Another historian was Treitshke, eminent also as a member of parliament--a man who exercised great power in various directions, and would have been delightful but for his deafness. A pistol might have been fired beside him, and he would never have known it. Wherever he was, he had with him a block of paper leaves and a pencil, by means of which he carried on conversation; in parliament he always had at his side a shorthand-writer who took down the debates for him.
Some of the most interesting information which Ireceived regarding historical and current matters in Berlin was from the biologist Du Bois-Reymond. He was of Huguenot descent, but was perhaps the most anti-Gallic man in Germany. Discussing the results of the expulsion of the Huguenots under Louis XIV, the details he gave me were most instructive. Showing me the vast strength which the Huguenots transferred from France to Germany, he mentioned such men as the eminent lawyer Savigny, the great merchant Raven, and a multitude of other men of great distinction, who, like himself, had retained their French names; and he added very many prominent people of Huguenot descent who had changed their French names into German. He then referred to a similar advantage given to various other countries, and made a most powerful indictment against the intolerance for which France has been paying such an enormous price during more than two hundred years.
Interesting in another way were two men eminent in physical science--Helmholtz and Hoffmann. Meeting them one evening at a court festivity, I was told by Hoffmann of an experience of his in Scotland. He had arrived in Glasgow late on Saturday night, and on Sunday morning went to call on Professor Sir William Thomson, now Lord Kelvin. The door-bell was answered by a woman servant, of whom Hoffmann asked if Sir William was at home. To this the servant answered, ``Sir, he most certainly is not.'' Hoffmann then asked, ``Could you tell me where I might find him?'' She answered, ``Sir, you will find him at church, where YOU ought to be.''
My acquaintance with university men was not confined to Berlin; at Leipsic, Halle, Giessen, Heidelberg, and elsewhere, I also found delightful professorial circles. In my favorite field, I was especially struck with the historian Oncken. As a lecturer he was perfect; and I have often advised American historical students to pass a semester, if not more, at Giessen, in order to study his presentation of historical subjects. As to manner, he was the best lecturer on history I heard in Germany; and, with the exception of Laboulaye at the Collge de France, Seelye at English Cambridge, and Goldwin Smith at Cornell, the best I ever heard anywhere.
Especially delightful were sundry men of letters. Of these I knew best Auerbach, whose delightful ``Dorfgeschichten''
were then in full fame. He had been a warm personal friend of Bayard Taylor, and this friendship Iinherited. Many were the walks and talks we took together in the Thiergarten, and he often lighted up my apartment with his sunny temper. But one day, as he came in, returning from his long vacation, I said to him:
``So you have been having a great joy at the unveiling of the Spinoza statue at The Hague.'' ``A great joy!'' he said. ``Bewahre! far from it; it was wretched--miserable.'' I asked, ``How could that be?'' He answered, ``Renan, Kuno Fischer, and myself were invited to make addresses at the unveiling of the statue; but when we arrived at the spot, we found that the Dutch Calvinist domi-nies and the Jewish rabbis had each been preaching to their flocks that the judgments of Heaven would fall upon the city if the erection of a statue to such a monstrous atheist were permitted, and the authorities had to station troops to keep the mob from stoning us and pulling down the statue. Think of such a charge against the `Gottbetrunkener Mensch,' who gave new proofs of God's existence, who saw God in everything!''
Another literary man whom I enjoyed meeting was Julius Rodenberg; his ``Reminiscences of Berlin,'' which I have read since, seem to me the best of their kind.
I also came to know various artists, one of them being especially genial. Our first meeting was shortly after my arrival, at a large dinner, where, as the various guests were brought up to be introduced to the new American minister, there was finally presented a little, gentle, modest man as ``Herr Knaus.'' I never dreamed of his being the foremost genre-painter in Europe; and, as one must say something, I said, ``You are, perhaps, a relative of the famous painter.'' At this he blushed deeply, seemed greatly embarrassed, and said: ``A painter I am; famous, I don't know. (Maler bin ich; berhmt, das weiss ich nicht.)''
So began a friendship which has lasted from that day to this. I saw the beginning, middle, and end of some of his most beautiful pictures, and, above all, of the ``Hinter den Coulissen,'' which conveys a most remarkable philosophical and psychological lesson, showing how near mirth lies to tears. It is the most comic and most pathetic of pictures. I had hoped that it would go to America; but, after being exhibited to the delight of all parts of Germany, it was bought for the royal gallery at Dresden.
Very friendly also was Carl Becker. His ``Coronation of Ulrich von Hutten,'' now at Cologne, of which he allowed me to have a copy taken, has always seemed to me an admirable piece of historical painting. In it there is a portrait of a surly cardinal-bishop; and once, during an evening at Becker's house, having noticed a study for this bishop's head, I referred to it, when he said: ``Yes, that bishop is simply the sacristan of an old church in Venice, and certainly the most dignified ecclesiastic I have ever seen.'' The musical soires at Becker's beautiful apartments were among the delights of my stay both then and during my more recent embassy.
