A diverting one was a luncheon given to a delegation of the Japanese Red Cross headed by Prince Tokugawa. There were many distinguished personages present, including the Premier Orlando, the minister of war, the minister of the navy, Duke Torlonia, the directors-general of public health and of military health, and other exalted or celebrated personages "too numerous to mention." It was a pleasant party. The Japs interested me very much. They looked less Oriental, if that means anything, than their fellows with whom I have come in contact. I fancy this is due partly to the fact that they were in uniform not unlike that of American officers, and also they seemed bigger, that is—of greater stature—and more deliberate and suave than many that I had previously met. I talked to the Prince and found him intelligent and communicative, without sign or display of royal prerogative. Professor Seigami Sawamura, who sat on my left at lunch, is a lawyer who seemed to have about the same point of view on ordinary topics that a well-educated, cultured man of his profession in America might have. The man on my right was——, who spoke English perfectly, and whom I discovered, after a small attempt to draw him out on the political situation, to be an adherent of Sonnino, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and of his entourage. He seemed to be as devoid of capacity for constructive thought as any educated Italian of thirty-five or forty in political life that I have ever met, or perhaps it was that he had a wonderful facility for concealing it. His small talk, however, was quite perfect, and I can imagine that he might have radiated considerable luminosity in a properly selected salon.
The speeches of the visitors and of the Japanese Ambassador to Italy were most diverting. I have never been so entertained and instructed by oratory of which I didn't understand a word. After the speeches were delivered they were put into excellent Italian by a young attaché of the Italian embassy who must have spent many years away from his native sunny Italy in order to get the mastery of the Oriental language that he displayed. Banquet speeches are, as a rule, a series of platitudes in ornate dress, interspersed with sentiment and expressions of appreciation and praise phrased diplomatically. These speeches had those qualities—all save that of the Japanese Ambassador. His remarks had been carefully prepared and were read. Undoubtedly they had been submitted to the Mikado or his advisers before they were put before us, for they stated the position of his government relative to the war, narrated their reason for participation in its activities, and made statement of their determination to have the efforts of the Allies crowned with success.
The Italian premier, Orlando, replied. He is a real orator. Even below the stature of the average Italian of the South, the large, shapely, and well-poised head, surmounted with thick, closely cropped gray hair brushed pompadour, the sparkling eyes, ruddy face, and genial expression give you at once the feeling that you are in the presence of a man of power, of resourcefulness, and of facility. No one could mistake that he is a man of the people. There is no trace of arrogance or of self-exaltation, and when he speaks you feel that his words are fountained from sincerity. His remarks gave evidence of research and careful preparation. After having pointed out the pleasant relations that had always existed between Italy and Japan and the present intimate solidarity, he cited some historic instances which bind the nations in amity. It was a forebear of the Prince Tokugawa, the Shogun Yasu Tokugawa, who in 1613 permitted a Western ship to land in Japan, and who facilitated the advent of the first Japanese ambassador to Rome. The visitors were apparently very much pleased with his remarks, as he intended they should be. There was nothing said that seemed to indicate that there was any general adhesion to the belief that if the Allies won the war England would become the vassal of America, or of the yellow people of the extreme Orient, such as the Frankfurter Zeitung has recently said would probably be the case.
All of the visitors with whom I spoke were loud, and seemingly sincere, in praise of the treatment they had had at the hands of the Americans during their visit there, and I gathered that there exists at the present time between America and Japan a more generalized sentiment of trustfulness than existed before the war. At least, it may be said that the Jap loses no opportunity to say "nice things" of our country.
A benefit that flows from such a gathering is the opportunity it gives to see, in their hour of semi-relaxation and at short range, some of those who are helping to make history in this country and whose names one sees every day in the newspapers. The first impression that one gets is that they are substantial, serious, intelligent, earnest, alert in their appearance, manner, and conduct, sincere in their efforts, and unalterable in their determination. I fancy that they compare favorably with a similar group of any nationality. Though perhaps you are disappointed in finding that none of them bears any particular outward manifestations of genius, if there be such thing, yet you have no misgivings that they are individuals capable of constructive thought and mature deliberation, self-reliant, and confident.
The next day I went to a midday banquet tendered by Melville E. Stone, the general manager of the Associated Press, by the newspaper men of Rome. It was a very different gathering. Newspaper men have a make-up, a physiognomy, a general appearance, more or less founded in what may be called personal neglect, that is, an insensitiveness to personal æsthetics, which is quite characteristic. One can't pick a newspaper man from a crowd with the same readiness and accuracy that he picks a monk or an actor, but the majority of journalists become hall-marked after they have plied their vocation for any considerable length of time. I was impressed with the appearance of intelligence and seriousness of the men of the Italian press. Few of them bore the somatic signs of intimacy with Mr. Barleycorn. The company had a fair sprinkling of ministers, including Nitti and Gallenga, deputies, and ex-ministers, but as far as I could see there were no dukes or princes. The latter are ornamental and not infrequently pleasing to look upon, but a gathering of newspaper men is redolent of democracy, which is antipathic to princely presence. We lunched at the restaurant in the Borghese Gardens. It was a much simpler affair than the banquet tendered the Japs at the Grand Hotel, but it was an ample, edible lunch, and you had the feeling that we had foregathered to honor one who was deserving.
When one attempts to describe Mr. Stone he is tempted at once to say he is a typical American. But what is a typical American? There are so many types. William Jennings Bryan is a typical American. So is Henry Cabot Lodge. Benjamin Franklin was a typical American, yet he fraternized with dukes and flirted with duchesses, the sheer embodiment of suaviter in modo and fortiter in re. While successfully putting America on the map and advancing the humanities generally, he immortalized himself and affectioned the French people. Abraham Lincoln, we like to think, was a typical American, but were one to encounter him incog. in ceremonial circles, political or social, in Europe to-day, ninety-nine Americans out of a hundred would deny him. Uncle Sam is supposed to depict the somatic make-up of the typical Yankee, and at the same time to convey the idea that he is a man to be reckoned with emotionally and intellectually at all times, in his moments of relaxation and in his hours of activity. Nevertheless the average person has something fairly specific in mind when he says, "He is a typical American." He means a man who displays and who often can't conceal a determination to put through that which he has planned; who is self-confident, opinionated, a stranger to ceremony and oftentimes unfamiliar with ordinary social amenities; who is fully appreciative of the accomplishments and potentialities of his country and its institutions, and who doesn't hesitate to contrast them with those of other countries, often to their disparagement; who speaks only one language, American, and that not always either grammatically or elegantly; who is often a stranger to culture and the last person in the world to find it out; whose dress is that of a farmer or a fashion-plate, and who has bizarre tastes for food and drink—cocktails and ice-water bulk large in his necessities, and he despises Continental breakfasts; who is attracted by the treasures of art and moved by the beauties of nature, but the immediate result of the emotion is to enhance the value of something similar in his own country, yet when he treads his native heath he is often a disparager of it, its possessions, and its institutions.
Melville E. Stone is not that sort of typical American. His record is not unlike that of thousands of his countrymen. He is temperamentally and emotionally an Irishman, and intellectually and physically an American. The son of an itinerant Methodist preacher who forsook the cloth for commerce during the Civil War, and was thus able to provide for the maintenance and education of his children, he gives you the impression of a man who has made his way in the world, and made his own way. Although he is now past the age allotted to man by the Psalmist, he has the appearance and conduct of a man easily ten years younger. I had opportunity of observing him at short range for three or four days, for he was our guest, and as all the other members of our household were away I saw more of him than I otherwise might. He is a man of vast information, which he is not averse to sharing with others, and, unlike many who have such possessions, his information is accurate. This, in a measure, is due to the fact that it is largely personal. As the general manager and general motivator of the greatest news-collecting bureau in the world, he is constantly coming in contact with men who are making history, and his personality is so ingratiating that they allow him a personal contact which in many instances apparently reaches intimacy. Although he is a man who talks freely, my impression is that he is not indiscreet. In addition to this, he has been a studious reader. It was interesting to find that he is a bed reader, for my belief is that the man who reads attentively in bed has an impression of what he reads made upon the memory cells of his brain cortex which sleep then stamps with permanency.
I gather Mr. Stone had very little schooling; that is, he did not go to college. As a boy he went to school in the winter and worked in the summer and during other vacations, and apparently the work that he did most willingly was newspaper work. He became editor of the Chicago Daily News while still a very young man, and continued in that important post for a quarter of a century. He acquired the art of going easily and successfully to men in political life and other avenues of constructive activity while in Chicago, Washington, and the capitals of Europe. The thing that has made him a man of culture, however, is an inherent desire for knowledge, which, he early realized, is the only means that man can successfully employ to add to his stature. He is a true Celt, emotional, sensitive, tenacious of his opinions, reliant in his judgments, a hater of his enemies, and an admirer of his friends. If I were asked to enumerate his most distinctive possession, after a short intimacy with him I should say it was a quality which we speak of as justice. When he brings a question up to the threshold of his consciousness for solution, or a problem for decision, the first thing that he considers is "Is it just?" After that its feasibility and advisability are discussed.
The representative gathering of Italians which greeted him at lunch were prejudiced in his favor. In addition to that, they were saturated with the belief that America was the young Lochinvar who came out of the West to deliver them from threatened bondage. I doubt very much whether any one in America to-day realizes the feeling that Italians had for America, and it is one of great interest. Until the advent of America into the war Italians practically knew nothing of the United States of America, save that it was a place to which large numbers of their poorest and most ignorant inhabitants emigrated, and where they made money which enabled them to return to their native land, or to maintain their families or dependents during their exile. Of the history of America, of the men who made that history and who are making it, of its institutions, its traditions, its accomplishments, its potentialities they knew practically nothing. Undoubtedly there are many who would not accept this statement as true, but I am convinced that it is. Naturally there are men of culture, men of studious habits, men with inclination for historic reading who are exceptions to this blanket accusation. I was very much amused last winter, when dining with an admiral of the navy on duty at Spezia, by the inquiry whether I came from North America or from South America. There are many Italians who claim to be educated who make very little differentiation between the two continents, and I have never yet met an Italian, unless he was a bookish man, who knew anything about our literature. In my own profession I doubt that there are a half-dozen men in America whose fame has reached Italy, and those whose names are familiar are known because of some eponymic association.