The British Interned in Switzerland

by Henry Philip Picot

When, later, the British Battle of the Somme film was given in Berne, in 1916, in the huge Concert Hall of the Casino, the contrast in the spirit of the whole performance was all the more noticeable when the feelings of horror evoked by the Moewe performance are recalled to mind. Amongst other films, the remembrance of which stands out, the Champagne, the Italian Izonzo, the Tank, and England's Effort, all of which were very fine productions, may be noted.

As regards painting, not many exhibitions took place, owing mainly, presumably, to the ever increasing difficulties of transport. During 1916, however, the Society of Belgian Artists sent a number of paintings done at the Front; and the French held an exhibition of old engravings and woodcuts. In 1917 the Musée du Luxembourg organized a magnificent collection of about 200 pictures of the "chefs-d'œuvre" of the École de Barbizon, which represented most of the leaders of this great school: Corot, Cézanne, Daubigny, Degas, Monet, Manet, Millet, and many others. This exhibition was opened at the Musée d'Art in Geneva, and created a good deal of stir, and when I left Berne it was just about to be transferred to that place. Another exhibition of interest was that of the works of Franz Hodler, the great Swiss painter, one of whose canvasses fetched in America, it is said, the enormous sum of frs. 500,000.

It was, however, in matters musical that Berne offered the greatest artistic enjoyment. Not only were a series of concerts given by the "Liedertafel" and "Cäcilien Verein" and the Berne "Stadt Orchestra," which, in the winter of 1917, under the conductorship of M. Brun, gave excellent interpretations of the complete nine Symphonies of Beethoven, but we also had a visit from the famous "Orchestre du Conservatoire de Paris," as well as recitals by Risler, Louis Vierne and others. With reference to the visit of the "Orchestre du Conservatoire de Paris," a rather amusing incident occurred, typical of the spirit of war that had so insidiously, during forty years of military preparation, made its way into the very heart of intellectual and artistic Germany, and even Austria, prostituting these, also, to the ends of "Deutschland über Alles." The French Orchestra had, for some time past, announced their arrival for a certain date, together with their programme, when suddenly, a few days before the event, which was creating a good deal of interest, Weingärtner, with his Philharmonic Orchestra of Vienna, advertised a concert to take place just three days prior to the French performance, and with an almost identical programme. This naturally created excitement, but, judging by the overflowing hall and tremendous enthusiasm displayed at the French concert, left the palm of victory in the hands of the French musicians. In a word, the Germano-Austrian artistic tours in Switzerland were throughout marked by a competitive spirit, and every detail of them was, I understand, arranged under the ægis of high German officials.

Many were the artists of European renown who visited Berne during the war: Mesdames Réjane, Leblanc Maeterlinck, the Russian dancer, Nijinski, as well as those of the Central Empires, such as Moïssi (who gave "Hamlet"), Nikish, and others.

Of all artistic enjoyments, however, two series of operatic and dramatic performances remain pre-eminent: the Wagnerian series of operas given by a Swiss company, and the series of classic and romantic drama presented by members of the "Comédie Française" of Paris. The vocal rendering of the Wagner operas could scarcely have been excelled. Herr Rudolph Jung, a young Swiss tenor, interpreted in turn Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, Tristan, Hans Sachs, and Parsifal, and not only was his tone one of perfect purity and beauty, but, what is rare, his physique lent itself to the glamour of knightly armour as harmoniously as his interpretation was satisfying mentally and emotionally. Unless I am much mistaken, this young man is destined to become one of the world's greatest singers and artists. He had made his the spirit of knighthood, the spirit evoked by Wagner as opposed to the old German ideal of brute force, a fact which appears to have entirely escaped the German public and critics. It is always of knighthood that Wagner sings, of knights in conflict with material forces; and if he rescued from oblivion the sagas of a dawn of civilization, it was but as the forces against which his knights hurled themselves in the true spirit of knightly honour and disinterested service. Lohengrin rescues Elsa from false and deadly intrigue; Tannhäuser, his soul from the snares of the Venusberg; and Parsifal, proof against all false allurements, reaches the serene heights of absolute command over himself and life.

Whether aware of it or not, Herr Jung ideally portrayed the knightly spirit, to save which practically the whole world is fighting the Central Empires in this terrible war. It is a trite saying: "No one is a prophet in his own country." Assuredly Wagner was not in the way he intended, as an apostle of World-Brotherhood; and perchance it was for this reason that he was banned and exiled, and forced to spend most of his life away from his native land. As to the life-work of Wagner and the lessons it teaches—fully explained in his writings—Germany appears merely to have extolled his evocations of the past, the nebulous historical sagas, and to have deified these, the better, presumably, to serve her one end and aim of conquest.

Another series of performances, well worthy of remembrance, was that given by members of the "Comédie Française," with Madame Bartet and Messieurs Paul Mounet and Lambert in the title rôles. These artists scored great successes, Monsieur Lambert being recalled no less than eight times in Berne, and sixteen in Zürich, the very centre of German influence. With regard to these performances, it may be of interest to note a passage in the Third Act of "Les Horaces et Curiaces." In Horace Corneille typifies the Roman ideal, and in Curiace the Gallic. When, in the Third Act, the two friends and brothers-in-law, chosen by their respective States to fight each other to the death, meet in a last farewell interview, Horace brutally says to Curiace: "Rome a besoin de moi—je ne te connais plus." (Rome needs me—I know thee no more.) Curiace answers with emotion: "Et moi—je te connais encore, et c'est cela qui me tue." (And I—I know thee still, and it is that that is killing me.) Could any words better portray the two fundamentally differing attitudes of mind between the Roman and the Gaul, or better illustrate the brutal, if heroic, insentience of the Roman, or the tender and no less heroic (for the Gaul overthrows the Roman) humanity of the Gaul?

It is said that one nation, in the absence of means of contact, to a great extent estimates other nations by what it sees of these on the stage; and doubtless a good deal of truth lies hidden in this saying. To those who understand both the English and French "théâtre pour rire," the realistic farce provides an evening's desultory laugh, the memory of which dies with the last joke; but to foreign eyes and ears strained, whether consciously or not, to catch traits of character, a farce may give birth to very wrong impressions, and become a positive international danger through false estimates of values. For this reason, chiefly, it was with the keenest pleasure one welcomed the advent in Switzerland of the "Comédie Française," the embodiment of all that is best, highest, and most ideal in France.

During the first days of the war, and the ensuing unprecedented situation, before the horror of it had become uppermost, many were the incidents of awkwardness whispered from ear to ear. Berne being a small capital, certain sets in it meet daily, and the Diplomatic Corps assumes almost the aspect of a "vie de famille." Many of its members were on intimate terms, friends often of years' standing, when the curtain descended on the old order of things on those fateful August days of 1914. One night perchance the French were dining with their Austrian colleagues, or the British with the Germans, and the next morning were to meet as strangers. The situation seemed unreal and impossible, and naturally led to much groping and questionings to find a new "modus vivendi." In one case a Minister's wife meeting her Austrian colleague, whom the day before she had called by her Christian name, would be at a loss to know what to do, the result culminating on both sides in a half-nod with averted eyes; or an Allied caller at a Swiss house would unavoidably come face to face with a new enemy—an erstwhile familiar friend. Such incidents were at first of daily occurrence. I remember one especially, more humorously long drawn out. An Allied Military Attaché was calling on Swiss friends, when the servant came in, and, with a perplexed look, whispered something in the ear of the hostess. "Be quick," said the latter to her Allied caller, "the servant has said I am in; but if you go through my boudoir here to the left, you will escape an awkward meeting." The caller, following directions, tiptoed through the boudoir to a door leading to a passage, but only to find himself confronted by the Austrian Military Attaché, who, conducted by the no less tactful servant, had also made the same détour. The Allied caller, quickly closing the door with the hope that he had not been recognized, retraced his steps to fly by the usual entrance—only to meet his new enemy again. This time escape was impossible, the Austrian ejaculating: "Well, Colonel, bad luck this time!" at which both laughed and passed on.

In a very short time, however, events in Belgium and France made too deep an impression for any room to be left to the lighter side of things, and such incidents were avoided by more careful forethought and organization. The Swiss and other Neutrals held separate reception days for the Allies and their antagonists, and official receptions at the Palais Fédéral were accurately scheduled as to time, so as to avoid any untoward meetings of the representatives of the belligerent nations. The severance became complete, though it required a little time to accomplish. The Diplomatic Tennis Club, for instance—a favourite resort for tennis in summer and skating in winter—had likewise to modify its rules to meet the changed conditions. As a mode of partition between the Allies and the Central Empires the even dates were allotted to one side, the uneven to the other. How it came about no one exactly knew, but the Central Empires secured the uneven, thus gaining the advantage of seven extra days in the year, as the least calculating found out in the course of time. Gradually the new "modus vivendi" became established; and, indeed, the news reaching Berne of the urgent demands from many quarters for help developing the instinctive desire to be of some service in the struggle at hand, more and more restricted the purely social functions.