the first French Jew to practice at the bar; Abraham Furtado, son of a marano or crypto-Jewish Portuguese family from which was also descended the wife of the first Benjamin D'Israeli and Sir John Simon; Isaac Samuel d'Avigdor of Nice, grandfather of Jules d'Avigdor who was a member of the Piedmont Parliament; Israel Ottolenghi, an ancestor of Italy's late Minister of War; Abraham de Cologna, rabbi of Mantua, a great political leader and reformer; and many others of equal rank and caliber. Their task was a monumental one, for it was nothing less than to justify Judaism and Jewry to the world; and they assembled with a full consciousness of their responsibility.

At this Assembly my great-grandfather represented the Department of Mont Tennérre. He evidently played an important part in the diplomacy which this unprecedented council involved, for he was a member of the sub-committee of fifteen delegated to meet the commissioners appointed by Napoleon, also a member of the committee to which the Assembly gave the delicate work of preparing the groundwork for discussion with the commissioners. Subsequently he was appointed to the committee of nine of the Great Sanhedrin which the following year presented to Napoleon's committee the conclusions formulated and agreed upon by the Assembly, and which helped to bring about their adoption.

My father, in turn, was active in the revolutionary movement in 1848. This was an heroic effort on the part of the liberal forces of Europe to achieve constitutional government, and when it failed many of those who had borne a conspicuous part fled to other countries. Thus it was that Generals Sigel, Schurz, Stahl, and others, who later were prominent in our Civil War, came to America. These men and their immediate followers constitute one of the most valuable groups of immigrants that have come to these shores since our government was organized. In the land of their birth they had already made sacrifices for constitutionalism and democracy, and basically they had made them for American principles. They were Americans in spirit, therefore, even before they arrived.

Having been active only locally in the revolutionary movement, my father was not prosecuted. He was made aware, however, of the suspicions of the authorities and was subjected to all those petty annoyances and discriminations which a reactionary government never fails to lay upon people who have revolted, and revolted in vain. My father decided, in consequence, to emigrate. This purpose he did not carry into effect until the spring of 1852. He had many ties, which it was difficult to break at once. He had been in comfortable circumstances, like his father and grandfather a landowner and dealer on a large scale in farm products, principally grains. The revolution left him reduced in circumstances and even to some extent in debt. He had four children, of whom I was the youngest, being then less than a year and a half old. Therefore, like the prudent man he was, he waited, and then came to America alone with the purpose of establishing himself in some small way before allowing his family to exchange the comparative security of their familiar surroundings for the insecurity of an unknown land.

He landed at Philadelphia, where he met a number of former acquaintances who had preceded him to America, some of whom were already established in business. They advised him to go South. Acting on this suggestion he went on to Oglethorpe, Georgia, where he met some more acquaintances from the old country. Through them he made a connection with two brothers Kaufman, who plied the peddler's trade. They owned a peddler's wagon with which they dispensed through the several counties of the State an assortment of dry goods and what was known as "Yankee notions."

For my father this was indeed a pioneer business in a pioneer country, yet it was not like the peddling of to-day. In the fifties the population of the whole State of Georgia was only about nine hundred thousand. Because of the existence of slavery there were on the large plantations often more colored people than there were whites living in the near-by villages. The itinerant merchant, therefore, filled a real want, and his vocation was looked upon as quite dignified. Indeed, he was treated by the owners of the plantations with a spirit of equality that it is hard to appreciate to-day. Then, too, the existence of slavery drew a distinct line of demarcation between the white and black races. This gave to the white visitor a status of equality that probably otherwise he would not have enjoyed to such a degree.

Provided only, therefore, that the peddler proved himself an honorable, upright man, who conscientiously treated his customers with fairness and made no misrepresentations regarding his wares, he was treated as an honored guest by the plantation owners—certainly a spirit of true democracy. The visits were made periodically and were quite looked forward to by the plantation owners. The peddler usually stayed one night at the house of his customer and took his meals with the family. Another ideally democratic feature about these sojourns was that spirit of Southern hospitality which, even in the relationship between the wealthiest, most aristocratic family and the humble peddler, permitted no pay for board and lodging, and only a small charge for feed for the horses. The peddler in turn usually made a gift to either the lady or her daughter. Often he provided himself with articles for this purpose, but usually on one visit he would find out what might be welcome and on the next visit bring it. The bonds of friendship thus made are, I venture to say, hardly understandable in our day.

In the course of these wanderings my father came to Talbotton, a town of some eight or nine hundred inhabitants, the county seat of Talbot County, and about forty miles east of the Alabama boundary. Talbotton immediately impressed him so favorably that he selected it as the next home for his family. It had an air of refinement that pleased him; there were gardens with nicely cultivated flowers and shrubbery, and houses that were neat, well kept, and properly painted. Upon inquiry he found further that there were splendid schools for both boys and girls.

There was another factor which doubtless caused father to be favorably impressed with Talbotton; it was court week when he arrived, at which time a town has a more or less festive appearance and is at its best so far as activity is concerned. Then there was a third factor that influenced him to settle there. Before doing business in any county, peddlers were required to go to the county seat to buy a license. At Talbotton this license was very high, and my father doubted that his business in Talbot County would warrant the expense. The idea occurred to him to utilize the presence of the many strangers in town to test the possibilities of the place by unpacking and displaying his goods in a store. An interview with Captain Curley, the only tailor in the town, developed the fact that the store he occupied was too large for his needs and he would be willing to share it with my father. So this arrangement was promptly made, and at a cost less than the expense of the county license for itinerant merchandising.

The experiment proved most satisfactory. In a few weeks the stock was so depleted that my father proposed to his partner that they rent a store and settle in Talbotton. This they did. My father then prepared to go to Philadelphia to get a stock of goods. His partner counseled against this. There was a merchant in Oglethorpe who, up to this point, had supplied them with all their merchandise; they would need to refer to him for credit, and they were still indebted to him for the stock in hand; also, he would probably not approve of their settling down in a store instead of peddling. The new store offered large display space in comparison with the wagon, and the partner doubted my father's ability to get enough credit in Philadelphia to make a proper display. Still another obstacle. The line of merchandise that was to constitute most of their stock was what was then known as dry goods and domestics. This business was entirely in the hands of the Yankees and the most difficult one in which to gain a foothold, especially for a German immigrant without capital.

However, in the end my father did go to Philadelphia. He had found several acquaintances in that city, as I have already said, who had been resident in his neighborhood in the old country. These people were established in several of the wholesale houses in the different lines of merchandise he required, except the dry goods. And solely on the strength of his character and the reputation he had had in Europe he was able to establish with them the necessary credit, which neither his capital nor his business experience in a new field and a strange country warranted. In fact, their faith in him was so strong that one of them gladly introduced him to the wholesale dry goods merchants, and he was able to accomplish the full purpose of his mission, to the great amazement of his partner.

BIRTHPLACE OF OSCAR S. STRAUS OTTERBERG, RHENISH BAVARIA

CHAPEL AND SCHOOLHOUSE COLLINSWORTH INST

That was in 1853, and marked the beginning of my family's history in this country. This bit of success encouraged my father to write home that he might be able to have us join him the following year. Accordingly, on August 24, 1854, our little party left Otterberg. It was a journey that required no little courage and resourcefulness. My mother had three years before suffered a paralytic stroke, and of her four children the eldest, my brother Isidor, was only nine years old. My sister Hermina was a year and a half younger, Nathan was six, and I was only three and a half. My mother's father accompanied us from Otterberg to Kaiserslautern, he on horseback and the rest of us with our nursemaid in a carriage; we then took the train to Forbach, a French frontier town, where we remained overnight. The next morning we left for Paris. There we stayed until August 29th, when we started for Havre to board the steamer St. Louis on her maiden voyage. As our boat was being docked in New York on September 12th, my mother recognized my father energetically pacing the wharf. Minutes seemed like hours.

We did not go directly to Talbotton. Yellow fever was raging in Savannah, and as we had to go through that port en route to Talbotton, we waited in Philadelphia for a few weeks, until the danger was considered over. Even then we avoided entering the city until it was time to board the train for Geneva, where we were to take the stage-coach for the remaining seven miles to Talbotton. The boat docked at Savannah in the morning, and we spent the day until evening in the small shanty that was called the station. When finally we reached Talbotton we found a very comfortable home ready for us. My precocious brother Isidor immediately inspected the whole and thought it odd to be in a house built on stilts, as he called it. The house, typical of that locality, had no cellar, but was supported by an open foundation of wooden pillars about twenty-five feet apart.

Our family was received with kindness and hospitality, so that in a very few years our parents were made to feel much at home. My mother, who had considerable experience in the cultivation of flowers and vegetables, soon had a garden which was very helpful and instructive to her circle of neighbors and friends. My father, always a student and well versed in biblical literature and the Bible, which he read in the original, was much sought by the ministers of the various denominations, several of whom habitually dined at our house when in Talbotton on their circuit. At such times the discussion usually ran along theological lines. One of my earliest recollections is hearing my father take passages from the Old Testament and translate them literally for the information of these ministers.

We were the only Jewish family in the town. This at first aroused some curiosity among those who had never met persons of our race or religion before. I remember hearing some one doubt that we were Jews and remarking to my father, who had very blond hair and blue eyes, that he thought all Jews had black hair and dark complexion.

My brother Isidor and my sister were immediately sent to school, and my second brother and I were sent as soon as we arrived at school age. I was seven years old when I began learning my letters.

My main religious instruction came from conversations with my father and from the discussions the ministers of various denominations had with him, which I always followed with great interest. When my brother Nathan and I were respectively about eleven and eight and a half years old, we were sent to the Baptist Sunday school upon the persuasion of the Baptist minister, who had become an intimate friend of my father's. There we heard the Bible read and were taught principally from the Old Testament. Our teacher was a gunsmith who had more piety than knowledge, and what he lacked in erudition he made up by good intentions which, after all, had a cultural value. We continued our attendance some two years.

At eleven I entered Collinsworth Institute, a higher school for boys, about a mile outside of Talbotton. Isidor had been there, and Nathan was there then. It was not a large school, though it was the best of its kind in our vicinity. The recitation hall or chapel was a little frame building standing in a square, and around that were eight or ten one-story frame houses where boys coming from a distance lived. The pupils ranged in age from about ten to eighteen, and there were three teachers. We were taught the three R's, and the advanced pupils studied the classics.

In our small town, being the county seat, we had gala days each month when the court convened and people came from the surrounding districts as for a holiday. There was much drinking of gin and whiskey by the young country squires, which frequently ended up in some fighting where pistols and knives were freely used. This all left a deep impression on my young mind and made me a prohibitionist long before I knew the meaning of the word. In the North when boys got to fighting they used their fists; in the South they used, besides their fists, sticks and stones, and consequently it was a more serious and dangerous affair. If in the North one boy cursed another or called him a liar, it would not necessarily lead to a fist fight; in fact, it usually stopped at recrimination. In the South that kind of quarreling meant a serious fight. I think because of these facts the Southern boys were much more guarded and polite to each other in speech than was customary among Northern boys. Perhaps much of the so-called Southern politeness had its roots in the use, in boyhood, of milder terms in case of disagreement. I recall one fight between two of the leading men of Talbotton, both deacons in the same church. One took out his pocket knife and cut the other's throat, and he died. After considerable delay the murderer was tried, but because of his high standing in the community he was acquitted, doubtless on the plea of self-defense, and he got off scot-free.

As a boy brought up in the South I never questioned the rights or wrongs of slavery. Its existence I regarded as matter of course, as most other customs or institutions. The grown people of the South, whatever they thought about it, would not, except in rare instances, speak against it; and even then in the most private and guarded manner. To do otherwise would subject one to social ostracism. We heard it defended in the pulpit and justified on biblical grounds by leading ministers. With my father it was different. I frequently heard him discuss the subject with the ministers who came to our house, and he would point out to them that the Bible must be read with discrimination and in relation to the period to which the chapters refer; and it must not be forgotten that it is the history of a people covering more than a thousand years; and that even then there had been no such thing as perpetual bondage, as all slaves were declared free in the year of jubilee.

OSCAR S. STRAUS AT SIX

Looking backward and making comparisons between my observations as a boy in the South and later in the North, I find there was much more freedom of expression in the North than in the South. Few people in the South would venture to express themselves against the current of dominant opinion upon matters of sectional importance. The institution of slavery with all that it implied seemed to have had the effect of enslaving, or, to use a milder term, checking, freedom of expression on the part of the master class only in lesser degree than among the slaves themselves.

In our town, as in all Southern communities, the better families were kind, especially to their household slaves, whom they regarded as members of the family requiring guardianship and protection, in a degree as if they were children. And the slaves addressed their masters by their first names and their mistresses as "miss." My mother, for instance, was "Miss Sara." I recall one of our servants pleading with my mother: "Miss Sara, won't you buy me, I want to stay here. I love you and the white folks here, and I am afraid my master will hire me out or sell me to some one else." At that time we hired our servants from their masters, whom we paid an agreed price. But as the result of such constant pleadings my father purchased household slaves one by one from their masters, although neither he nor my mother believed in slavery. If we children spoke to the slaves harshly or disregarded their feelings, we were promptly checked and reprimanded by our parents. My father also saw to it that our two men servants learned a trade; the one learned tailoring and the other how to make shoes, though it was regarded disloyal, at any rate looked upon with suspicion, if a master permitted a slave boy or girl to be taught even reading and writing. When later we came North we took with us the two youngest servants, one a boy about my age, and the other a girl a little older. They were too young to look out for themselves, and so far as they knew they had no relatives. We kept them with us until they grew up and could look out for themselves.

The people throughout the South, with the exception of the richer plantation owners, lived simply. In our household, for instance, we always lived well, but economically. My mother was very systematic and frugal. She had an allowance of twenty dollars a month, and my brother Isidor has well said that she would have managed to save something even if it had been smaller. It was her pleasure to be her own financier, and small as her allowance sounds now, she was able in the course of two or three years to save enough to buy a piano for my sister. This she felt to be an expense with which my father's exchequer should not be taxed.

We raised our own vegetables and chickens. Fresh meat, except pork, might have been termed a luxury. Many of the families had their own smokehouses, as we did, which were filled once a year, at the hog-killing season. There was no such thing as a butcher in our little town. When a farmer in the country round wanted to slaughter an ox or a sheep, he would do so and bring it to town, exhibit it in the public square in a shanty called the market (used for that particular occasion and at other times empty), toll the bell that was there, and in that way announce that some fresh meat was on sale. This procedure never occurred oftener than once in two or three weeks during the cold weather.

Ice was another luxury in that community. It had to be shipped many miles and was therefore brought in only occasionally, mainly for a confectioner who at times offered ice cream to the people.

There was no gas lighting. Oil lamps were used, but to a larger extent candles, which were manufactured in each household, of fat and bees' wax. In that process we children all helped.

Indeed, with a small business in a small town in those days it was possible for a man to accumulate a surplus only through the practice of the strictest economy by his family as well as by himself, an economy almost bordering parsimony. There were no public or free schools in that part of the South; every textbook had to be bought and tuition paid for; and there were four of us.

When the war broke out new economies were called for. A simple life has its advantages; it is conducive to self-help, also to the ability to do without things and meet emergencies without unhappiness. My father's partner joined the Fourth Georgia Regiment, and my brother Isidor, then sixteen, was withdrawn from Collinsworth Institute to take up work with my father. He had gained some experience in carrying on the business by helping father evenings, for our store was open until nine-thirty. It was closed during the supper hour, but reopened thereafter.

In that part of the country coffee became unobtainable except when now and then a few bags arrived on a ship that had run the blockade. Our mothers learned to give us an acceptable substitute by cutting sweet potatoes into little cubes, drying them in the sun, then roasting and grinding them, together with grains of wheat, like the ordinary bean. This made a hot and palatable drink having the color of coffee without the harmful stimulus of its caffeine.

Salt also became scarce. It was difficult and at times impossible to obtain enough to cure our pork. Some one discovered that the earthen floors of the smokehouses were impregnated with considerable salt from previous curings, so a method was invented for recovering it from that source.

In the later years of the war, when railway transportation was very poor and in many localities interrupted, we did not suffer for food, because, as I have said, most households in the small towns and in the country raised the major part of their food supplies; they had their own chickens, eggs, milk, butter, garden provisions. Children of my age lived largely on corn bread and molasses, of which there was an ever-plentiful amount.

During the second year of the war my father's partner was discharged from his regiment for physical disability. My father, always insistent upon the best possible education for us all, therefore urged my brother Isidor to continue his studies. Most of the high schools and colleges, however, had been suspended because the teachers, as well as many of the senior scholars, had joined the army. On the other hand, the war had fired the whole South with the military spirit, and as was natural for a young man barely seventeen, my brother chose to attend the Georgia Military Academy at Marietta, which was running full blast. Earlier in the war, when the Fourth Georgia Regiment, taking practically all the able-bodied men of the town, had left for the front, the boys of Talbotton organized a company of which Isidor was elected first lieutenant. They had offered their services to the governor of the State, but he replied that there were not enough arms to equip all the men, so that equipping boys was out of the question. All these incidents had influenced my brother in his choice, and he left quite enthusiastically for the Georgia Military Academy to take his entrance examinations. When he returned, however, his mood was much different. Upon his arrival at Marietta he had about an hour's waiting before he could see the proper person. Some acquaintances whom he met on the campus invited him to visit their living quarters meanwhile. As he entered one of the rooms the door stood ajar. Without noticing this he gave the door a push, resulting in his being drenched to the skin by a bucket of water that had been balanced over the door and held there by the position of the door when ajar. He had to return to the hotel to change his entire apparel. He had not heard of hazing before, and the incident disgusted him so that he never returned to the academy. He embarked upon his career as a merchant the very next morning.

In 1863 our family moved to Columbus, Georgia. It was a much larger place than Talbotton, having a population of about twelve thousand, offered more opportunities, and, too, my brother Isidor had already found employment there. With its broad main street and brick residences it looked like a great city to me.

As in Talbotton, there were no public schools in Columbus, so I was sent to a private school kept by an Irish master named Flynn, who did not act on the pedagogical principle, "Spare the rod and spoil the child." By him I was taught the three R's and began Latin. I also experienced my first stage-fright at Master Flynn's, when my turn came to speak a piece before the entire school. In all Southern schools much emphasis was placed upon elocution. I well remember practicing before a mirror and reciting under the trees in stentorian voice with dramatic gesture the great oration put into John Adams's mouth by Daniel Webster, beginning: "Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote."

After another year this school was discontinued and I was sent to one kept by a Dr. Dews. He was a teacher trained in the classics and far less severe than Flynn, more sympathetic and cultured. Under him I began Virgil and afterwards Horace. It was not customary to teach English grammar; we derived that from our laborious drilling in Latin grammar.

There were no public libraries, and few families, other than those of professional men, had many books. The standard assortment consisted of the Bible, Josephus, Burns; some had Shakespeare's works. I do not recall at this period reading any book outside of those we had for study at school. Boys of my age led an outdoor life, indulging in seasonable sports which rotated from top-spinning to marbles, to ball-playing, principally a game called town-ball. We all had shot-guns, so that in season and out we went bird-hunting and rabbit-hunting.

We went barefooted nine months of the year, both for comfort and economy. As in Talbotton we lived most economically. We were not poor in the sense of being needy; we never felt in any way dependent. Our home was comfortable, wholesome, full of sunshine and good cheer, and always hospitable to friends. Our wants were few and simple, so we had plenty, and I felt as independent as any child of the rich.

We were now in the midst of the Civil War, and money, measured in gold, was worth about five cents per dollar. My brother Nathan seemed to be affected by this into constant scheming for making pocket money. He was fifteen years old, and out of school hours helped father in the store; but he seemed to be in need of more pin-money. He finally hit on a plan that proved quite lucrative. He collected or bought up pieces of hemp rope and sold them to a manufacturer. Hemp was very scarce and much needed. With the proceeds he bought a beautiful bay pony, which he and I prized more than any possession we have ever had, before or since.

On the 16th of April, 1865, after a feeble skirmish on the part of the citizen soldiers, mainly superannuated men and schoolboys, Columbus was captured by General James H. Wilson at the head of a cavalry corps of fifteen thousand men. The war had practically ended seven days before, as Lee surrendered on the 9th at Appomattox Court House in Virginia; but as telegraph and railroad communication had been disrupted, this fact was not yet known in our part of Georgia. As soon as Wilson's army took possession of our debilitated city general confusion reigned. Looting began by the town rabble, led by several drunken Federal soldiers; cotton warehouses were burned, the contents of which represented the savings of many, including most of my father's; all horses were seized, and among them our little pony, which I never saw again, though I still retain a vivid picture of him in my mind's eye. Frequently since, when I have met that fine and accomplished old veteran, General Wilson, who is still among the living, hale and hearty, I have jestingly reproached him for taking from me the most treasured possession I ever had.

This incident and others served to give me a most vivid impression of the closing years of the Civil War. Another very vivid impression that occurred shortly before the beginning of the war clings to my memory. Robert Toombs, one of Georgia's most conspicuous United States Senators, was making a speech at the Masonic Temple in Columbus, Georgia. It was a hot summer day. Toombs was a short, thick, heavy-set man of the Websterian type, and one of the South's most picturesque orators. After the election of Lincoln, however, Toombs advocated secession and resigned from the Senate, was talked of for the Confederate presidency, did become Confederate Secretary of State, and was later commissioned a brigadier-general, and commanded with distinction in numerous battles of the Civil War. During the speech I heard him make, he drew a large white handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish, and pausing before mopping his perspiring forehead, he exclaimed:

"The Yankees will not and can not fight! I will guarantee to wipe up with this handkerchief every drop of blood that is spilt."

Neither he nor the audience foresaw what was coming. The Civil War was a family affair, yet the hostility it engendered and the misconception it brought in its train regarding the valor, and even the standards of civilization, of the enemy, were as extreme and virulent as in a war between nations of different continents and races. Such are the brutalizing passions war arouses in banishing from the individual mind the most elementary ideas of brotherhood.

When the war ended my father had to begin life anew, and because of the discouraging prospects and conditions of the South he decided to move North. In the North, too, he could more readily dispose of the remainder of his cotton, his chief asset, to pay off debts which he owed in New York and Philadelphia for goods purchased before the war. With the few thousand dollars remaining after paying these debts, and with good credit, he thought he could begin some new business in a small way.

Simultaneously with our arrival in Philadelphia my brother Isidor arrived in New York from Europe, where he had gone two years before as secretary of a commission to buy supplies for the State of Georgia. The blockade of the Southern ports became so effective that ships could not get through, so that he did not succeed in getting over the supplies; but he made several thousand dollars in the sale of Confederate bonds. Upon learning in New York that we were in Philadelphia, he immediately came there to find out my father's plans. He persuaded father that New York, as the chief market, was preferable to Philadelphia as a secondary one. Consequently we moved to New York, and father and Isidor, together with Nathan, planned to establish themselves in the wholesale crockery business. Isidor, twenty years old, first used part of his fortune to buy for my mother a high-stoop, three-story brick house at 220 West Forty-Ninth Street, now long since torn down, but which we occupied for over eighteen years.

It was fully six months before the new business venture was launched. My father depended for his part of the capital upon the sale of the remainder of his cotton, which had been shipped to Liverpool, and this was not effected until early in 1866. In the intervening months he visited his creditors in New York to arrange for paying his debts. In this connection I remember one significant incident: His principal New York creditor was the dry goods house of George Bliss & Co., to whom he owed an amount between four and five thousand dollars. (Bliss afterward became a member of the banking firm of Morton, Bliss & Co.) When he called regarding the payment of this, Mr. Bliss asked how old he was, what family he had, and what he intended doing. My father answered that he was fifty-seven, that he had a wife and four children, and that he hoped to make a new start in the wholesale crockery business. "I don't think you are fair to your family and yourself," said Mr. Bliss, "to deprive yourself of the slender means you tell me you possess by paying out your available resources. I will compromise with you for less than the full amount in view of the hardships of the war and your family obligations."

My father had a very high sense of honor and was always more concerned in maintaining it beyond possible reproach than in making money. Some parents forget that they cannot successfully live by one standard outside and another inside the home, and many never realize that children are influenced not so much by the preaching as by the true and real spirit of their parents. My father believed that "a good name is better than riches," and within the home or without he lived up to that standard. I clearly remember the impression I received of his integrity at the time of this Bliss incident, and of a certain feeling of compunction on the part of his creditor, as though he had expected something different. Most Southern merchants regarded themselves morally freed from paying Northern creditors because the Confederate government had confiscated such debts and compelled the debtors to pay the amounts to the government. But my father held true to his standard, and I well remember his parting words to Bliss that day: "I propose to pay my debts in full and leave to my children a good name even if I should leave them nothing else."

My brother Isidor, always my guide, philosopher, and friend, now arranged for my schooling. In my geography textbook was a picture of Columbia College, and I had the fixed idea that when we came to New York I wanted to go there. On inquiry we learned that I was too young, for I was only fourteen and a half, and that I had not the requirements for admission. So in the autumn of 1865 Isidor had me enter Columbia Grammar School, then one of the best schools in the city. It was my first experience in a really first-rate school, and the teaching was so much more thorough and exact than my previous training had been that it seemed to me I had to learn everything anew. The tuition fee and the cost of books was considerable, in view of the modest income of the family; but my father, economical in all other respects, was liberal beyond his means where the education of his children was concerned. My brother, moreover, was desirous that I should have the advantages of the college training which circumstances, notably the war, had withheld from him.

I appreciated to the full the privileges I was permitted to enjoy and studied with all my might. The school regulations required that parents fill out a blank each week stating, among other things, the number of hours we studied at home. The average number of hours daily reported were three or four, and as my record was fully double that, I felt rather ashamed to give the true number, so I always gave less. The school was on Fourth Avenue and Twenty-Seventh Street, and our home on Forty-Ninth Street was near Eighth Avenue. I invariably walked both ways, saving car fares and at the same time conserving my health, for aside from a half-hour of gymnastics twice a week in school I had neither time nor opportunity otherwise to get the exercise my body required.

Owing to the careless preparation I had received at the schools in the South, I made a poor showing in spite of my hard work now, though on one occasion I shone with accidental glory. It was the custom for the instructor to put the same question to pupil after pupil, and to elevate the one who gave the correct answer to the head of the class. In this instance, it so happened that I gave the fortunate answer and thus qualified for the seat of scholastic eminence. As I sat there enjoying a near view of the teacher's countenance, I wondered how long I should remain thus distinguished, and was unable to resist the impulse to cast an occasional backward glance at the rows of seats in the rear.

At about this time, an elderly gentleman of distinguished appearance entered the classroom. He was S. F. B. Morse, inventor of the telegraph. Morse, whose grandson was in my class, knowing the custom and observing me in the seat of honor, complimented me. He observed that I, like himself, had a large head in comparison with the body, and remarked that I must be a bright boy. But I felt embarrassed rather than gratified at the praise, for I knew, and so did the rest, that I did not deserve it. I still recall that scene, and see the venerable old man, then seventy-five years old, with the long white beard that made him look even older.

When the time came, in the spring of 1867, for our class to go up for college examination, the Rev. Dr. Bacon, successor as principal of the school to Charles Anthon, the distinguished classical scholar and editor of classical works, called the boys of our class before him and gave us each a blessing with some encouraging words. When my turn came he was very kind, telling me he knew I had tried hard, but because of my early training, or lack of it, he feared I might not pass. I saw my chances of a college education go glimmering. There were, however, still two weeks before the examinations, and I determined to use those for all they were worth. I worked night and day, cramming with a vengeance. I felt I could not expect my father to keep me in school another year when after two years of preparation I had shown myself so deficient. That thought was my spur, though in point of fact I am sure both my brother Isidor and my father, realizing I had done the best I could, would have insisted upon my taking another year for preparation.

The result of my entrance examinations was more favorable than I could have hoped. It turned out that I was the only one from our grammar school class to pass in all subjects without a single condition. It was luck rather than brilliancy. The professor who examined my classmates in ancient geography, being the author of the book upon which the examination was held, was so meticulous that unless the student gave the answer exactly as in the book he was marked deficient. By the time it came my turn to be examined another and more generous-minded professor had taken his place and passed me with the highest mark. The others, who had all flunked, regarded me, in their own language, as "the lucky dog."

My college course began on October 7, 1867. Here I did not find the studies hard. I had ample leisure for reading and took full advantage of the college library, from which we were free to select and take home whatever books we desired. Then, as now, I cared little for fiction. To me the literature of facts was more interesting and therefore lighter reading, and I read much biography and history.

Our class matriculated fifty-two, but dwindled down to thirty-one by graduation. In the class were Brander Matthews, now professor of literature at Columbia as well as literary and dramatic critic; Robert Fulton Cutting, financier and ideal citizen, descendant of an old and famous New York family, as his name indicates; Stuyvesant Fish, banker, also of a well-known New York family, whose father, Hamilton Fish, was Secretary of State in the Grant Cabinet, and whose grandfather and father both were among Columbia alumni; and Henry Van Rensselaer, who became a Jesuit father and is now no longer among the living.

At the commemoration of the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the college three of us—Robert Fulton Cutting, Brander Matthews, and myself—received the honorary degree of LL.D. At this writing, fifty years after graduation, there are but ten of us remaining.

The most coveted honors in those days were to be had for literary achievement and class rank. Among the few prizes was one known as the Alumni Prize, awarded to the most deserving student in the graduating class. The college board nominated for that honor William Henry Sage, now our class historian, Joseph Fenelon Vermilye, and myself; and the class elected Vermilye for the prize.

Athletics had not attained the vogue it has in American universities to-day, and was particularly absent in our college, confined then to a city block. Doubtless due to this lack the boys of our class, on the whole a spirited and boisterous lot, found self-expression in a disregard for proper decorum in the lecture rooms. There was one period where this was conspicuously the case. The subject was Evidences of Christianity. It was compulsory and along denominational lines. It did not interest many of the boys, and some of those who were not Episcopalians even resented it; to boot, the professor, Rev. Dr. McVickar, was a mild-mannered man, entirely unable to maintain discipline. The result was frequent and various disturbances during the sessions of his class, which often put the good-natured and unsophisticated man at his wits' end. He complained to the college board, and President Barnard took the matter up with some seriousness, but no real appeasement.

I felt great sympathy for Dr. McVickar, for he was earnest and gentle, and took much to heart the conduct of the men in his class. Of course, in common with most of my classmates I strongly favored that the subject be elective instead of compulsory; yet I realized that, as colleges were then constituted, the original Columbia being largely an Episcopalian foundation, there was a legal right, as distinguished from reason, for the requirement that the course in Evidences of Christianity be compulsory.

One day when the disturbances became most flagrant, and the poor professor was really quite helpless, I ventured to point out to him how he might bring about order. He received my suggestion most favorably, so I asked him to let me take his chair for a few moments. I made a brief appeal to the class, reminding them that we were now seniors, and that there were some, especially those intending to study for the ministry, who were interested in the subject and prevented from following it by the boisterous behavior of the rest. I was jeeringly dubbed Professor Straus, but I went right on. I said I knew there were a number who were opposed to the study of Evidences of Christianity, and I proposed that they rise. To those who got up I gave permission to leave the room, and as I recall it, there were some eight or ten left. Then I turned to Dr. McVickar and said, "Here is a class you can teach." And the session went on smoothly enough. Subsequently a petition was drawn up and signed by a large majority of the class, asking that we be excused from examinations in this particular subject; but President Barnard replied that the request could not be entertained.

On the whole my four years at college were full of serious effort and not altogether free from anxiety. I had a restless ambition to have a useful career and it seemed difficult to discover for what I was best fitted. For a while, in those dreamy days, I even believed I might achieve some measure of success as a poet. I recall with a smile that the choice for class poet at commencement lay between Brander Matthews, whom we then knew as James Brander Matthews, and myself. And for some reason, which posterity will doubtless find even more difficult to fathom than I have, I was chosen. Matthews had already given evidence of his literary talents; he contributed much to the college papers, and wrote humorous poems. However, at our graduation exercises held in the Academy of Music, Fourteenth Street and Irving Place, the city's largest auditorium then, my class poem was well received by a capacity audience of proud parents and sympathetic friends. I had gravely entitled it "Truth and Error."

A more fervent aspiration held by me in those years was to devote my life to the nation, and I could conceive no better way of doing so than to enter the army. One day I saw an item in the press that President Grant had several appointments to make to the United States Military Academy. I consulted with Dr. F. A. P. Barnard, president of Columbia, and he gave me a letter of introduction to Grant, highly commending me for an appointment. When President Grant came to New York I called on him. He received me very kindly, but informed me that he had only something like eight appointments allowed him by law, and he had decided to give them where possible to the sons of officers who had been killed in the war; if, however, there were not enough such candidates he would be glad to give me a chance. I told him I thoroughly agreed that his decision was so appropriate that I would not even ask to be appointed under the circumstances.

OSCAR S. STRAUS At the time of his graduation

During the second half of my senior year I finally chose the law as my vocation. I preferred it to a business career because I disliked the idea of devoting my life to mere money-making, as business appeared to me then. My outlook was idealistic rather than practical, and to harmonize it with the workaday world caused me much mental anguish and struggle, as it does many a young man, even where affluent fortune has smiled. However, my father and brother had begun to prosper and had no need for my coöperation unless on my own account I chose to join them. Besides, I was the youngest and had the benefit of the brotherly interest and economic protection of Isidor and Nathan, should I need it. This gave me a feeling of security, and encouraged me to put forth my best efforts not only to succeed for myself, but to show my appreciation to them. Where, under moderate circumstances, a family puts forth coöperative effort in making its way forward, closer family ties result, with the advantages of stimulating unselfishness and common devotion, which in turn promote a happiness that members of richer families often miss because of their more independent relations.

So I prepared to enter Columbia Law School in the fall of 1871. Meanwhile that summer I took my first vacation since coming to New York. I went to Wyoming Valley, near Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, where I had a good time despite the farmer with whom I boarded. Perhaps I had no right to expect much for the five dollars a week I paid him; but whatever I expected I know I got less. However, there were fish in the brooks and I do not recall that I starved. I had spent other summers assisting in some branch of my father's business, not because I relished work unduly, but because I regarded it less as labor than as diversion. It was interesting and useful activity which gave me an understanding of business that was valuable later in following my chosen profession.

CHAPTER II

LAW, BUSINESS, AND LETTERS

Columbia Law School—Impressions of the faculty—I begin law practice—Early partnerships—A $10,000 fee—Founding of the Young Men's Hebrew Association in 1874—The "dissipations" of a law partner—The Hepburn Committee on railway rates; my partner Simon Sterne represents the Chamber of Commerce—On the bridle-path with Joseph H. Choate—I become a member of L. Straus & Sons, manufacturers and importers—My marriage to Miss Sarah Lavanburg—My début in politics—The Cleveland-Blaine campaign—The "rum, Romanism, and rebellion" episode—"Origin of the Republican Form of Government," my first book—Recommended as minister to Turkey; Henry Ward Beecher writes the President—Cleveland nominates me minister to Turkey.

Columbia Law School in 1871 was at Lafayette Place. The course covered two years, at the end of which a successful examination entitled a student to admission to the bar without a further State examination, and for those who gave serious attention to the course it was an easy matter to pass this finishing examination.

Particularly worthy of mention with regard to the school are Professors Theodore W. Dwight and Francis Lieber. Professor Dwight, the able director of the school at that time, well deserved his great reputation as the most distinguished teacher of law in the country. He was not only a master of his subject, but had a marvelous gift for imparting his great knowledge.

Professor Lieber, whose lectures we attended once a week, taught us political science. He was a Prussian veteran who fought in the Battle of Waterloo. At the close of the Napoleonic Wars he had returned to his studies in Berlin, and thereafter was arrested several times for his outspoken liberal views. After frequent persecution and even imprisonment, he fled to England, and in 1827 came to America.

He was author of many books on legal and political matters, among them "Civil Liberty and Self-Government," which was adopted as a textbook in several of our universities. In 1863 he prepared "Instructions for the Government of Armies of the United States, in the Field," which Lincoln promulgated as Order No. 100 of the War Department. It was a masterly piece of work, embodying advanced humanitarian principles, and it later formed the basis of several European codes.

As a rule, egotism and real merit negate one another rather than coördinate; Lieber was the exception. He had both, and combined them to a marked degree, sometimes in a manner that afforded amusement to his students. For instance, he referred continuously to "my Civil Liberty" as a book of extraordinary erudition, new in its field and the last word on the matter. He was so full of his subject that he was apt to lose himself and stray off, with his distinctly German accent, into the vast field of his profound philosophical and historical knowledge. A veritable encyclopædia of information, he was really more of an expounder than a teacher. As his course was optional, those who came to listen came to learn, and we received a larger view of the function of law in civil society than we derived from all our studies of municipal law.

I was graduated from law school in June, 1873, and immediately entered the offices of Ward, Jones & Whitehead, one of New York's prominent firms. John E. Ward, the senior member, who presided over the Democratic National Convention that nominated Buchanan, and later served for two or three years as Minister to China, was a friend of my brother's, and he took me into his office largely out of friendship for Isidor.

I remained with this firm only a few months. Later in 1873 I formed a partnership with James A. Hudson, a man about ten years older than I, who had also been associated with the Ward firm. As Hudson & Straus we opened offices on the fourth floor of 59 Wall Street.

On the same floor in this building was the office of Charles O'Conor, then the acknowledged head of the American Bar. He had practically retired, but retained a small office of one or two rooms, with one clerk. He came in only two or three times a week. Often when he felt fatigued he would rest on a lounge in a room set apart as library in our office. For a young lawyer like myself it was an unusual privilege to have such pleasant personal relations with so able and wise a leader in the profession. Incidentally I think O'Conor was instrumental in sending us our first important case, the collection of an old debt of considerable size. We were so successful for our client that, of his own accord, he sent us a check for ten thousand dollars, saying he would make it larger if we regarded it insufficient. The fact was, the amount was larger than we had thought of charging, and we frankly told him so. With five thousand dollars in reserve I felt rich and independent. My wants were naturally simple and our general practice was encouraging.

At about this time I first became active in public-spirited undertakings. The Young Men's Christian Association a few years before had opened its Twenty-Third Street Branch at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Twenty-Third Street, and the movement on the whole was getting much publicity and proving very successful in its work among young men. But it was an institution for Christians, and it occurred to several of us—as I remember it, there were two of my fellow members of the bar, Meyer S. Isaacs and Isaac S. Isaacs; Dr. Simeon N. Leo, Solomon B. Solomon, and myself—that it would be a useful undertaking if we organized a Young Men's Hebrew Association for the cultural and intellectual advancement of Jewish young men. After a few preliminary meetings we launched our project early in 1874. We rented a house in the vicinity of Nineteenth or Twentieth Street and began in a very modest way. Our first entertainment was of a purely literary nature, and I recollect on that occasion addressing the members of the infant enterprise on the subject of literary clubs, ancient and modern, from the time of Socrates and Plato to the days of the coffee houses of Addison, Steele, and Goldsmith. The Y.M.H.A. subsequently had its years of struggle for existence, but to-day its place in our cities as an influence for the development of culture and patriotism is assured, as well as that of its sister organization of later birth, the Young Women's Hebrew Association.

I had chosen the law as my profession, but I still wrote verse, and in the decade following my graduation published several pieces. At one memorable event I was invited to deliver an original poem. It was in 1875, at a large fair in Gilmore's Garden, the predecessor of the present Madison Square Garden. The fair was held to raise funds toward the erection of a new building for the Mount Sinai Hospital, and the immense auditorium was crowded. Samuel J. Tilden, then Governor of New York and also prospective Democratic nominee for President, made the opening address. My poetic possibilities, however, rested more upon aspiration than inspiration, and my craving for versification was but a passing phase of my literary activities.

About 1876 we removed our office to the New York Life Building, then, as now, at 346 Broadway, corner of Leonard Street. Our clientèle was mostly commercial and this neighborhood seemed more convenient. Our neighbors at the new location were Chamberlain, Carter & Eaton, a prominent commercial law firm of which Charles E. Hughes subsequently became a member.

A few years later we took into our firm Simon Sterne, then one of the brilliant younger members of the bar, and our firm became Sterne, Hudson & Straus. But Hudson wanted to devote himself to patent law, in which he had specialized somewhat, so the firm soon changed again to Sterne, Straus & Thompson. Daniel G. Thompson had been our managing clerk. He had an attractive personality and a philosophical temperament, but was more a psychologist than a lawyer. He was author of several works on the science and history of psychology which were favorably received and commended by such men as Herbert Spencer and other high authorities in both Europe and America. These qualities made him a target for the sarcasm of Sterne, who, on the other hand, was thoroughly the lawyer. On one occasion I remember Sterne asking me whether I knew Thompson was dissipating. I expressed surprise, and Sterne went on: "Certainly he is, for when he goes home he works till all hours of the night writing psychology, and naturally next day he comes with an exhausted brain to his legal work. He might better go on a spree, for one gets over that. But when one buries one's self in such an exacting science he is lost for the law, which is a jealous mistress and will not bear a rival."

Under the name of Sterne, Straus & Thompson we had a practice that ranged all the way from the collection of debts to questions affecting street railways and public utilities. Our old firm had a business like that of most young lawyers, but Sterne's practice was much more important, his field being mainly banking and railroads. Sterne, in fact, was rapidly achieving a reputation as an authority in the State on railways and railway legislation. At that time there was no Interstate Commerce Commission. Many New York merchants were complaining, through the New York Chamber of Commerce and the New York Board of Trade and Transportation, that the railroads were discriminating and giving to certain shippers much lower rates than to others, also giving preference to some in the moving of freight. In 1879 the Legislature finally appointed a committee of eight men to investigate these charges. A. Barton Hepburn, member of the Assembly from St. Lawrence County, was made chairman, causing the committee always thereafter to be referred to as the Hepburn Committee. Sterne represented the Chamber of Commerce and the Board of Trade in this investigation.

The committee sat intermittently for about nine months. The railroads had a brilliant array of legal talent, but Sterne elicited testimony from them which proved the charges of the merchants. Sterne then drafted the report of the committee, which included several recommendations for legislation. It was the first impressive and well-directed attempt to deal with the regulation of transportation companies, and resulted in the passage, in 1880, of the bill creating the first Board of Railroad Commissioners. Later, in 1887, the influence of this work was still alive in connection with legislation for the creation of the Federal Interstate Commerce Commission. The business of our firm did not exactly benefit by this public service of Sterne. As a result of his public activities and settlement of litigation, such railway clients as we had were lost to us at about this time.

At this point in my career I have the fond recollection of a dear and intimate friendship, which continued for several years, with Joseph H. Choate, of the firm of Evarts, Southmayd & Choate. We used to ride horseback together in the park before breakfast. This intimacy naturally was very valuable to me. We discussed all manner of topics, not only affecting our profession, but touching many public matters and the philosophy of life and living in general. In these morning hours, with the exhilaration of our ride, Mr. Choate was always full of fun and good humor. He was the most sought after person for addressing all important public functions, and frequently he would outline the substance of his addresses. Speaking one day of the many demands upon him as a speaker, he remarked that he appeared to be in the fashion just then, but, like wall-paper, fashions change, and it was not likely to last long. In his case, however, the fashion lasted, even increased, until his death in 1917.

My major law work was in the most exacting and nerve-racking branch, the trying of cases. My general physical condition, though never robust, was none the less good, but I had not learned what one is more apt to acquire later in life: to conserve my energies. The result was that the wear and tear of court work reduced my weight to one hundred and five pounds. My physician strongly advised me to do less exacting work, and especially to stop trying cases. As this branch of the law appealed to me most, it was a grave disappointment to have to abandon it. Rather than continue in the profession with such an inhibition, therefore, I yielded to the advice of my father and brother to join their firm.

I took a vacation of several months, and upon my return early in 1881 I became a member of L. Straus & Sons, who had become large manufacturers and importers of china and glassware. On account of the growing business they really needed my services, and my transition from professional to business man was made as acceptable and agreeable as possible. As was to be expected, I continued for some time to long for "the fleshpots of Egypt," for I was much attached to my profession. As a compensation, and to satisfy my intellectual longings, I devoted my evenings and spare time to historical reading and study.

Having embarked on a business career, I reversed a decision that I made while practicing law. As a lawyer I had taken very seriously and literally the saying that "the law is a jealous mistress." I was her devoted slave, quite willingly so, and I determined never to marry. I was economically independent as a single man and could devote my time to the law for its own sake. This I preferred to do, as the idealist that I was, rather than pursue the law for economic reasons first and for its own sake as much as possible secondarily, which I felt would have to be the case if I married. But as a business man things were different, and I decided now to marry.

On January 22, 1882, I became engaged to Sarah, only daughter of Louis and Hannah Seller Lavanburg, and we were married on the 19th of April following, at the home of her parents on West Forty-Sixth Street, near Fifth Avenue. At the wedding dinner, to which had come hosts of our friends and acquaintances, Joaquin Miller, poet of the Sierras, as he was called, read a poem which he composed for the event. The manuscript I think is still in my possession.

In the year of my marriage I also made my début in politics. I was secretary of the Executive Committee of an independent group organized for the reëlection of William R. Grace as mayor of New York. The distinguished lawyer, Frederick R. Coudert, was chairman of that committee. Grace had been a Tammany mayor and given the city a good business administration—so good and so independent that Tammany refused to nominate him for a second term. On the independent ticket Grace had a large Republican as well as the independent Democratic support, and was duly elected.

I next took part in the Cleveland-Blaine campaign. In 1884 we formed in New York City the Cleveland and Hendricks Merchants' and Business Men's Association, of which I was secretary of the executive committee, and we coöperated with the Democratic National Committee, Senator Arthur P. Gorman, chairman, whose headquarters were at the old Fifth Avenue Hotel, corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-Third Street. We organized a parade and marched forty thousand strong from lower Broadway to Thirty-Fourth Street. It was the first time business men had ever been organized along political lines.

All who remember this campaign know what an exciting and close battle it was. The dramatic event which doubtless put the balance in Cleveland's favor was the speech of the Rev. Dr. Samuel D. Burchard, a Presbyterian minister of New York, at Republican headquarters. A few days before the election the Republican managers had called what they termed a ministers' meeting, to which came some six hundred clergymen of all denominations to meet Mr. Blaine. Dr. Burchard, noted as an orator, was to speak, followed by Mr. Blaine. In concluding his address, Dr. Burchard evidently lost control of his dignity, for he stigmatized the Democratic Party as the party of "rum, Romanism, and rebellion." In the face of the great efforts the Republican Party had made, with some measure of success, to secure the Roman Catholic vote, this denunciation gave a big opportunity to the Democrats. Furthermore, Blaine, keen a politician as he was, failed immediately to repudiate the remark.

I was present at Democratic headquarters when the reporter who had been sent to this meeting returned. Senator Gorman asked him to read from his shorthand notes, and when he came to the expression, "rum, Romanism, and rebellion," Gorman at once said, "Write that out." The Democratic managers saw their chance. Quickly the whole country was placarded with posters headed "R.R.R.," with all sorts of variations and additions of the original phrase. In the end it was the New York vote that determined the victory for the Democrats, and doubtless because of the influence the words of Dr. Burchard had had upon Roman Catholic voters.

When the election returns were in, Cleveland had won by only 1047 votes. Because of the closeness of the vote in New York the Republicans did not at first concede the victory. Among the Democrats, on the other hand, there was a great feeling of bitterness and nervous apprehension lest an effort be made to make it a Republican victory, as was the case in 1876 when the uncertain returns were decided by an electoral commission, which, to the disappointment of many, made its decision on party lines. Jay Gould, who controlled the telegraph lines, was accused by the Democrats of holding back returns.

The Merchants' and Business Men's Association promptly organized a large meeting in the Academy of Music, to proclaim and celebrate Cleveland's election. August Belmont, Sr., as chairman, presided, and I, as secretary, presented the resolutions. We had invited the most prominent speakers we could get, and there were Henry Ward Beecher, Daniel Dougherty of Philadelphia, Algernon S. Sullivan, among others. I distinctly recall a humorous and cryptic remark of Beecher's address that day: "If the chair is too small, make it larger"—referring to Cleveland's avoirdupois and the claim that he did not fit in the presidential chair. The note of victory, and the determination to stand by that victory at all costs, had a reassuring effect throughout the country.

When the campaign was over I was told by a member of the National Committee that if there was any political office to which I aspired, the Committee would be glad to further any ambition I might have; but I replied my only wish was that Cleveland live up to the political principles which had brought him the support of so many independent or "mugwump" voters and so made possible his election.

During the winter of 1883-84 the Young Men's Hebrew Association invited me to speak in their course of lectures. I was to choose my own subject. They had hired Chickering Hall, at Fifth Avenue and Fifteenth Street, a large lecture hall in those days, and as great importance was being attached to the occasion I naturally put my best foot forward in the preparation of my material. I chose as my theme "The Origin of the Republican Form of Government." In it I traced the rise of democracy, in contradistinction to monarchy, from the Hebrew Commonwealth as expounded in the Old Testament and interpreted by the early Puritans of New England, especially in their "election sermons," which were of a politico-religious character and were delivered annually before the legislatures of the various New England colonies.

There was a huge audience, and the next morning the press gave very generous reports of the address. It attracted the attention of various ministers in Brooklyn, and subsequently I was asked to repeat it before the Long Island Historical Society, in that city. There I had an amusing experience. In the course of the talk I quoted ideas similar to mine that had been advanced over a hundred years before by Thomas Paine in his "Common Sense," and I referred to the high estimates of Paine held by Washington, Monroe, Dr. Rush, and others of the time. I refrained from expressing opinions of my own, contenting myself with a reference to those of the fathers of the Republic. Suddenly, however, several ministers left the hall, protesting that they had not come to hear a eulogy on Paine.

Later I developed this address, under its original title, and published it in book form. The first edition came out in 1885. The appearance of a first book is quite an event in one's life, especially when it is well received among critics and by the press. At any rate, it seemed like a landmark in my own life. Historical writers referred to it as a distinct contribution to our historical literature, and I felt that so far as the pen was concerned I had discovered this branch of writing to be my forte rather than poetry. After all, historical writing is no less imaginative than poetry. Without the use of imagination history is lifeless and a dry record of facts instead of literature.

A second impression of the book was issued in 1887, and in 1901 a second and revised edition was published. A French edition had appeared simultaneously in Paris and Brussels, 1890, translated by M. Emile de Laveleye, eminent Belgian publicist and professor at the University of Liége, and containing an introductory essay by him. This essay was translated into English and embodied in the 1901 American edition. Since then additional impressions of this revised edition have appeared. I might mention that on the strength of this book I was admitted to membership in the Authors' Club, in 1888.

In the fall of the year following the original publication of my first book I chanced to meet Senator Gorman of Maryland in the Palmer House, Chicago, where we both happened to be stopping—he on his return from a trip to the Far West, and I on an important business errand. He told me he and his son had read my book on their trip, and that he had not in a long time read a book with so much valuable information in it and giving such a clear view of the sources and early growth of our form of government. We naturally talked of matters political, and he reminded me of an earlier conversation he had had with me since Cleveland's election, stating that Mr. Cox—S.S. Cox—our minister to Turkey, had or was about to resign, and that he would like to recommend me to President Cleveland for appointment in Cox's place. He thought at the same time it might enable me to make further studies along the lines of my book.

The idea was a complete surprise to me. As I have mentioned, I had no thought of entering public life. My political activities had been limited to the part I took in the re-election of Mayor Grace and the Cleveland-Blaine, campaign. Even had I been ambitious for a political position I should never have ventured application for a diplomatic post, for I had never given much attention to our foreign relations. Besides, I had been in business only a few years, I was married and had two small daughters; everything considered, I felt I could not afford to leave my affairs to go abroad.

Upon returning to New York I conferred with my father and brothers, and their attitude changed my views somewhat. They generously offered to see that my interests should not suffer, and gave me every encouragement to entertain Senator Gorman's suggestion. I could not possibly have further considered the subject without this generosity on their part. My obligations to my family did not permit the expenditure of several times my salary, required in a position of this kind. The salary of minister to Turkey had been reduced to seven thousand five hundred dollars, though it was subsequently restored to ten thousand; and in order to live properly he had to rent a winter house in the capital and a summer house outside, or live in hotels as Mr. Cox, and his predecessor, General Lew Wallace, did. General Wallace was restricted to his salary and felt compelled to decline the invitations of his colleagues because he was not in position to reciprocate. (His "Ben Hur," by the way, he had written before his sojourn in the East, and not afterward as is often supposed.)

Senator Gorman was not finally able to make the recommendation he had proposed. His relations with the President became strained, so that recommendations for appointments coming from him were not regarded with favor by Cleveland. Gorman told me as much when we met subsequently, but advised me to use such influence as I might command in other directions.

I presently spoke of it to an old friend of my days in the law, B. Franklin Einstein, who was counsel for the "New York Times" and the personal adviser of George Jones, its proprietor. Einstein suggested that I speak with Jones about it, and this I did. Jones encouraged me and said he would be glad to help. He said he had read my book and felt sure I would give a good account of myself and be a credit to the administration; that he had never asked any favor of the administration and felt justified in asking Cleveland to make the appointment. The "Times" had been an independent Republican paper, but in the campaign of 1884 it came out for Cleveland.

I also conferred with Carl Schurz, with whom I stood on intimate terms, and with John Foord, another friend. In the early eighties we used to have a lunch club that met about once in two weeks at a little French restaurant, August Sieghortner's, at 32 Lafayette Place, now Lafayette Street, in a house that had been a former residence of one of the Astors. We used to discuss various political and reform matters—the "mugwump" movement, the Cleveland campaigns, or what not. There were ten or twelve of us, and Carl Schurz was one; the late Charles R. Miller, who was for many years the leading editorial writer of the "Times," was another; and John Foord, whose death by accident occurred in Washington only a few days ago as I write, was another. Foord was then editor-in-chief of the "Times." He took up my appointment with both President Cleveland and Secretary of State Bayard. Schurz encouraged me and said he would speak to Oswald Ottendorfer about having me appointed. Ottendorfer, proprietor of the "New Yorker Staatszeitung," was a client of our law firm and knew me well. Subsequently I saw him and he wrote to Cleveland strongly recommending the appointment.

Cleveland was favorably enough impressed, but he hesitated. He said our chief concern in Turkey was the protection of American missionary interests, and he would not like to appoint any one to this particular mission who might be objected to by the two principal missionary bodies—the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions and the Presbyterian Board of Missions.

It happened that on a return trip from Washington about this time my brother Isidor met A. S. Barnes, prominent textbook publisher and a member of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, to whom also I was quite well known. He had been in frequent consultation with our law firm when we represented the City of Brooklyn in its suit against the Atlantic Avenue Railroad to compel the road to sink its tracks, in which suit, as one of Brooklyn's public-spirited citizens, he was much interested. He was sympathetic toward me and brought the subject of my appointment before his missionary board, with the result that its Prudential Committee wrote a letter to the President expressing fullest approval of my appointment, suggesting only that I be asked not to hold receptions on the Sabbath, as one of my predecessors had done to the great disapproval of the missionaries and all Protestant Christians in Constantinople. Even without this intimation I would quite naturally have refrained from offending the religious sensibilities of my nationals at that post.

The representatives of all the Protestant churches who had interests in Turkey were most generous in favoring the appointment when they learned that I was being considered for that mission. The most admired and best beloved American preacher of his time, Henry Ward Beecher, of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, heard of it through Mr. O. A. Gager, one of the trustees of his church; also that there was some diffidence about my actual selection because of my religion. He immediately wrote the President a beautiful and characteristic letter, urging my appointment. The original of this letter, now in my possession, was given to me by Governor Porter, first assistant Secretary of State.

With my wife I had gone to Atlantic City for a few days, to recuperate from a cold, when on March 24, 1887, I received telegrams from friends all over the country congratulating me on my appointment as minister to Turkey. The papers of the day announced it, and the "New York Times" published the Beecher letter just referred to.

To the press of the country my appointment was of added interest because of the Keiley incident of two years before. A. M. Keiley, of Virginia, was nominated by Cleveland as minister to Austria-Hungary, but objected to by that country because Mrs. Keiley, being of Jewish parentage, was persona non grata. As a matter of fact this excuse for the rejection of Keiley was supposedly made because the Austro-Hungarian Government thought it might be acceptable to us in lieu of the truth.

The real reason lay much deeper. Keiley had earlier been nominated as minister to Italy. The Italian Government, through its representative at Washington, made known to our Department of State that Keiley would be persona non grata because it was remembered that in 1870 he had made a public speech in Richmond violently denouncing King Victor Emmanuel for his treatment of the Pope. The nomination was therefore withdrawn. And when a few months later Keiley was appointed minister to Austria-Hungary, that country, being a member with Italy in the Triple Alliance, did not want to run the risk of displeasing Italy by accepting a representative not satisfactory to her; but not wishing to admit this, based its excuse on religious grounds.

This so incensed our Administration that Secretary Bayard rebuked the Austro-Hungarian Government with the statement:

It is not within the power of the President nor of the Congress, nor of any judicial tribunal in the United States, to take or even hear testimony, or in any mode to inquire into or decide upon the religious belief of any official, and the proposition to allow this to be done by any foreign Government is necessarily and a fortiori inadmissible.

And Mr. Cleveland made reference to the episode in his First Annual Message to Congress:

The reasons advanced were such as could not be acquiesced in, without violation of my oath of office and the precepts of the Constitution, since they necessarily involved a limitation in favor of a foreign government upon the right of selection by the Executive, and required such an application of a religious test as a qualification for office under the United States as would have resulted in the practical disfranchisement of a large class of our citizens and the abandonment of a vital principle of our Government.

These statements contain a clear exposition of one of the fundamental principles of our laws and system of government; they form one of the most illuminating and inspiring chapters of our diplomatic literature. Following the Keiley incident, my appointment was a silent but effective protest against such illiberal views as those expressed by Austria-Hungary; and to me personally it meant something to be sent as the representative of my country to the power whose dominion extended over the land that cradled my race, Palestine.

Leaving Atlantic City, we soon proceeded to Washington, where I called on Secretary Bayard, who received me with characteristic cordiality and referred me to John Bassett Moore, now our famous authority on international law, compiler of the International Law Digest, American judge of the Court of International Justice by vote of the Council and Assembly of the League of Nations. At the time I met him, thirty-five years ago, he was third assistant Secretary of State, and I could not have wished for a better instructor in the intricate matters that involved our relations with the Ottoman Empire.

Alvey A. Adee, veteran of our Foreign Office, then as now the second assistant Secretary of State, was another man who gave me most helpful advice. His encyclopædic knowledge of our foreign relations for more than forty years is remarkable, and our diplomatic appointees for years have been indebted to him for much helpful guidance.

Later in the day we called on the President. Our conversation during this call was purely of a general nature, and as I was leaving Mr. Cleveland expressed pleasure at my promptness in calling and hoped that I would start for Turkey as soon as personal convenience permitted. When I told him I hoped to sail at the end of a week, he answered, "That is businesslike; I like that," and he asked me to call again before leaving Washington.

Two days later, by appointment of Colonel Lamont, the President's secretary, Mrs. Straus and I, accompanied by brother Isidor and E. G. Dunnell, "New York Times" correspondent, called on Mrs. Cleveland in the Green Room of the White House. I vividly recall this visit. Mrs. Cleveland came into the room with a sprightly and unceremonious walk, very friendly, with charm of manner and a sufficient familiarity to put us entirely at our ease. She was a very handsome woman, with remarkable sweetness of expression, and her appearance symbolized beauty and simplicity.

What most impressed me about the Clevelands, after these two visits, was the simple, unassuming manner that was so in keeping with the spirit of our laws and the democracy of our institutions. Verily, I thought in the words of Cleveland himself, "a public office is a public trust," and while administering office we are indeed servants of the people.

Before leaving Washington we again called on the President as agreed. His entire conversation and attitude showed satisfaction with my appointment. He said he understood the missionaries were doing good work, and he felt sure from what he had learned of me that they would receive impartial and just treatment at my hands. He commented on the fact that the press of the country had been so unanimously in favor of my appointment. "I wished they would go for you a little; I have something to give them," he said. From Mr. Dunnell later I learned the meaning of this remark. He had received a letter from the Prudential Committee of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, highly approving of his appointing me as minister to Turkey and endorsing me of their own accord in unqualified terms. This letter he was holding to give to the press should any unfavorable comment be made because a member of the Hebrew race was being sent to a post where the Christian mission interests were so large. Mr. Cleveland's parting remark to me was: "I know you will do well; I have no trepidation—none at all."

On Saturday, April 9th, at 6 A.M., we—my wife, Aline, the younger of our little daughters, and myself—sailed out of the harbor on the S.S. Aurania. My one prayer in bidding farewell to my home was that I might find no vacant seat at my table upon my return, and that I might discharge my high trust with credit and honor. For this no sacrifice would be too great.

CHAPTER III

ENTERING DIPLOMACY

At sea—Our arrival in London—Concerning George Eliot and Lewes—At the banking house of Baron de Rothschild—In Paris—Boulanger's Napoleonic dreams; his suicide—Josef Hofmann as a boy pianist—The artist who painted "Christ before Pilate"; an extraordinary wife—Distinguished hosts and rich cooking—Vienna and the Balkans—Thoughts on passing through the Bosphorus—Constantinople, the city of picturesque dirt—Many delays obstruct my audience with the Sultan—The fast of Ramazan—Diplomatic garden parties—An ambassador's £300 Circassian slave-wife—The Sultan says his prayers—Advice from a seasoned diplomat—My address at Robert College commencement—In the Sultan's Palace.

Our voyage was not altogether a light one. We had found it expedient to leave Mildred, our elder daughter, then four years old, with her Grandma Lavanburg; and while she was in excellent hands my wife was naturally heavy-hearted at the thought of traveling so far and for so long without her. The weather on board ship was for the most part stormy. Our little Aline and her nurse were so seasick that the child resented being on board with all the force of age three. "Mama, this ship is nobody's home; why did you bring me here? I shall write sister Milly never to go on the ocean," she declared rebelliously.

Having reached London, however, things went more pleasantly. Our minister there at the time—we did not yet appoint ambassadors—was Edward J. Phelps, for many years Professor of International Law at Yale, a scholarly gentleman. I called on him almost immediately on my arrival, and subsequently Mrs. Straus and I dined at the legation to meet Rustem Pasha, Turkish ambassador, veteran diplomat who had been in the service for thirty-three years and was about twice as old. He was leading Turkish representative at the Congress of Berlin in 1878, following the Russo-Turkish War. He referred to the various questions pending between his Government and mine—the interpretation of Article 4 of the Treaty of 1830, signed only in Turkish; the proposed treaty of 1874, negotiated by Minister Boker and not confirmed by the Senate, concerning naturalized citizens of the United States returning to Turkey; missionary matters; our refusal to negotiate a treaty for the extradition of criminals. I had informed myself regarding all of these, but I deemed it wise not to discuss them in detail; rather I chose to be the listener and draw him out, assuring him that when I arrived at my post all these subjects would have my very best attention. He was particularly concerned with the treaty for the extradition of criminals, but the so-called criminals that came to the United States at that period, especially from Russia and Turkey, were with rare exception political refugees, and it is provided in most of our extradition treaties that political offenders are not to be delivered up.

We remained in London about ten days, calling on a number of interesting people. We spent one pleasant evening with Dr. and Mrs. John Chapman, of the "Westminster Review." My article on "The Development of Religious Liberty in America" was appearing in a current number of the "Review." The Chapmans were good friends of George Eliot and Professor Lewes. In fact, the novelist and the professor first met at the Chapman home. Dr. Chapman also told me he was the one who first employed George Eliot in literary work. He became editor of the "Review" in 1851 and engaged her as associate editor. When George Eliot resigned, Mrs. Chapman became the associate editor. With us that evening, too, was Harold Frederic, London correspondent of the "New York Times" and a novelist of some promise.

From Messrs. J. & W. Seligman of New York I had received a letter to the Seligman banking house in London, at 3 Angel Court. Mr. Isaac Seligman invited us to dine en famille, and arranged for me to call at Messrs. N. M. Rothschild & Sons', where I was very pleasantly received by Baron Alfred Charles de Rothschild, who showed me through his magnificent banking establishment and offered to send me a letter to the Paris Rothschild firm. The Baron was then about forty-four years old, very agreeable, a polished gentleman of the best Jewish type.

In Paris, our next stopping-place, we also had a very interesting time. Of course we called on our minister, Robert M. McLane, then seventy-four years old, but looking sixty. He was distinctly of the old school, with all the grace of manner, combined with ability and wide experience in public service—an excellent representative who was esteemed by the French people quite as highly as by our own citizens in France. I speak of this especially because in capitals like Paris it is not an easy task to please both elements.

At dinner one evening in the home of my friend Adolphe Salmon, an American merchant residing in Paris, we met Count Dillon and his wife, most affable people to whom we felt ourselves immediately attracted. The Count was a thorough Royalist, had been for many years in the army. At this time he was managing director of the Mackay-Bennett Cable Company and the leader of a movement, really anti-Republican intrigue, designed to put General Boulanger, Minister of War, at the head of the State. The Count was a close personal friend and schoolmate of Boulanger, then the most extolled man in all France. The Count suggested that he arrange a luncheon or dinner to have us meet the General, if that was agreeable to us, for he felt sure the General would be pleased.

Consequently a few days later we lunched at Count Dillon's beautiful villa some thirty minutes outside of Paris. It was an intimate two-hour luncheon party, just Mr. and Mrs. Adolphe Salmon, the Count and Countess Dillon, General Boulanger, Mrs. Straus, and myself. Boulanger was a young-looking man for his fifty years, of medium height and weight, wearing a closely trimmed beard; rather Anglo-American than French in appearance, unassuming, of pleasant expression, and probably at the height of his power. Five years before he had been Director of Infantry in the War Office and made himself very popular as a military reformer. In 1886, under the ægis of Clemenceau and the Radical Party which brought Freycinet into power, Boulanger was made Minister of War. He was noted for his fire-eating attitude toward Germany in connection with the Schnaebele frontier incident, and because of this was hailed as the man destined to give France her revenge for the disasters of 1870. In fact, the masses looked upon him as a second Napoleon, "the man on horseback," and his picture on horseback was displayed in countless shop windows.

At our luncheon party he entertained us with many an interesting anecdote, and I particularly recall his telling of coming to the Yorktown Centennial Celebration and traveling as far as the Pacific Coast in company with General Sherman to see our fortifications. "I was asked what I thought of your American fortifications ["You know what antiquated and insignificant things they are," in an aside to Mrs. Straus], and I praised them and said I thought they were splendid, that I had never seen any better ones because"—and here his eyes twinkled—"no country has such nice ditches in front of its fortifications," He meant, of course, the Atlantic and the Pacific.

When the champagne was being drunk and toasts were in order I turned to the General, after drinking to the health of the company, and said: "May you administer the War Department so successfully that posterity will know you as the great preserver of peace." To this he responded that for fifteen years France had always been on the defensive and permitted insults rather than take offense, but that the time had come when she could no longer do so and must be ready for the offensive. He evidently had in mind that war was imminent. At a later meeting he asked me whether, in case of war, I would be willing to take charge of French interests in Turkey. I told him that while of course it would be agreeable to me personally, such action could be taken only under the authority of my government, which authority I would have to obtain before giving an official answer.

The subsequent meteoric career of Boulanger is a matter of history. For two years more his personality was one of the dominating factors of French politics. I remember writing from Constantinople early in 1889: "The most menacing condition exists in France, where, I am of opinion, Boulanger will gain the presidency before many months and from that time perhaps try to tread in the footprints of his Napoleonic ideal. If so—alas, poor France, and alas the peace of Europe!" He had become an open menace to the republic; and when Constans was Minister of the Interior a prosecution was instituted against Boulanger and a warrant signed for his arrest. He fled from Paris and was afterward tried and condemned in absentia for treason. In 1891 he committed suicide on the grave of his mistress in a cemetery at Brussels.

We dined, on another evening in Paris, with Mr. and Mrs. William Seligman, of the banking firm of Seligman Frères, the Paris branch of J. & W. Seligman of New York and of the London Seligman establishment. This dinner was a very large and elaborate affair, with many distinguished guests present. After dinner we were entertained by the budding genius of Josef Hofmann, then ten or eleven years old.

The noted Hungarian, Munkacsy, painter of "Last Day of a Condemned Man," "Christ before Pilate," "Christ on Calvary," and other celebrated works, was also there with his wife. As a couple they presented a striking contrast indeed. He was a silent man, talking very little and haltingly; he impressed one as a refined artisan of some sort, perhaps a carpenter. He was a large man of about five feet ten in height, with bushy hair combed up, bushy beard and mustache, and small eyes which he screwed up to almost nothing when observing something. His wife, on the other hand, was as coarse-looking a woman as one might discover, with a loud, raucous, almost masculine voice which, like a saw in action, rose above every other sound. However, I have observed that these contraries in personality in couples often make for happiness.

The artist seemed to take a keen interest in Mrs. Straus. He quite embarrassed her by his constant staring, and after dinner sought an introduction and sat next to her. Her plain hair-dress, smoothly brushed back and rolled in a coil behind, fascinated him. He remarked how natural and becoming it was and wanted to know whether she always wore it that way; he wondered whether it would be as becoming any other way. He wanted to know how long we should remain in Paris and expressed regret when told we were leaving in three or four days. Mrs. Straus felt he had studied her head long enough to paint it from memory. And who knows, perhaps he has used it in some painting that we have not yet discovered!

Another memorable dinner was at the home of Eli Lazard, of Lazard Frères, bankers, where we met Judge Wilson and daughters, of Cincinnati. All of these hospitalities were very pleasant, but personally I should have been glad to escape them, for the late hours, together with the rich cooking of Paris, were not in accord with my quiet habits and simple tastes in food and drink.

In Vienna I called on our consul-general, Edmund Jussen, whose wife was the sister of my esteemed friend Carl Schurz, which fact really prompted me to make the call. Jussen himself was not very admirable. He had much of the arrogance of a German official, so out of place in an American representative. However, during our sojourn in the city he and his wife exchanged several visits with us. Mrs. Jussen did not much resemble her distinguished brother, except for an expression about the eyes. She was a very amiable woman with a good face. She told me much of her brother's childhood and school years—how he had to struggle hard for his education. Their father was a small shopkeeper, but no business man, and was never able to make money. Carl did not earn money, but always applied himself diligently. This and much more that has since been published about Schurz interested me greatly, of course.

We continued our journey to Varna on the Black Sea, there to take the steamer for Constantinople. In those days there was no railway connection with Constantinople. The Oriental Express went only to Varna, by way of Bucharest. On that particular part of our journey we got our first glimpses of the picturesque costumes of the Balkan district, especially those of the men with their bare legs and flying shirts.

The trip from Varna to Constantinople was beautiful and inspiring. We boarded the boat at about four in the afternoon and retired early so as to be up by five or six next morning, when we passed through the Bosphorus, round which clusters so much of classical memory. I suddenly realized how much of my Homer I had forgotten—the Homer on whom I had spent years of hard study. However, most of us meet so many new subjects that have a more direct relation to our surroundings that it is next to impossible to get that "elegant leisure" necessary for a continued interest in the classics.

The effect of the trip through the Bosphorus is quite like a dream. The high coast on both sides is covered with green, with here and there a house or some large huts; on one side is Europe and on the other side Asia, looking very much alike, bathed by the same sunshine, peaceful.

We sailed past Buyukdereh, Therapia, the summer residence of most of the diplomats, about twelve miles from Constantinople, where the English, French, Austrian, and Russian embassies had magnificent palaces and the Germans were engaged in building; on past the lovely old towers of Roumeli-Hissar, built eight hundred years before, when first the Turks set foot in Europe, and back of this the tower of Robert College.

Suddenly my ever-smiling and happy wife spied a launch flying a large United States flag at the stern. "It's our launch!" And sure enough, when we waved our handkerchiefs we discovered the members of my official family, who had come in the legation launch to meet us. There were Pendleton King, acting chargé d'affaires; Mr. Gargiulo, dragoman; J. Lynch Pringle, consul-general; Mehmet, the cavass; and several clerks of the consulate and legation.

The cavass, by the way, is a sort of bodyguard. He walks before the minister, or rides on the box beside the driver, and serves the purpose of designating that the minister or ambassador follows. He carries two huge pistols and a sword suspended from a gold belt, and his coat, sometimes red and sometimes blue, is much bebraided and embroidered. The natives know each minister or ambassador by his cavass.

Our first impression from the windows of the Royal Hotel in Constantinople was of picturesque dirt. As Mrs. Straus said at the time, dirt not only on the hard earth roads and the people, but even on the dogs. In time, however, one is less impressed by the dirt than by the picturesqueness—the venders calling out their wares of fish, fruit, meat, vegetables, all carried on the edges of baskets covered with leaves; the water-carriers with their urns carried on yokes; and the veiled women.

Immediately upon my arrival, of course, I communicated with His Excellency, Saïd Pasha, Minister of Foreign Affairs, to present my credentials and arrange for an audience with His Majesty the Sultan, Abdul Hamid. The Pasha replied at once, appointing a time two days later, and accordingly I went to the Sublime Porte, as the Turkish Government seat is called, in company with the chargé and the dragoman or interpreter. That was about May 26th. Not until June 6th, however, did I receive a communication from Munir Pasha, Grand Master of Ceremonies, that His Majesty had named June 8th for my audience. The next evening I received a telegram postponing the audience to the 10th. On the 9th I received another communication, postponing it sine die. On the 15th a new appointment was made for the 17th; then, between midnight and one o'clock on the night of June 16th-17th, the personal secretary of the Sultan came knocking at the door of my apartment, and, after apologizing for his arrival at that untimely hour, informed me that he had come at the Sultan's special request to say that word had come from the Porte that June 17th was a most sacred day, a fact just determined by the phases of the moon, and the Sultan therefore was constrained to postpone the audience again. The date was later set for July 1st, when I finally had my audience.

It was a peculiarity of Abdul Hamid to delay audiences to new representatives for weeks and sometimes months by these successive appointments and postponements, to no other purpose than to impress the agents of foreign governments with the importance of His Majesty. In my case there was some added cause: it was the month of Ramazan, during which only the most pressing official functions take place.

Ramazan, ninth month of the Turkish calendar, is a period of fasting. For twenty-nine days every Mussulman abstains from food and water, and even smoking, from sunrise to sunset; which the rich arrange conveniently by sleeping all day and eating all night, while the poor who have to work all day eat at sundown, at midnight, and very early in the morning. The first meal after the fasting, at sunset, is called iltar. The fast is broken with Ramazan bread, a cakelike bread, circular in shape, which we saw much in evidence at a bazaar in the courtyard of a mosque at Stamboul, the more Oriental part of Constantinople, where the costumes of Greeks, Armenians, Turks, and Arabs form a strange mixture indeed.

During Beiram, a three days' feasting following Ramazan, the mosques are all illuminated at night, and the view over the water, with the moving lights of boats in the foreground and the dimly lighted houses beyond, interspersed with brightly illumined mosques, is quite like a picture of some enchanted land.

Because of the Sultan's peculiarities in receiving foreign representatives, the custom in regard to official calls at Constantinople is different from that at most capitals. Elsewhere calls on colleagues are not made until after a minister or ambassador has had his audience; but here usage dictated calling on one's colleagues as soon as possible. Therefore I called first on Baron de Calice, ambassador from Austria-Hungary and doyen of the diplomatic corps. He received me with great cordiality and kindness, and advised me fully regarding diplomatic practices at Constantinople. And we were welcomed by each and all of my colleagues in turn, so that I found these calls very much less disagreeable than I had anticipated; I even enjoyed many of them. At each visit coffee or tea was served, and generally cigarettes too, as is customary with the Turks, which is wonderfully effective in taking off the chill of diplomatic formalities. One soon gets to expect these refreshments; it is a delightful custom that might be adopted in other places to advantage.

Another reason why these formal calls were less formidable than they might have been was that three days after our arrival at the capital we were invited to a garden party given by Lady White, wife of the British ambassador, Sir William A. White. This served to give us a prompt introduction to all my colleagues. In fact, in the five weeks intervening between our arrival and my audience, we had attended so many garden parties and dinners given to us, that I found myself heartily longing for respite. My natural inclination was to regard these social gatherings in the light of idle frivolities, especially in the summer, when one is supposed to be relatively free from functions of this kind; and I was not alone among my colleagues in preferring more evenings at home to the occasional headaches that it cost to continue the very late hours these many engagements forced us to keep. Yet I could not consistently decline invitations; such a course might have been interpreted as a desire on my part to withdraw from the diplomatic circle and would have interfered with the pleasant social relations it was incumbent on me to cultivate. Attendance was really part of my duty, and in time I found these functions distinctly advantageous.

We looked forward with more than usual interest to the evening of our dinner at the Persian embassy. The Persian ambassador's wife had been a Circassian slave, whom he was said to have bought for £300 with a horse thrown into the bargain. The ambassador's wife was, of course, typically Circassian; chalky white skin, soft black eyes, small features, an unattractive figure unattractively dressed, with whom conversation was almost nil because she knew only Persian.

The streets of Pera, the European part of Constantinople, are exceedingly narrow and very hilly, for the city is built on several hills, like ancient Rome; in addition they are poorly paved and dirty. This makes driving dangerous and, as in mediæval times, sedan chairs were quite generally in use as a means of conveyance for the ladies of the diplomatic corps and the wives of the higher Turkish officials, especially at night to dinners and other official functions. Two sinewy porters carry these chairs, one in front and the other behind, and they shuffle along with considerable rapidity. Usually the lady is carried while the gentleman, preceded by his cavass in the case of a diplomat, walks alongside, except in inclement weather when he follows also in a chair. I am reminded of the wife of the German ambassador at the time, a large, heavy woman, whom the porters quite justly charged double. She, however, was entirely oblivious of her extra avoirdupois and always complained of the injustice of these porters! The Austrian and Russian embassies were particularly difficult of approach by conveyance other than the sedan.

We certainly were living in a new sphere of life, in a strange land among strange people, with customs and habits that brought to mind the age of the patriarchs. There was much to see where some thirty nationalities lived and did business as if in their own homes—much to wonder at, much to deplore, much to praise and admire. The natives are a peculiar people, with many admirable characteristics; they are kind and hospitable, comparatively honest and reliable, especially the lower classes, and they manifest a most sincere devotion to their religion. The lower classes are poor, very poor; yet they are content and reasonably happy because their wants are few. Their poverty is not a suffering condition and they seemed to be better off than the poor elsewhere. Their religion strictly interdicts the use of alcoholic drinks, and as they are true to it and live faithfully up to its principles, they are spared all the evils that fall in the train of drunkenness.

MRS. STRAUS IN TURKEY

During the weeks that I waited for my audience with the Sultan I devoted my time to studying in detail the various questions in regard to our diplomatic relations, so that I might be better informed when they came up. This study was very interesting from an historical point of view, for some of the questions were related to capitulations that dated as far back as the fall of Constantinople in 1453. My legal training also proved valuable in enabling me to understand and handle matters.

On our first Friday in Constantinople we witnessed Selamlik, the picturesque ceremony held with great pomp every Friday, attending the Sultan's going to the mosque. The Sultan's mosque is on the top of a hill commanding the most beautiful view of the city, from which can be seen the Bosphorus and, farther on, the Sea of Marmora. On the roads surrounding the mosque as far as the eye could see were ranged ten or more regiments of infantry and cavalry, each dressed in glittering uniforms according to the section of the empire from which they came, the most resplendent being the Nubian and the Arabian. The Sultan arrived in an open landau, and opposite him Osman Pasha, distinguished soldier, hero of the Battle of Plevna in the Russo-Turkish War, and Grand Marshal of the Palace. The coachman was magnificently dressed in scarlet and gold, and following were the aides-de-camp, also beautifully dressed, one, an Armenian, all in white and gold. As the Sultan entered the mosque a priest chanted a call to prayer which sounded not unlike the old Hebrew chants in some of our synagogues. The mosque was so crowded that we could see many Moslems kneeling and salaaming on the streets outside the doors. The service lasted about twenty minutes, whereupon the bands played and the Sultan reviewed his troops from one of the windows of the mosque. He then returned to the Palace in a beautiful top phaëton drawn by two horses, which he drove himself, again with Osman Pasha opposite, followed by his aides and the carriage that had brought him. Usually several carriages, open and closed, also several saddle horses, are brought from the royal stables to the mosque, that the Sultan may take his choice for his return to the Palace.

It is expected as a display of good will that the ministers and ambassadors occasionally attend this ceremony. It was practically the only occasion on which Abdul Hamid appeared in public, for he constantly feared assassination, and his expression showed his timidity. Following Selamlik he quite frequently arranged to receive in audience. In the kiosque or small house beside the mosque, there is a special suite of rooms reserved for the diplomatic corps. An aide informs the Sultan what diplomatic representatives or other persons of distinction are at the kiosque, to each of whom His Majesty then sends some gracious message. While prayers are being said in the mosque, the guests at the kiosque are served coffee and cigarettes.

One of the persons whom I met shortly after my arrival in the city was Sir Henry Drummond Wolff, who was in Constantinople as Britain's special envoy to negotiate a convention regarding the withdrawal of British troops from Egypt. He had a suite at our hotel where we saw each other frequently and became very good friends. Drummond Wolff, as he was usually spoken of to distinguish him from the several other prominent Wolffs, was certainly a remarkable and clever man, and a great raconteur. He was then in his late fifties, had had wide experience as a diplomat, and was thoroughly familiar with the Turkish temperament. In fact, he was at home in all that part of the world. He was born in Malta, the son of the famous missionary, Rev. Joseph Wolff, a Jew who became a convert first to Catholicism and then to Episcopalianism, being ordained as priest in the Church of England. While in America he received the degree of Doctor of Theology from the College of St. John's, Annapolis, Maryland.

Sir Henry advised me in dealing with the Turkish authorities always to be patient, pleasant, persistent. He also impressed upon me the importance of maintaining the most cordial relations with my colleagues and of returning all hospitalities; that a well-disposed colleague can often be of incalculable assistance in inducing the authorities to accede to any proper demand one might have to make. However, his own relations with the British ambassador, Sir William White, were not so friendly. The estrangement between them was quite evident, caused no doubt by personal jealousy, which is so likely to result between a special envoy and the regularly accredited representative of the same country in a given territory.

We stayed at the Royal only about ten days, and then moved to summer quarters in a hotel at Therapia, a name given to the district some three thousand years ago by the Greeks because of its healthful and balmy climate. Here, too, Drummond Wolff had a neighboring suite, and later, when by reason of a longer stay than anticipated he was obliged to give up his apartment before he was ready, we put a portion of ours at his disposal, which he much appreciated. It was a very pleasant arrangement, and diplomatically no less profitable. We dined together every evening, and often in our party were also Prince Ghika, Roumanian chargé, and the Princess; Baron Van Tetz, Dutch minister, and the Baroness. The Baron was later accredited to Berlin, and then made Minister of Foreign Affairs in his own country. He has now retired and at this writing he and the Baroness still live at The Hague. They are charming people.

On June 21, 1887, the entire diplomatic corps was present in official dress at services in the English chapel, in honor of the Queen's Jubilee. The chaplain of the English embassy, the Reverend George Washington, officiated. He said he was of the same family as our own George Washington.

The day before my audience I presided at the commencement exercises of Robert College at Roumeli-Hissar, by invitation of the venerable president, Dr. George Washburn. The college in 1887 had about one hundred and eighty students, mainly Bulgarians, Greeks, and Armenians, with two or three Turks. The commencement was quite similar to those at home, except that the orations were delivered in the various languages of the East as well as in French and English.

I took this first occasion to refer in a larger way to the aims and purposes of Robert College and similar American institutions. The Turks had not been able to understand the benevolence that prompted the establishment of schools and colleges by Americans throughout the empire. They were suspicious, and their attitude was founded on experiences with various institutions and societies of several of the other nations, notably the Greeks, who, under guise of scientific and benevolent activity, had fostered political design. The Turks believed that behind our institutions lay a purpose inimical to the sovereignty of Turkey, a belief stimulated by Russia and by some of the French Catholics, who were opposed to the extended use of the English language and the influence of Protestant English and American ideas in the East. This gave rise to many of the vexatious questions that the legation had to solve. By way of throwing some oil upon these troubled waters, therefore, I said, during my address:

For centuries the tide of progress and civilization has been making its way toward the West. Its course has been marked by blood and carnage. The history of the Middle Ages and of modern times chronicles the nations and empires that have sunk in this mighty current, and the new life and new civilization that have sprung up over the ruins of the old. That flood tide, pushing its irresistible course onward, still swept on, until in our day it mingled its waters with the Great Pacific Ocean. The Ultima Thule having at last been reached, the great ebb-tide began to course its way backward; and America, the youngest of nations, in gratitude for all the past, as a token of her amity and her friendship, has sent back on the advance current of this return tide not ships of war nor armed troops, but her most cherished institutions, a fully equipped American college.

So that here, to-day, on the beautiful and picturesque shores of the classic Bosphorus, on the very spot where the nations of the East four and a half centuries ago erected and left the well-preserved monument of their passage to the West, stands Robert College. What a tale and what a history! Robert College here and the Towers of Roumeli-Hissar there! The one the fortified remains of bygone wars, the other the tranquil emblem of returning peace. What a double tale do these two institutions speak to one another! The tie that unites them is one of love and peace, a league more puissant than army or navy for the welfare and happiness of nations. When centuries shall have rolled by and another Gibbon shall come to write of empires, may it be his privilege to record no longer the decline and fall, but the rise and rejuvenation of this Orient to which we look with affection.

And now that I had been received and entertained by about everybody in Constantinople, it was time for my audience with the Sultan, who came last like the prima donna. Official functions at Yildis Palace, as the Sultan's residence is called (Yildis meaning star), were always most dignified and punctilious. Royal carriages were sent from the Palace with escorts for myself and staff. At the entrance to the Palace we were met by the Introducer of Ambassadors; then we proceeded to the salon of the Grand Master of Ceremonies, where I was met by the Minister of Foreign Affairs and conducted by Osman Pasha, Grand Marshal, into the presence of His Majesty.

The Sultan was standing ready to receive me. He was a small man, of rather spare frame, sallow complexion, dark eyes that sparkled with a furtive expression, prominent aquiline nose, and short full black beard which later, when it turned gray, he dyed reddish with henna. He had on a black frock coat that buttoned to the neck.

According to custom I handed him the letters of recall of my predecessor, then presented my credentials, and made a brief address, a copy of which in writing I left with him. It read as follows:

The President of the United States has been pleased to charge me with the distinguished honor and agreeable duty of cultivating to the fullest extent the friendship which has so happily subsisted between the two Governments, and of conveying to Your Imperial Majesty the assurances of his best wishes for the welfare of Your Imperial Majesty and for the prosperity of Turkey.

As the faithful representative of my Government, charged with the duty of protecting the interests of her citizens, permit me to express the hope that Your Imperial Majesty's Government will lend me its kindly aid in the efforts I shall at all times make to maintain and further cement a good understanding for the development of the relations of amity and friendship between the two Governments, and that the same courtesy and cordiality may be shown me which were so generously accorded to my honored predecessors.

The time has at last come, through the progress of science, when all nations by reason of the facility and rapidity of communication have been brought nearer together, so that their mutual interests and relations verily entitle them to be called one great family.

In the spirit of that relationship I have come to dwell near the Government of Your Imperial Majesty, and to greet you in behalf of and in the words of our Chief Magistrate as his "Great and Good Friend," with the hope "that God may have Your Imperial Majesty in His wise keeping."

Which is the customary language of such documents, with the exception of the third paragraph. His Majesty replied in a brief address, expressing his pleasure in receiving me. He then sat down and bade me do likewise, whereupon we were served with cigarettes and Turkish coffee, the latter in egg-shaped cups resting in jewel-studded holders. The Sultan speaks only Turkish, and I spoke English, so we understood one another by means of the dragoman, Mr. Gargiulo, who had been for twenty years the very able Turkish adviser and interpreter of the legation and remained at that post for ten years thereafter.

The audience concluded, we returned to the legation in the same stately fashion we had come, following which we gave a reception to the American colony, composed almost exclusively of the missionaries resident in Constantinople, together with the president and faculty of Robert College and of the Home School for Girls, then located at Scutari, across the Bosphorus. I was now ready for the official business of my mission.

CHAPTER IV

FIRST TURKISH MISSION

Turkey's jealousy of foreigners—My protest against the closing of American mission schools—Diplomacy prevents drastic regulations proposed by Turkey—The schools are reopened—Defending the sale of the Bible—A cargo of missionaries and rum—Robert College—A visit to Cairo—"Bombe à la Lincoln"—Governmental reforms in Egypt—My protest against persecution of Jews in flight from Russia and Roumania—At Jerusalem—Huge delegation of Jews pleads with me for release of imprisoned relatives—I make drastic demands, and prisoners are promptly released—Their grateful memorial to me—Rights of American citizens on Turkish soil—Disputes regarding our Treaty of 1830—Uncle Sam gives $10,800 worth of presents to Turkish officials, on conclusion of a treaty—Diplomatic tangles; United States left without Treaty of Naturalization with Turkey—Baron de Hirsch, international celebrity—I am invited to arbitrate his dispute with the Sultan, and am offered an honorarium of 1,000,000 francs—I decline honorarium, but offer to mediate—Baroness de Hirsch's philanthropies—American capitalists consider Turkish railway concessions—Sultan grants permission for American excavation in Babylon—My resignation in 1888—The Sultan's farewell.

For several years the Turks had been very jealous of foreigners, especially in Asia Minor, and the result was many restrictions which manifested themselves in a variety of relations. The growth of the mission schools and their increase in number quite naturally enhanced the suspicion of the authorities, with the help, as I have mentioned, of those whose interests were served in helping the Turks to see danger in this growth of our institutions.

At the legation the interests of the American missionaries with regard to their schools and their printed matter formed the major portion of the affairs requiring my immediate attention. About four hundred schools had been established in Turkey by the Presbyterian and Congregational missionary boards. Beginning with the winter of 1885, upon one pretext or another, thirty of these schools in Syria were closed, many of the teachers arrested and forbidden ever to teach in the country again, while the parents were threatened with fine and imprisonment if they continued to send their children to American schools. With few exceptions all the teachers and parents were natives and Turkish subjects. The official reason given for the closing of these schools was that their boards had not complied with the Turkish law requiring that textbooks, curriculums, and certificates of the teachers be submitted to the authorities for examination; although the missionary representatives gave assurance that these requirements had been met.

Soon after my audience with the Sultan I took up the subject of these schools with the Grand Vizier, Kiamil Pasha, who was perhaps the most enlightened statesman of the Turkish Empire. Mr. King, while acting chargé, had made an agreement with the Minister of Public Instruction whereby the missionaries at these schools were to submit the textbooks and other documentary equipment to the local authorities. I protested to the Grand Vizier against the closing of the schools, and after some weeks we reached an understanding: he was to telegraph the vali or governor-general at Syria that the schools were to be allowed to reopen upon their compliance with the law, according to an arrangement between himself and myself. The outcome looked hopeful, though months dragged along without further result.

Meanwhile, and quite by accident, I learned that the Porte had formulated proposed additional regulations concerning all foreign schools, and that these regulations were about to be submitted to the Council of Ministers to be made law. I immediately requested a copy from the Grand Vizier. I found, to my surprise, that the regulations were calculated to place insuperable obstacles in the way of every foreign school in the empire. Among other things, in addition to the requirement that textbooks, curriculums, and teachers' certificates be submitted for examination, all schools were to obtain an iradé or express sanction of the Sultan in order to function. Failing to receive that iradé within six months from the date of the law embodying the new regulations, the authorities in the several provinces were commanded to close such schools.

I communicated my discovery to those of my colleagues who were interested with me in this dispute: Count de Montebello, French ambassador; Baron Blanc, Italian ambassador; and Sir William White, British ambassador. At the same time I submitted copies of the proposed regulations to the Reverend Doctor Isaac Bliss and the Reverend Henry O. Dwight, of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions in Western Turkey. They all viewed the matter as I did.

The following day I again called on the Grand Vizier, informing him that I looked upon these regulations as seriously infringing upon the rights of American citizens in Turkey, and pointing out my objections in detail. The three colleagues just referred to did the same on behalf of their respective subjects who had mission or other schools in the empire. We succeeded in impressing the Grand Vizier with the force and validity of our objections, for he requested us to put them in writing and forward them to the Porte. With the aid of Drs. Bliss and Dwight I prepared such a document, and I am glad to be able to say that our protests came in time and were sufficiently forceful to prove effective in preventing this new legislation.

As I had now been negotiating for several months with reference to the Syrian schools, I decided that the most efficient way of translating into concrete result the repeated promises in regard to them was to visit some of our missionary schools throughout the empire. I obtained the necessary permission from Washington and took a journey to Cairo, Jaffa, Jerusalem, Beirut, Mersina, and Smyrna, where I conferred with our missionaries, with our several consuls, as well as with the respective governors and governor-generals. I found the relations between the local authorities and our consuls, and between the authorities and the missionary representatives, quite friendly, in some places indifferent, but nowhere hostile.

I had instructed the missionaries to get ready for the opening of the schools, and I planned the trip so as to be in Beirut about the time my order for the reopening was to be put in force. My plan had the desired effect. In anticipation of my arrival at Beirut, fifteen of the schools were reopened; and while I was there five or six more. That was about as many of the total thirty as the missionaries cared to or were in a position to reopen then. For the time being I felt satisfied that I had sufficiently reversed the Government policy to check the progressive closing of the schools which, if continued, would seriously have threatened the existence of all American schools in Turkey.

I must here express my appreciation of the assistance given me by Erhard Bissinger, our consul at Beirut. He was an earnest, sincere man, formerly a New York merchant. Although his health was frail he worked with unremitting zeal and efficiency, discharging his official duties with rare judgment and tact. I could always rely on the correctness of his reports respecting the many difficulties as they arose, and I could always feel assured that in each instance he would apply every effort to bring about an adjustment with the local authorities, by whom he was as highly esteemed as by the missionaries.

Another expression of the Government's enmity toward the activities of our missionaries was the treatment being accorded the colporteurs, or persons who went about selling Bible tracts. The agents of the American as well as the British Bible Society were constantly and arbitrarily being arrested. They were charged with plying their trade without license, yet when they made application they were never able to get license. From time to time I protested against these arrests and secured the release of one after another of the agents; but the thing to be done was to prevent arrests.

The fact was they were being made without real cause. Before these tracts or any other material could be printed a permit had to be obtained from the Ottoman Government. The material had to pass censorship before it was allowed to be printed, so that the very fact of its appearing in print was proof of the authorization of the censors. I held that, once printed, to prohibit the sale of these tracts was in restraint of commerce; that there was no reason why book hawkers should be under different regulations from hawkers of any other wares.

I prepared an argument along these lines, which I presented to the Grand Vizier, and he agreed with my conclusions. He forthwith gave orders for the release of all colporteurs and that no further arrests were to be made. The British Bible Society, of course, benefited equally with our own by these orders, and I received their grateful appreciation through my colleague, Sir William White.

All this hostility toward the missionaries and their work might be construed to be founded upon an objection by the Government to having its subjects converted to Christianity. But it was rather foreign influence as a whole that was being fought, and religion was simply the convenient peg. Conversions from Mohammedanism were few and far between, and for the number of Mohammedans turned Christian in the course of a year there were as many Christians turned Mohammedan. The Mohammedans are intensely and sincerely devoted to their faith. On the whole they are convinced that their religion is the only true one and that Christianity is inferior and less rational. Such converts as the missionaries do make come almost exclusively from among the Armenians, Syrians, Greeks, Maronites, and other Christian sects whose form of Christianity is of a mediæval character. The chief missionary work in Turkey is educational, carried forward in a religious spirit. At the time of my visit to the various vilayets, the Presbyterian Board alone had over one hundred schools throughout Syria, all located in places where previously there had been no schools at all.

Many of the men who carried forward missionary work had consecrated their whole lives to it. Chief among these were Rev. Henry H. Jessup, venerable patriarch of the Presbyterian missionaries; Rev. Daniel Bliss, president of the Syrian Protestant College; and Dr. George Washburn, president of Robert College.

Dr. Jessup and Dr. Bliss had started for the field together in 1856, when, in bleak December, they both left Boston in the sailing vessel Sultana, which, according to Dr. Jessup's autobiography, "Fifty-Three Years in Syria," carried in addition to nine or ten missionaries a cargo of New England rum to Smyrna—a cargo spirited no less than spiritual.

Dr. Bliss was succeeded in 1902 by his distinguished son, Rev. Howard S. Bliss, who conducted with renewed vigor the work of his father, enlarging the scope and curriculum of the college so that through its thousands of graduates in the arts, in science, and in medicine it became a potent force throughout the whole Near East. During my subsequent missions to Turkey I became very intimate with the younger Bliss, and during the Peace Conference in 1919, when he was in Paris in behalf of Syria, I was able to continue this intimacy. Unfortunately in Paris he was already suffering from a serious malady which resulted in his death in America the year following. He was honored, respected, and beloved in both the old world and the new.

Dr. Washburn was a man of statesmanship as well as erudition. His book of recollections, "Fifty Years in Constantinople," is valuable for the light it throws on political issues in Turkey no less than on questions educational and religious. He was recognized as an authority on Turkish and Balkan affairs, and the influence of the college was by no means limited to the Turkish Empire; it was felt quite as much throughout the Balkan States. Bulgaria at one period was largely governed by officials who had been graduated from Robert College, and they looked to Dr. Washburn as their chief adviser. The British ambassador at Constantinople frequently consulted him and was swayed by his advice, for Dr. Washburn understood the Turks and spoke their language. He was the second president of the college, having succeeded his father-in-law, the Reverend Cyrus Hamlin, D.D.

On the faculty of Robert College were a number of other very able men: Dr. Albert L. Long, Professor of Natural Science, distinguished as an archæologist as well, was a man of engaging personality. He had a large acquaintance among the learned Turks, whose estimate of our country was materially influenced for the good by their association with him. Then there was Dr. Edwin A. Grosvenor, Professor of Latin and History, who resigned shortly afterward to accept a professorship at Amherst. He was then at work on his scholarly "History of Constantinople," which I consider the best and most reliable work on that subject.

In 1888 I secured for Robert College, after arduous negotiation, permission for the erection of two new buildings, one a house for the president and the other an addition to the college itself. When the permits came through there was no mention of the addition to the college, and as work on it meanwhile had been begun, no little anxiety ensued. It developed that some one on the staff of the Grand Vizier had been bribed by an enemy of the college to tamper with the permits. However, because of the good relationship between Kiamil Pasha and myself, he acknowledged this bit of chicanery and duly rectified it.

I might add that in numerous instances I was able to arrange unofficially with the Grand Vizier matters which threatened to become more or less troublesome. This method of negotiating was peculiarly advantageous at the Porte, where delays were proverbial and so frequently defeated official action. Again, some of the difficulty experienced by my colleagues in getting proper redress for violations, even gross violations, was due to the fact that the Porte was not always able to control the governor-generals of the provinces.

I have said that my trip among our missionary schools included a visit to Cairo. At that time Egypt was still under Turkish sovereignty and questions of larger importance had to be taken up with the Sublime Porte. Thus American questions came under my jurisdiction as envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary to the empire. Our representative at Cairo, John Cardwell, had the title of consul-general and diplomatic agent, and had to receive his exequatur from the Sublime Porte. He was a conscientious and capable official who had been there since the beginning of the first Cleveland Administration.

On this trip also I saw much of Anthony M. Keiley and his charming wife; I have spoken of him in a previous chapter as having been rejected for the post of United States minister by Austria-Hungary. Keiley was serving as one of the American judges of the Mixed or Reform Tribunal at Cairo and was highly respected for his ability at this international court.

Mohammed Tewfik, son of the extravagant Ismail of Suez Canal fame, whom he succeeded, was Khedive of Egypt and entertained us during our visit. He was only thirty-six years old, and without his fez might have been taken for an Englishman. He spoke fluent English and his conversation showed him to be well informed regarding the governments and peoples of Europe. Within an hour after my first call upon him he called with his aide-de-camp upon me at the Hotel Shepheard. He wanted to decorate me, but I informed his aide that under our system we did not permit diplomatic representatives to accept such distinctions; so the next day he sent a lesser decoration to the manager of the hotel, which, it was said, he did in my honor.

A few days later we were invited to lunch with him, and there were also present a number of higher officials. The menu consisted of dishes with such improvised names as "crevettes à l'Américaine," "bombe à la Lincoln," etc. One dish that made a deep impression upon my none-too-keen gastronomic memory was the delicious Egyptian quail, which is larger and plumper than our own. In season the birds migrate from the north and are trapped in great numbers. They could be bought in the markets for a piaster, or less than five cents.

I had frequent conferences with Nubar Pasha, Egypt's foremost statesman. He was an Armenian educated by Jesuits in France. His knowledge was extensive, and he combined the enlightened viewpoint of a European statesman of the first rank with all the subtlety of an Oriental. It was he who conceived the plan of introducing a legal system and good government in Egypt, and creating the mixed tribunals or international law courts. In the reorganization of Egypt he acted in sympathy with Lord Dufferin's programme and consequently was highly regarded by the British.

With Sir Evelyn Baring, British agent and consul-general in Egypt, afterwards Lord Cromer, I had a pleasant conversation. He was then at the height of his power in the reconstruction of Egypt. Major-General Sir Francis Grenfell, sirdar or commanding general of the Egyptian army, is another memory in connection with that visit.

I regretted that time did not permit my going up the Nile; but like every one with an historical imagination I was immensely impressed with the grandeur and massive beauty of the pyramids and the classic ruins of ancient Egypt, which with their five thousand or more years of existence have outdistanced all other relics in bringing the handiwork of man down through ages of devastating time.

There was a matter pending at Jerusalem regarding which our Secretary of State had instructed me, and which I thought best to look into personally while on this trip. Foreign Jews were being expelled simply because of their race, and American Jews were being discriminated against along with those of other nations. In the background of this action by Turkey were Russia and Roumania, for since the days of the Spanish Inquisition the Ottoman authorities, with rare exceptions, had been not only tolerant but hospitable to Jewish immigrants. Roumania, contrary to express provisions of the Treaty of Berlin guaranteeing equal political and civil rights to all subjects in this newly created principality, placed restrictions upon her Jewish subjects, causing a large number to emigrate. And from Russia, following the enforcement of the Ignatieff laws of 1882 (some of them laws that had been on the statute books unenforced for years), there was also a wholesale exodus of persecuted Jews. Most of these people went to America, but some to other countries, including Palestine.

It was the irony of persecution that the Russians who came to Turkey were claimed as subjects by Russia, which entered a protest at the Porte against making them Ottoman subjects. On the other hand, the Russian Patriarch in Turkey and the dignitaries of the Roman Church objected to the settlement of foreign Jews in Palestine. This pressure from powers that Turkey wished to please brought forth the promulgation of a law interdicting all Jews from coming to Palestine for permanent residence. Besides those from Russia and Roumania, there were a few Jews coming from England and France. And there were a very few coming from America—naturalized citizens.

At the Porte I had taken this matter up with the Grand Vizier. He told me that a regulation was communicated to the Imperial authorities at Jerusalem limiting the stay of foreign Jews there to one month. Later he told me that the Council of Ministers was about to change this limit to three months. He gave as reasons for the existence of any such regulations, first, that at certain times of the year, Easter, for example, religious fanaticism was at so high a pitch that Jews had to remain in their houses to escape attack and perhaps murder at the hands of the Christians. In the second place, it had been reported that the Jews of all the world were planning to strengthen themselves in and around Jerusalem with a view to re-establishing their ancient kingdom at some future time.