Partly, they wanted to catch up with the Sephardim in the assimilation-social-acceptance process. They were also concerned for their children. As early as 1854 the Israelite had gloomily predicted: “We will have no Jews left in this country in less than half a century” if synagogues did not rapidly adjust to the new age in America.
Temple Emanu-El became the symbol of the Germans’ efforts “to become one with progress.” When its new Fifth Avenue edifice was opened in 1870, with men like Joseph and Jesse Seligman on the building committee, it was hailed by the New York Times as one of the leading congregations in the world, “the first to stand forward before the world and proclaim the dominion of reason over blind and bigoted faith.” Reason was the key, and the new temple seemed somehow a beacon for a new era when all men, regardless of race or creed, would join in a “universal communion” of reason. The Judaism that the temple proclaimed was “the Judaism of the heart, the Judaism which proclaims the spirit of religion as being of more importance than the letter.” In 1873 Temple Emanu-El called Gustav Gottheil to its pulpit from Manchester, England, to preach this enlightened Judaism “in impeccable English accents, comprehensible to all New Yorkers.”
The attempt to bridge opposing worlds is apparent in the physical structure of Temple Emanu-El itself. Inside, with its pews and pulpit and handsome chandeliers—where hatted women worship alongside the men (unhatted), and not in a separate curtained gallery—it looks very like a church. But outside, as a kind of gentle gesture to the past, its Moorish façade calls to mind a synagogue.
Yet noble sentiments are often easier to express in rhetoric and architecture than they are in life. In some ways the temple seemed to emphasize the fact that Jews continued to live in two communities, the Jewish and the gentile, and the temple’s congregation, by attempting to be a little of each, began to seem a little less than either. This duality of feeling only seemed to isolate the Reform Jew further. Emotionally and theologically, the results of this adjustment were complicated. When Reform Rabbi Sarner had been examined by an army board of chaplains during the Civil War, the notation placed after his name at the conclusion of the interview was “Lutheran.”
While the congregation of Temple Emanu-El seemed uncertain as to just how “Jewish” and how “American” it wished to be, it seemed quite certain that it wanted to retain a third culture: the German. New York’s German Jews began, in the 1870’s, to say to each other, “We are really more German than Jewish,” and were convinced that nineteenth-century Germany embodied the finest flowering of the arts, sciences, and technology. German continued to be the language the families spoke in their homes. The music children practiced in family music rooms was German music. When a Seligman, Loeb, or Lehman traveled to Europe, he sailed on the Hamburg-America Line; it was the best. When he needed a rest, he took the waters at a German spa—Baden, Carlsbad, or Marienbad. At their dinners they served German wines. When illness struck, the ailing were hurried to Germany, where the best doctors were.
The elite German Jewish club was the Harmonie, founded in 1852 and one of the oldest social clubs in New York. For forty-one years it was the Harmonie Gesellschaft, German was its official language, and the Kaiser’s portrait hung in the hall. In some ways, however, the Harmonie was as progressive as Temple Emanu-El, where its membership worshiped. It was the first New York men’s club to admit ladies at the dinner hour, and it was famous for its food. (Particularly celebrated was the club’s herring with sour cream, which it put up in jars and the ladies carried home.)
Prosperous German Jewish men continued to return to Germany on their Brautschaus. One summer in Germany, Joseph Seligman encountered his friend Wolf Goodhart of New York, who had come over on just such a mission as Joseph had carried out two dozen years earlier. Joseph had recommended a particular young lady to Goodhart, but said Joseph in a letter home:
He says he has a mind of his own and will not marry unless he gets a lady of the first water—handsome, highly educated, sprightly. In fact he wants something quite rechercé, a ne plus ultra. I think he may, on his way back, drop in at St. James’s Palace and look around there! His brother, Sander, in Lichtenfels who is more of a matter-of-fact man, tells him he is a d—d fool if he does not try to get one with money. (Sander has one in view with Sechs Tausend Gulden.)
In their New York houses Loebs, Goldmans, and Lehmans employed French chefs, Irish maids, English butlers, but German governesses. When children reached college age, they were dispatched to universities at Berlin, Heidelberg, and Leipzig.
As for elementary schools, the German Jews had, from 1871 on, one of their very own on West Fifty-ninth Street—the Sachs Collegiate Institute, run by Dr. Julius Sachs. Herr Doktor Sachs was a stern, Old World schoolmaster whose uniformed boys, in smart black suits and starched stand-up collars, were seldom spared the rod. He emphasized the classics, languages (including German), and Teutonic discipline. He himself spoke nine languages fluently, including Sanskrit. At the height of his career, Dr. Sachs was turning out Lehmans, Cullmans, Zinssers, Meyers, Goldmans, and Loebs who were ready for Harvard at the age of fifteen. Julius Sachs also established a coordinated school for girls in New York, though it was less successful. It was considered less important to instill the German heritage in girls, and daughters were sent to Brearley or to finishing schools abroad. After a day at Dr. Sachs’s schools, children came home for further instruction under German tutors.
Something of an exception in their approach to education—as indeed they often were to other things—were the Seligmans, led by Joseph, whose longing for Americanization was overpowering. Several of his brothers had early Americanized their first names. Henry was originally Hermann, William was Wolf, James was Jacob, Jesse was Isaias, and Leopold was Lippmann. As parents, they began naming their children after the great heroes of their adopted land. Joseph’s sons included George Washington Seligman, Edwin Robert Anderson Seligman (after Robert Anderson, the defender of Fort Sumter), Isaac Newton Seligman, and Alfred Lincoln Seligman—a quaint compromise. Joseph planned to call the boy Abraham Lincoln Seligman, but decided the name Abraham was too Judaic to perpetuate in America. At the same time, Joseph and his brothers named their oldest sons David, after their grandfather, following the Jewish tradition, and the oldest daughters Frances, after Fanny. William Seligman’s David was David Washington. James modified David to DeWitt, thereby naming his first son after the first David Seligman as well as DeWitt Clinton. James also had a Washington and a Jefferson.
To educate his five boys, Joseph hit upon a dazzlingly American idea. He hired the creator of the great American boy hero, Horatio Alger, to live in his house and tutor his sons. James’s five boys were invited to sit in on the Alger classes, where it was hoped they would all acquire the red-blooded standards of “Tattered Tom,” “Ragged Dick,” and Alger’s other newsboy-to-riches heroes.
The experiment was not entirely a success. Alger may have been able to invent boy heroes, but he was far from one himself. He was a timid, sweet-tempered little man who, in his nonteaching hours, practiced his ballet steps. He was easily cowed, and his customary cry of alarm was “Oh, Lordy-me!” Ten lively Seligman boys were clearly too much for him, and he was forever having to rush to Babet or James’s wife, Rosa, for assistance. Once, when he cried out for help, the boys jumped on him, tied him up, and locked him in a trunk in the attic. They refused to let him out until he promised not to tell their mothers.
The schoolroom was on the top floor of the Seligmans’ brownstone, and, as Alger ascended the stairs the boys stood on an upper landing with lighted candles, aiming drops of hot wax at the top of his small bald head. But Alger, who had a classic inferiority complex, was endlessly forgiving. After lessons, such as they were, he liked to play billiards with the boys. He was extremely nearsighted, and when it was his turn at the cue, the boys substituted red apples for the red balls. Alger never caught on, and, as each new apple was demolished with his cue, would cry, “Oh, Lordy-me, I’ve broken another ba
ll! I don’t know my own strength!”
But Alger had his compensations. J. & W. Seligman & Company opened an account in his name, took his literary royalties and invested them for him, and made him a wealthy man. He remained a friend of the Seligmans and, long after the boys were grown, was a regular guest at Sunday dinner, where the practical jokes continued.
There was one favorite. Joseph’s married daughter, Helene, and her husband lived with her parents. After dinner one of her brothers would steer Mr. Alger into the library and into a sofa next to Helene. There he would artfully drape one of Mr. Alger’s tiny arms around Helene’s rather ample waist while another brother ran from the room shouting, “Mr. Alger is trying to seduce Helene!” Helene’s husband would then rush into the room brandishing a bread knife, crying, “Seducer!” The first three times this happened, Horatio Alger fell to the floor in a dead faint. Perhaps he did teach the boys to be Americans after all.
A few other German Jewish families altered their names slightly to make them sound a bit more American. Stralem, for instance, was originally Stralheim. Neustadt became Newton. Ickelheimer, which was certainly a mouthful, was telescoped to Isles. But the Seligmans rather frowned on this practice. It smacked of Belmont-ism.
Except for William. In the 1870’s William Seligman, the most snobbish, probably, of the Seligman brothers, journeyed to New York from Paris for a conference with Joseph. William said, “Joe, now that we’re getting to be men of substance, I suggest that we change our name.”
Joseph looked at him for a moment with hooded, sleepy eyes, smiling his famous semismile. Then he nodded soberly. “I agree that you should change your name, William,” he replied. “I suggest you change it to Schlemiel.”
* To further confuse the situation, a number of Jewish families who had come to America before the Germans and who were not historically Sephardim began calling themselves “Sephardic” to escape the “Jew” label.
17
“THE HAUGHTY AND PURSE-PROUD ROTHSCHILDS”
There was one area in which August Belmont excelled. Its name was Rothschild. Belmont was not a spectacular, brilliant, or even “interesting” financier. He made few, if any, great financial coups. But men like Morgan liked to work with the European Rothschilds, and August Belmont, as their agent, was always there, helpful, collecting his percentage on the money that passed back and forth. When smaller bankers turned to him, he was never more than barely cooperative. When Goldman, Sachs, for instance, first dreamed of establishing an international operation, they approached a London firm called Kleinwort Sons & Company, to see if an English connection could be arranged. Since the Kleinworts did not “know” Sachs or Goldman, they discreetly inquired of the Rothschilds for a report on the New York firm’s standing. The Rothschilds didn’t know either, and passed the query along to Belmont. Belmont took his time about replying, but eventually sent back a note, via the Rothschilds, saying that Goldman, Sachs & Company was “one firm about which nobody can say anything against.”
From a distance of years, this lofty comment sounds like damning with faint praise. But, apparently, coming from Belmont, it was enough to reassure the Kleinworts. The connection was established, and Goldman, Sachs & Company were almost deliriously grateful to Belmont “for so generously indorsing us”—an indication of the awe in which Belmont was held on Wall Street.*
When Joseph Seligman was readily acknowledged as the leading Jewish banker in New York, equaling, if not exceeding, Belmont’s influence, Joseph made several suggestions to Belmont that “you introduce us” to the Rothschilds, suggestions which Belmont ignored. William Seligman tried to meet the Rothschilds in Paris, and Joseph, on his European journeys, tried in London. But the Rothschilds maintained their customary aloofness. Cultivating a Rothschild in Europe seemed every bit as difficult as cultivating a Sephardic Jew in New York.
In 1874 Joseph made a bid to Grant’s new Secretary of the Treasury, Benjamin Bristow, to handle the sale of $25 million worth of U.S. bonds. This plum seemed about to fall into Joseph’s lap when Bristow began to hedge. Bristow wanted, he said, “a stronger combination of bankers” behind the loan—a syndicate, in other words. He suggested “some strong European house,” and though he did not say so in so many words, his implication was clear—he wanted the Rothschilds. Politely Joseph questioned “the propriety of giving the Rothschilds a participation,” since they had given the Union such scant support during the Civil War. But the war had faded in everybody’s memory, and Bristow stood firm.
Privately, Joseph was more specific about his misgivings. Writing to his brothers, he said: “Now the President and Mr. Bristow appear both anxious that we and the Rothschild group should work together, as they say no one could beat that great combination … [but] I fear that the haughty and proud Rothschilds would not let us come in as their peers, and I should not consent to join on any other terms.”
Joseph’s fears were well founded. The Rothschilds were the greatest private bank in the world and were unaccustomed to enter any deal they could not dominate. Joseph would have to come off his high horse a bit. Bristow contacted the Rothschilds, who replied from their citadel that they would handle the bond issue only if they were given a five-eighths share of it. The Seligmans, “or any other reliable house,” could have the “remainder.”
Joseph tried to bargain. This, he replied, was acceptable provided the Seligman name was included in all newspaper advertisements for the bonds in New York and “either in Paris or Frankfurt.” It was an important point. The position of a firm’s name on the “tombstone,” as a financial-page advertisement is called, is an indication of status.
Oh, no, replied the Rothschilds. They had said nothing about advertising, but now that Seligman had brought it up, they would have to make it clear that the Seligman name was not to appear in the advertising at all. A little nervously, Joseph wrote to Isaac in London: “If by next week the Rothschilds have not acceded to such terms as you and Paris can honourably accept, I will make it hot for Rothschild, as I cannot conceive that Bristow will ignore us and give the loan to Rothschild, even if they outbid us, as we can be of use to the Administration, and Rothschild cannot.”
But Joseph was not able to make it quite hot enough. The Rothschilds grandly replied to Bristow that they “might consider” placing the Seligman name in the ads provided the Seligmans accepted an even smaller share of the issue than three-eighths. Two-eights, for instance, might do. Joseph weighed the situation. From the standpoint of prestige, his name linked with the Rothschilds would be of great value. But he still felt it prudent to haggle. Perhaps, he suggested, they could settle somewhere between two-eighths and three-eighths—two-and-a-half-eighths, say, or six-sixteenths, or 31.25 percent. The Rothschilds appeared to grow bored with the argument, and replied that Joseph could, if he wished, have 28 percent of the issue and his name in the ads—below the name Rothschild, of course.
A weary Joseph wrote to Isaac: “We have at last advanced so far as to be able to join in a bid with Rothschild, which is, after all, a feather in our cap, and although our participation of 28% is small, I am contented.” From wanting to go in as a Rothschild “peer,” he had backed down to the point of accepting a little more than a one-quarter peerdom.
It took spunky Isaac in London to make the first face-to-face contact of a Seligman with a Rothschild. Isaac had had no qualms about confronting President Lincoln at a White House reception about Seligman coats, suits and uniforms. Now that the terms of the Rothschild-Seligman deal were set, Isaac marched off to Baron Lionel Rothschild’s mansion in Piccadilly. This crusty Baron, when elected to the House of Commons, had for eight years refused to swear his oath of admission unless the Old Testament was substituted for the Holy Bible, and the words “upon the true faith of a Christian” were omitted. When he finally won, he sat in Parliament for fifteen years without saying a word. At the Baron’s house, Isaac was passed through footmen and butlers to the Baron’s drawing room where the Baron sat. It was a Saturday,
and the Baron rose stiffly from his chair and said, “I am a better Jew than you. You go to business on Saturdays. I do not. My office is closed.” It was a dismissal, and it was a snub, but Isaac looked quickly around the room and saw that the Baron’s table was strewn with financial-looking documents. Said Isaac, “Baron, I think you do more business in this room on Saturdays than I do during the whole week in my office.” The Baron looked briefly flustered. Then his lips curved upward. That evening Isaac wrote home to Joseph: “Old Rothschild can be a jolly nice chap when he wishes.”
Now that Isaac had broken the Rothschild ice, Joseph wrote a three-page letter in elegant, almost obsequious praise of the Rothschilds, adding the instruction to Isaac, “Let the Baron read it.” The letter said: “Please say to the Baron that we feel highly honored in participating with his great house in negotiating the 5% U.S. Bonds; that we never concealed the fact from the President and the Secretary that the House of Rothschild (properly successful in all they undertake) would be certain to make a good market for the U.S. 5%’s.… We were quite satisfied in leaving the sole management in London to the Messrs. Rothschild.” Joseph continued his buttering up of the Rothschilds, name-dropping important American Seligman connections for several more lines, and concluded with a discreet sales pitch for future Rothschild business, saying he was sure that “the Baron will agree with us that our cooperation and joint management in New York will be of considerable advantage to the syndicate.” Through the whole letter ran this between-the-lines theme: How much nicer it will be, dear Baron, working with us in New York than with August Belmont, who is such a poor Jew.
The Jews in America Trilogy Page 17