When the delegates were appointed to the International
Scientific Congress at the Paris Exposition of 1900, how little did anybody
imagine that the great conference would end in the most gigantic scandal
that ever stirred two continents?
Yet, had it not been for the pair of American newspapers
published in Paris, this scandal would never have been aired, for the continental
press is so well muzzled that when it bites its teeth merely meet in the
empty atmosphere with a discreet snap.
But to the Yankee nothing excepting the Monroe Doctrine
is sacred, and the unsopped watch-dogs of the press bite right and left,
unmuzzled. The biter bites—it is his profession—and that ends the affair;
the bitee is bitten, and, in the deplorable argot of the hour, “it is up
So now that the scandal has been well aired and hung out
to dry in the teeth of decency and the four winds, and as all the details
have been cheerfully and grossly exaggerated, it is, perhaps, the proper
moment for the truth to be written by the only person whose knowledge of
all the facts in the affair entitles him to speak for himself as well as
for those honorable ladies and gentlemen whose names and titles have been
so mercilessly criticised.
These, then, are the simple facts:
The International Scientific Congress, now adjourned sine
die, met at nine o’clock in the morning, May 3, 1900, in the Tasmanian
Pavilion of the Paris Exposition. There were present the most famous scientists
of Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia, Italy, Switzerland, and the
His Royal Highness the Crown-Prince of Monaco presided.
It is not necessary, now, to repeat the details of that
It is sufficient to say that committees representing
the various known sciences were named and appointed by the Prince of Monaco,
who had been unanimously elected permanent chairman of the conference.
It is the composition of a single committee that concerns us now, and that
committee, representing the science which treats of bird life, was made
up as follows:
Chairman—His Royal Highness the Crown-Prince of Monaco.
Members— Sir Peter Grebe, Great Britain; Baron de Becasse, France; his
Royal Highness King Christian, of Finland; the Countess d’Alzette, of Belgium;
and I, from the United States, representing the Smithsonian Institution
and the Bronx Park Zoological Society of New York.
This, then, was the composition of that now notorious
ornithological committee, a modest, earnest, self-effacing little band
of workers, bound together—in the beginning—by those ties of mutual respect
and esteem which unite all laborers in the vineyard of science.
From the first meeting of our committee, science, the
great leveller, left no artificial barriers of rank or title standing between
us. We were enthusiasts in our love for ornithology; we found new inspiration
in the democracy of our common interests.
As for me, I chatted with my fellows, feeling no restraint
myself and perceiving none. The King of Finland and I discussed his latest
monograph on the speckled titmouse, and I was glad to agree with the King
in all his theories concerning the nesting habits of that important bird.
Sir Peter Grebe, a large, red gentleman in tweeds, read
us some notes he had made on the domestic hen and her reasons for running
ahead of a horse and wagon instead of stepping aside to let the disturbing
The Crown-Prince of Monaco took issue with Sir Peter;
so did the Baron de Becasse; and we were entertained by a friendly and
marvellously interesting three-cornered dispute, shared in by three of
the most profound thinkers of the century.
I shall never forget the brilliancy of that argument,
nor the modest, good-humored retorts which gave us all a glimpse into depths
of erudition which impressed us profoundly and set the seal on the bonds
which held us so closely together.
Alas, that the seal should ever have been broken! Alas,
that the glittering apple of discord should have been flung into our midst!—no,
not flung, but gently rolled under our noses by the gloved fingers of the
lovely Countess d’Alzette.
“Messieurs,” said the fair Countess, when all present,
excepting she and I, had touched upon or indicated the subjects which they
had prepared to present to the congress—“messieurs mes confrères,
I have been requested by our distinguished chairman, the Crown-Prince of
Monaco, to submit to your judgment the subject which, by favor of the King
of the Belgians, I have prepared to present to the International Scientific
She made a pretty courtesy as she named her own sovereign,
and we all rose out of respect to that most austere and moral ruler the
King of Belgium.
“But,” she said, with a charming smile of depreciation,
“I am very, very much afraid that the subject which I have chosen may not
meet with your approval, gentlemen.”
She stood there in her dainty Parisian gown and bonnet,
shaking her pretty head uncertainly, a smile on her lips, her small, gloved
“Oh, I know how dreadful it would be if this great congress
should be compelled to listen to any hoax like that which Monsieur de Rougemont
imposed on the British Royal Society,” she said, gravely; “and because
the subject of my paper is as strange as the strangest phenomenon alleged
to have been noted by Monsieur de Rougemont, I hesitate—”
She glanced at the silent listeners around her. Sir Peter’s
red face had hardened; the King of Finland frowned slightly; the Crown-Prince
of Monaco and Baron de Becasse wore anxious smiles. But when her violet
eyes met mine I gave her a glance of encouragement, and that glance, I
am forced to confess, was not dictated by scientific approval, but by something
that never entirely dries up in the mustiest and dustiest of savants—the
old Adam implanted in us all.
Now, I knew perfectly well what her subject must be; so
did every man present. For it was no secret that his Majesty of Belgium
had been swindled by some natives in Tasmania, and had paid a very large
sum of money for a skin of that gigantic bird, the ux, which has been so
often reported to exist among the inaccessible peaks of the Tasmanian Mountains.
Needless, perhaps, to say that the skin proved a fraud, being nothing more
than a Barnum contrivance made up out of the skins of a dozen ostriches
and cassowaries, and most cleverly put together by Chinese workmen; at
least, such was the report made on it by Sir Peter Grebe, who had been
sent by the British Society to Antwerp to examine the acquisition. Needless,
also, perhaps, to say that King Leopold, of Belgium, stoutly maintained
that the skin of the ux was genuine from beak to claw.
For six months there had been a most serious difference
of opinion among European ornithologists concerning the famous ux in the
Antwerp Museum; and this difference had promised to result in an open quarrel
between a few Belgian savants on one side and all Europe and Great Britain
on the other.
Scientists have a deep-rooted horror of anything that
touches on charlatanism; the taint of trickery not only alarms them, but
drives them away from any suspicious subject, and usually ruins, scientifically
speaking, the person who has introduced the subject for discussion.
Therefore, it took no little courage for the Countess
d’Alzette to touch, with her dainty gloves, a subject which every scientist
in Europe, with scarcely an exception, had pronounced fraudulent and unworthy
of investigation. And to bring it before the great International Congress
required more courage still; for the person who could face, in executive
session, the most brilliant intellects in the world, and openly profess
faith in a Barnumized bird skin, either had no scientific reputation to
lose or was possessed of a bravery far above that of the savants who composed
Now, when the pretty Countess caught a flash of encouragement
in my glance she turned rosy with gratification and surprise. Clearly,
she had not expected to find a single ally in the entire congress. Her
quick smile of gratitude touched me, and made me ashamed, too, for I had
encouraged her out of the pure love of mischief, hoping to hear the whole
matter threshed before the congress and so have it settled once for all.
It was a thoughtless thing to do on my part. I should have remembered the
consequences to the Countess if it were proven that she had been championing
a fraud. The ruffled dignity of the congress would never forgive her; her
scientific career would practically be at an end, because her theories
and observations could no longer command respect or even the attention
of those who knew that she herself had once been deceived by a palpable
I looked at her guiltily, already ashamed of myself for
encouraging her to her destruction. How lovely and innocent she appeared,
standing there reading her notes in a low, clear voice, fresh as a child’s,
with now and then a delicious upward sweep of her long, dark lashes.
With a start I came to my senses and bestowed a pinch
on myself. This was neither the time nor the place to sentimentalize over
a girlish beauty whose small, Parisian head was crammed full of foolish,
brave theories concerning an imposition which her aged sovereign had been
unable to detect.
I saw the gathering frown on the King of Finland’s dark
face; I saw Sir Peter Grebe grow redder and redder, and press his thick
lips together to control the angry “Bosh!” which need not have been uttered
to have been understood. The Baron de Becasse wore a painfully neutral
smile, which froze his face into a quaint gargoyle; the Crown-Prince of
Monaco looked at his polished finger-nails with a startled yet abstracted
resignation. Clearly the young Countess had not a sympathizer in the committee.
Something—perhaps it was the latent chivalry which exists
imbedded in us all, perhaps it was pity, perhaps a glimmering dawn of belief
in the ux skin—set my thoughts working very quickly.
The Countess d’Alzette finished her notes, then glanced
around with a deprecating smile, which died out on her lips when she perceived
the silent and stony hostility of her fellow-scientists. A quick expression
of alarm came into her lovely eyes. Would they vote against giving her
a hearing before the congress? It required a unanimous vote to reject
a subject. She turned her eyes on me.
I rose, red as fire, my head humming with a chaos of ideas
all disordered and vague, yet whirling along in a single, resistless current.
I had come to the congress prepared to deliver a monograph on the great
auk; but now the subject went overboard as the birds themselves had, and
I found myself pleading with the committee to give the Countess a hearing
on the ux.
“Why not?” I exclaimed, warmly. “It is established beyond
question that the ux does exist in Tasmania. Wallace saw several uxen,
through his telescope, walking about upon the inaccessible heights of the
Tasmanian Mountains. Darwin acknowledged that the bird exists; Professor
Farrago has published a pamphlet containing an accumulation of all data
bearing upon the ux. Why should not Madame la Comtesse be heard by the
I looked at Sir Peter Grebe.
“Have you seen this alleged bird skin in the Antwerp Museum?”
he asked, perspiring with indignation.
“Yes, I have,” said I. “It has been patched up, but how
are we to know that the skin did not require patching? I have not found
that ostrich skin has been used. It is true that the Tasmanians may have
shot the bird to pieces and mended the skin with bits of cassowary hide
here and there. But the greater part of the skin, and the beak and claws,
are, in my estimation, well worth the serious attention of savants. To
pronounce them fraudulent is, in my opinion, rash and premature.”
I mopped my brow; I was in for it now. I had thrown in
my reputation with the reputation of the Countess.
The displeasure and astonishment of my confrères
was unmistakable. In the midst of a strained silence I moved that a vote
be taken upon the advisability of a hearing before the congress on the
subject of the ux. After a pause the young Countess, pale and determined,
seconded my motion. The result of the balloting was a foregone conclusion;
the Countess had one vote—she herself refraining from voting—and the subject
was entered on the committee-book as acceptable and a date set for the
hearing before the International Congress.
The effect of this vote on our little committee was most
marked. Constraint took the place of cordiality, polite reserve replaced
that guileless and openhearted courtesy with which our proceedings had
With icy politeness, the Crown-Prince of Monaco asked
me to state the subject of the paper I proposed to read before the congress,
and I replied quietly that, as I was partly responsible for advocating
the discussion of the ux, I proposed to associate myself with the Countess
d’Alzette in that matter—if Madame la Comtesse would accept the offer of
a brother savant.
“Indeed I will,” she said, impulsively, her blue eyes
soft with gratitude.
“Very well,” observed Sir Peter Grebe, swallowing his
indignation and waddling off towards the door; “I shall resign my position
on this committee— yes, I will, I tell you!”—as the King of Finland laid
a fatherly hand on Sir Peter’s sleeve—”I’ll not be made responsible for
He choked, sputtered, then bowed to the horrified Countess,
asking pardon, and declaring that he yielded to nobody in respect for the
gentler sex. And he retired with the Baron de Becasse.
But out in the hallway I heard him explode. “Confound
it! This is no place for petticoats, Baron! And as for that Yankee ornithologist,
he’s hung himself with the Countess’s corset-string—yes, he has! Don’t
tell me, Baron! The young idiot was all right until the Countess looked
at him, I tell you. Gad! how she crumpled him up with those blue eyes of
hers! What the devil do women come into such committees for? Eh? It’s an
outrage, I tell you! Why, the whole world will jeer at us if we sit and
listen to her monograph on that fraudulent bird!”
The young Countess, who was writing near the window, could
not have heard this outburst; but I heard it, and so did King Christian
and the Crown-Prince of Monaco.
“Lord,” thought I, “the Countess and I are in the frying-pan
this time. I’ll do what I can to keep us both out of the fire.”
When the King and the Crown-Prince had made their adieux
to the Countess, and she had responded, pale and serious, they came over
to where I was standing, looking out on the Seine.
“Though we must differ from you,” said the King, kindly,
“we wish you all success in this dangerous undertaking.”
I thanked him.
“You are a young man to risk a reputation already established,”
remarked the Crown-Prince; then added: “You are braver than I. Ridicule
is a barrier to all knowledge, and, though we know that, we seekers after
truth always bring up short at that barrier and dismount, not daring to
put our hobbies to the fence.”
“One can but come a cropper,” said I.
“And risk staking our hobbies? No, no, that would make
us ridiculous; and ridicule kills in Europe.”
“It’s somewhat deadly in America, too,” I said, smiling.
“The more honor to you,” said the Crown-Prince, gravely.
“Oh, I am not the only one,” I answered, lightly. “There
is my confrère, Professor Hyssop, who studies apparitions and braves
a contempt and ridicule which none of us would dare challenge. We Yankees
are learning slowly. Some day we will find the lost key to the future while
Europe is sneering at those who are trying to pick the lock.”
When King Christian, of Finland, and the Crown-Prince
of Monaco had taken their hats and sticks and departed, I glanced across
the room at the young Countess, who was now working rapidly on a type-writer,
apparently quite oblivious of my presence.
I looked out of the window again, and my gaze wandered
over the exposition grounds. Gilt and scarlet and azure the palaces rose
in every direction, under a wilderness of fluttering flags. Towers, minarets,
turrets, golden spires cut the blue sky; in the west the gaunt Eiffel Tower
sprawled across the glittering Esplanade; behind it rose the solid golden
dome of the Emperor’s tomb, gilded once more by the Almighty’s sun, to
amuse the living rabble while the dead slumbered in his imperial crypt,
himself now but a relic for the amusement of the people whom he had despised.
O tempora! O mores! O Napoleon!
Down under my window, in the asphalted court, the King
of Finland was entering his beautiful victoria. An adjutant, wearing a
cocked hat and brilliant uniform, mounted the box beside the green-and-gold
coachman; the two postilions straightened up in their saddles; the four
horses danced. Then, when the Crown-Prince of Monaco had taken a seat beside
the King, the carriage rolled away, and far down the quay I watched it
until the flutter of the green-and-white plumes in the adjutant’s cocked
hat was all I could see of vanishing royalty.
I was still musing there by the window, listening to the
click and ringing of the type-writer, when I suddenly became aware that
the clicking had ceased, and, turning, I saw the young Countess standing
“Thank you for your chivalrous impulse to help me,” she
said, frankly, holding out her bare hand.
I bent over it.
“I had not realized how desperate my case was,” she said,
with a smile. “I supposed that they would at least give me a hearing. How
can I thank you for your brave vote in my favor?”
“By giving me your confidence in this matter,” said I,
gravely. “If we are to win, we must work together and work hard, madame.
We are entering a struggle, not only to prove the genuineness of a bird
skin and the existence of a bird which neither of us has ever seen, but
also a struggle which will either make us famous forever or render it impossible
for either of us ever again to face a scientific audience.”
“I know it,” she said, quietly. “And I understand all
the better how gallant a gentleman I have had the fortune to enlist in
my cause. Believe me, had I not absolute confidence in my ability to prove
the existence of the ux I should not, selfish as I am, have accepted your
chivalrous offer to stand or fall with me.”
The subtle emotion in her voice touched a responsive chord
in me. I looked at her earnestly; she raised her beautiful eyes to mine.
“Will you help me?” she asked.
Would I help her? Faith, I’d pass the balance of my life
turning flip-flaps to please her. I did not attempt to undeceive myself;
I realized that the lightning had struck me—that I was desperately in love
with the young Countess from the tip of her bonnet to the toe of her small,
polished shoe. I was curiously cool about it, too, although my heart gave
a thump that nigh choked me, and I felt myself going red from temple to
If the Countess d’Alzette noticed it she gave no sign,
unless the pink tint under her eyes, deepening, was a subtle signal of
understanding to the signal in my eyes.
“Suppose,” she said, “that I failed, before the congress,
to prove my theory? Suppose my investigations resulted in the exposure
of a fraud and my name was held up to ridicule before all Europe? What
would become of you, monsieur?”
I was silent.
“You are already celebrated as the discoverer of the mammoth
and the great auk,” she persisted. “You are young, enthusiastic, renowned,
and you have a future before you that anybody in the world might envy.”
I said nothing.
“And yet,” she said, softly, “you risk all because you
will not leave a young woman friendless among her confrères. It
is not wise, monsieur; it is gallant and generous and impulsive, but it
is not wisdom. Don Quixote rides no more in Europe, my friend.”
“He stays at home—seventy million of him—in America,”
After a moment she said, “I believe you, monsieur.”
“It is true enough,” I said, with a laugh. “We are the
only people who tilt at windmills these days—we and our cousins, the British,
who taught us.”
I bowed gayly, and added:
“With your colors to wear, I shall have the honor of breaking
a lance against the biggest windmill in the world.”
“You mean the Citadel of Science,” she said, smiling
“And its rock-ribbed respectability,” I replied.
She looked at me thoughtfully, rolling and unrolling the
scroll in her hands. Then she sighed, smiled, and brightened, handing
me the scroll.
“Read it carefully,” she said; “it is an outline of the
policy I suggest that we follow. You will be surprised at some of the statements.
Yet every word is the truth. And, monsieur, your reward for the devotion
you have offered will be no greater than you deserve, when you find yourself
doubly famous for our joint monograph on the ux. Without your vote in the
committee I should have been denied a hearing, even though I produced proofs
to support my theory. I appreciate that; I do most truly appreciate the
courage which prompted you to defend a woman at the risk of your own ruin.
Come to me this evening at nine. I hold for you in store a surprise and
pleasure which you do not dream of.”
“Ah, but I do,” I said, slowly, under the spell of her
delicate beauty and enthusiasm.
“How can you?” she said, laughing. “You don’t know what
awaits you at nine this evening?”
“You,” I said, fascinated.
The color swept her face; she dropped me a deep courtesy.
“At nine, then,” she said. “No. 8 Rue d’Alouette.”
I bowed, took my hat, gloves, and stick, and attended
her to her carriage below.
Long after the blue-and-black victoria had whirled away
down the crowded quay I stood looking after it, mazed in the web of that
ancient enchantment whose spell fell over the first man in Eden, and whose
sorcery shall not fail till the last man returns his soul.