behind helpless clods. But Herzl was a practical idealist. His ideal grew, he grew with it, and as they grew together the means of realizing the ideal took on larger dimensions, deeper fervor, spiritual force. Thus he taught us—and the lesson is our consolation—“one genera-
tion passeth away, and another generation cometh,” but the cause, the idea, abideth forever.
Upon us, now that the leader is no more, it is doubly incumbent to labor for the hoped-for consummation.
Personal Recollections of Herzl
FIRST saw Dr. Herzl at the synagogue in Basle, on the Saturday before the opening of the last Congress. After he had been called to the Law and the portion had been read to him, he made his offerings, amounting, if I remember correctly, to something like eight hundred francs, and the stir which this created was only equaled by that caused by the attempt of one of the picturesque Jews of the Caucasus, to make a Misheberach for Herzl at a time when that compliment was not in order. As Herzl stood at the desk with his talith and silk hat he was the very picture of Jewish manhood. An artist might paint him thus and without the slightest idealization make an ideal picture. Tall, handsome, black-bearded, clear-eyed, erect in bearing, suave in manner, he looked as a Prince of Israel ought to look.
I met him for a few minutes on the next day, but on Monday he sent me a message, asking me to join him at his hotel that evening. The pleasure of that meeting will long remain vivid in my recollection. We sat in the smoking room of the Trois Rois Hotel—Dr. Herzl, Dr. Marmorek, the great physician of the Pasteur Institute, whose tuberculosis discovery promises so much, Mr. Joseph Cowen, of London, whom we recently saw in New York, Mr. L. J. Greenberg, of London, through whom the English
Government made the East African proposition, Dr. Herbert Friedenwald, of Philadelphia, Mr. Zangwill and myself.
It was an evening of rare joy. I recall now one of Zangwill’s quick retorts. He was sitting, as is his frequent habit, with closed eyes while the conversation was going on. “Don’t go to 'sleep, Israel,” said Herzl. Quick as a flash came the reply: “The God of Israel‘ slumbereth not, nor sleepeth, but Israel himself sometimes does.” In the course of the evening Herzl advanced an odd theory worth preserving. He contended that Shakespeare was more read in Germany than in England, and he accounted for.this by the fact that in translation Shakespeare is put into modern German, with which the reader is thoroughly familiar, while in the original he is in archaic English, which is more or less unfamiliar. I cite the statement simply to illustrate the man’s mind. The range of thought covered that evening was astounding. French, English and German literature, poetry and art, the drama — everything but Zionism. This latter fact rather puzzled me until we were returning to our hotel when one of the Englishmen of the party explained the mystery.
As we were entering the smoking room of the Trois Rois a man attached himself to Herzl, taking him by the arm and accompanying him. Herzl introduced him