It is rather difficult in these days for a man who takes such scant

interest in foreign affairs--trust a whilom diplomat for that!--to

follow the continual geographical disturbances of European surfaces.

Thus, I can not distinctly recall the exact location of the Grand Duchy

of Barscheit or of the neighboring principality of Doppelkinn. It

meets my needs and purposes, however, to say that Berlin and Vienna

were easily accessible, and that a three hours' journey would bring you

under the shadow of the Carpathian Range, where, in my diplomatic days,

I used often to hunt the "bear that walks like a man."

Barscheit was known among her sister states as "the meddler," the

"maker of trouble," and the duke as "Old Grumpy"--_Brummbär_. To use a

familiar Yankee expression, Barscheit had a finger in every pie.

Whenever there was a political broth making, whether in Italy, Germany

or Austria, Barscheit would snatch up a ladle and start in. She took

care of her own affairs so easily that she had plenty of time to

concern herself with the affairs of her neighbors. This is not to

advance the opinion that Barscheit was wholly modern; far from it. The

fault of Barscheit may be traced back to a certain historical pillar of

salt, easily recalled by all those who attended Sunday-school.

"Rubbering" is a vulgar phrase, and I disdain to use it.

When a woman looks around it is invariably a portent of trouble; the

man forgets his important engagement, and runs amuck, knocking over

people, principles and principalities. If Aspasia had not observed

Pericles that memorable day; if there had not been an oblique slant to

Calypso's eyes as Ulysses passed her way; if the eager Delilah had not

offered favorable comment on Samson's ringlets; in fact, if all the

women in history and romance had gone about their affairs as they

should have done, what uninteresting reading history would be to-day!

Now, this is a story of a woman who looked around, and of a man who did

not keep his appointment on time; out of a grain of sand, a mountain.

Of course there might have been other causes, but with these I'm not

familiar.

This Duchy of Barscheit is worth looking into. Imagine a country with

telegraph and telephone and medieval customs, a country with electric

lights, railways, surface-cars, hotel elevators and ancient laws!

Something of the customs of the duchy must be told in the passing,

though, for my part, I am vigorously against explanatory passages in

stories of action. Barscheit bristled with militarism; the little man

always imitates the big one, but lacks the big man's excuses.

Militarism entered into and overshadowed the civic laws.




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