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.
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.
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.