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September came in; the debates in the Rigstag continued. Various papers were accused of having prematurely divulged the secret – especially Copenhagen. It was amusing – the secret among business men had long before the revelation of Copenhagen become an open secret. In fact, one of these gentlemen had come to me and informed me of the various attitudes of people on the Bourse; at the Legation, we never lacked secret information. The debate, as everybody knew, and the threat of an investigation of the responsibility for letting out the secret was a bit of comedy, probably invented for the provinces, for a Copenhagener is about as easily fooled as a Parisian.
On September 9th, I had one of the greatest pleasures I have ever experienced. I announced to the Foreign Office that the treaty had been ratified, without change, by the Senate. Still the Opposition made delays. The Foreign Minister did all in his power to expedite matters. It was hoped that charges of 'graft' could be developed against the Ministers. 'If you had had a bonne presse, as usual,' a candid friend said to me, 'you might have been accused of bribing. As it is, the National Tidende attitude showed that you never offered that paper any money!'
'As much as I regret the attitude of the National Tidende,' I said, 'I could as soon imagine myself taking a bribe as of the editor's accepting one. The attack was a great advantage to me.'
'You Yankees turn everything to your advantage,' the candid friend said.
On September 27th, Ambassador and Mrs. Gerard arrived. It was a red letter day. Mr. Gerard showed the strain of his work, but, like all good New Yorkers, was disposed 'to take the goods the gods provided' him – one of them was a dinner at the Legation of which he approved. Praise from Brillat-Savarin would not have delighted us more than this. The Legation, to use the diplomatic phrase, threw themselves at the feet of Mrs. Gerard. Gerard deserved the title, given him by the Germans, of 'the most American of American Ambassadors.' Mrs. Gerard was cosmopolitan, with an American charm, but also with a touch of the older world that always adds to the social value of an ambassadress. I had arranged, in advance of Judge Gerard's coming, a luncheon with my colleague across the street, Count Brockdorff-Rantzau. It was interesting. Mr. and Mrs. Swope were present, Their Serene Highnesses the Prince and Princess Sayn Wittgenstein-Sayn, Count Wedel, and, I think, Dr. Toepffer. Judge Gerard told me that he spoke little French, but he got on immensely well with Count Rantzau, who spoke no English. Count Wedel, with his love for Old Germany, of the Weimar of Goethe, of the best in literature, will, I trust, live to see a happier new order of things in his native country. The Wittgensteins were charming young people. The Prince was connected with almost every great Russian, French and Italian family. If ambassadors are not put out of fashion by the new order of things, the Princess, closely connected with important families of England, would be a fortunate ambassadress to an English-speaking country. Peace ought to come to men of good-will, and I am persuaded that there are men of good-will in Germany.
September, October, even December came in, and the political factions still fought, ostensibly about the sale, but really for control, Copenhageners said, of the $25,000,000! Every chance was taken to delay the matter until after the war. German propaganda and bribing was talked of, but there was no evidence of it. In my opinion, it was largely a question as to who should spend the $25,000,000. In a Monarchy such a horror was to be expected naturally! In a Republic like ours, the patriotic Republicans would cheerfully see the equally patriotic Democrats control the funds, but, then, Republics are all Utopias, the lands of the Hope fulfilled! All this was amusing to many observers – embarrassing and humiliating to Danes who respected reasonable public opinion and the dignity of their country. It was terrible to me who saw the war coming, for Mr. Gerard and my private informants in Germany left me in no doubt about that. Even Count Szchenyi, always for peace, and with us in sympathy, declared that 'the U-boat war would go on, not to crush England, but as part of the Germanic League to enforce Peace.' And the use of the U-boat meant war for us!
On all sides, I was told that the women's votes would be against the sale. It was not unreasonable to believe that ladies, just emancipated, would vote against their late lords and masters, at least for the first time. Besides, as Mrs. Chapman Catt had made very clear during her fateful visit to Denmark, the liveliest, the most reasonable, the most intellectual women in the world were deprived by the unjust laws of the country that wanted the Islands of the right to vote. Even the fact that Mr. Edward Brandès, a noted ladies' man, was on the side of the angels, might have no effect. He began to be tired of the whole thing. He hoped, I really believe, that the Islands would settle the question and sink into the sea! We must have the women's vote. Madame Gad helped to save the day.
'You will, in your annual conférence,' she said to me, 'explain the position of the American women, and your words will be reprinted, not only all over Denmark, but throughout Sweden and Norway. The editor of Politiken will give you his famous "Politiken Hus," and your words will make good feeling.'
'I can honestly say,' I answered, 'that I want the women to vote. In fact, in my country, they have only to want the suffrage badly enough to have it! It is the fault of their own sex, not of ours, if they do not get it!'
It was agreed that I should speak on 'The American Woman and her Aspirations,' at Politiken Hus, on the evening of December 5th. The proceeds were to go to charity. And I never knew, until I began to prepare my lecture, how firmly I believed that Woman Suffrage was to be the salvation of the world. Without exaggeration, I believe it will be, since men have made such an almost irremediable mess of worldly affairs. My friend, the late Archbishop Spalding, once said that women had, since the deluge, been engaged in spoiling the stomach of man, and now they prepared to spoil his politics! I have some reason to believe that a report of my lecture might have converted him to higher ideals. I was told by some ladies that it had a great effect on their husbands.
In the meantime, the tardy delegates, summoned from St. Thomas and Santa Cruz, arrived. They were called simply to delay action. The Foreign Minister was heartily ashamed of the transaction on the part of his opponents; it was palpably childish. The plebiscite must be delayed as long as possible. The United States had done its part in a most prompt and generous manner. The press could give only sentimental reasons against the sale; Denmark found the Islands a burden; she wanted our rights in Greenland; she needed the $25,000,000, but her politicians were willing to risk anything rather than give the control of the money to a Ministry they were afraid to turn out. A coalition Ministry, that is, the addition of new members without portfolios to the present Ministry, was agreed to, J. C. Christensen representing the Moderate Left, Theodore Stauning, a Socialist, and two others. Nobody really wanted a general election until after the war.
On the evening of December 5th, I drove to Politiken Hus. There was a red light over the door. This meant alt udsolgt, 'standing room only.' What balm for long anxieties this! Mr. William Jennings Bryan looking at the crowded seats of a Chautauqua Meeting could not have felt prouder.
I recalled the night on which King Christian X. had asked me if I always delivered the same lecture during a season's tour in the provinces. I said, 'Yes, sir.' 'But if people come a second time?' 'Oh, they never come a second time, sir.' At least, for the first time, the red light was lit, – who cared for a second time?
The hall was crowded. Sir Ralph Paget, who seldom went out, had come, and, at some distance – Sir Ralph was of all men the most anti-Prussian – were the Prince and Princess Wittgenstein. 'All Copenhagen,' Madame Gad said, which was equivalent to 'Tout Paris.' I did my best.
At the reception afterwards at Admiral Urban Gad's, the ladies – some of them of great influence in politics – told me I had said the right things. I had the next day a bonne presse. The provincial papers all over Scandinavia reprinted the most important parts of the discourse with approval, and letters of commendation from all parts of Denmark – from ladies – came pouring in. One from a constant correspondent in Falster, a 'demoiselle,' which is a much better word than 'old maid,' who was sometimes in very bad humour with 'America,' wrote that, after what I said of the American women's position, she would like to marry an American, and that, though opposed to the sale, she and her club would refrain from voting. Her offer to marry an American has not been withdrawn. A few days after this, an American paper containing an account of a lynching in the South, with the most terrible details graphically described, reached Copenhagen. The newspaper man who brought it to me consented, after some argument, for old friendship's sake, not to release it at this inauspicious moment.
Time dragged; but the news from the provinces was consoling. The Foreign Office seemed still to be discouraged, and I am sure that Edward Brandès again wished that the Danish Antilles had suffered extinction. Even the enamelled surface of de Scavenius began to crack a little. Dilatory motions of all kinds were in order. The examination by the Parliamentary committees at which the delegates from the West Indies were present, had ceased to be even amusing. It was a farce without fun. The plebiscite could be put off no longer; on December 15th, the vote was taken. For the sale, 283,694; against the sale, 157,596. A comparatively small vote was cast. Many voters abstained. These were mostly Conservatives and Moderates. At last, it had come, but after what anxiety, doubts, fears, efforts, – but always hopes!
The Opposition proposed to continue objections to the sale of all the Islands. This would mean more appalling delays, and, with the U-boat menace increasing, failure. On December 16th, I entered the Foreign Office just as Djeved Bey, the Turkish Minister, was taking his leave; he had not been very sympathetic with the Turkish-German alliance; he was very French. After a few minutes' talk, I saw the Minister of Foreign Affairs. He looked unhappy and harassed, which was unusual. In the midst of alarms, he had always retained a certain calm, which gave everybody confidence. When the petrels flew about his head and the storms dashed, he was astonishingly courageous. To-day, he sighed. In spite of the plebiscite, he seemed to think that we were beaten. I was astonished. I had always thought that we had one quality, at least, in common – we liked embarrassing situations. I soon discovered the reason for this apparent loss of nerve.
'Would our Government agree to take less than the three Islands?'
It was plain that the Opposition, not always fair, was tiring him and Brandès out; I could understand their position, and sympathise with their discouragement, but not feel it.
'To admit a new proposition on our part would be to interfere in the interior politics of Denmark,' I said. 'The plebiscite was arranged on the question of the treaty; it meant the cession of all the Danish Islands or nothing.' The Rigstag should not prepare such a change without making a new appeal to the country. I knew it was in the power of the Rigstag to refuse to ratify the vote of the people. It would simply mean a delay of the decision if it did so. I would make no proposition to my Government for a change in the treaty; if such a proposition was seriously made, I must step down and out at once.
De Scavenius approved of what I said. I believed that we would win, in spite of dire prophecies. On Wednesday, December 20th, 1916, the vote in the Folkstag was taken; it stood, – 90 for the sale; 19 against it. On December 21st, it stood, in the Landstag, 40 votes for the sale, and 19 against it.
Ambassador Gerard who had come to Copenhagen again, was among the first to offer his congratulations. He was most cordial. The sale was a fact. 'Just in time,' de Scavenius said. Just in time! The War Cloud was about to burst, and the Legation must prepare for it. The Islands had hitherto cut off my view; I now saw a New World.
CHAPTER XII
THE BEGINNING OF 1917 AND THE END
At the end of 1916, the affair of the Islands was practically settled. Every now and then a newspaper put forth a rumour that brought up the question again. Copenhagen, a journal which was very well written, announced as a secret just discovered, that the United States, even after Congress had appropriated the $25,000,000 for the sale of the Islands, would not agree to accept them at once. This excited much discussion which, however, was soon stopped. It was remarkable how the fury and fire of the controversy disappeared. People seemed to forget all the hard names they had called one another. I forgave the National News, and later even attempted to get printing material for the paper from the United States. The need of printing material had become so great, that an attempt was made to print one edition in coal tar! The embargo was drastic. If the National News had had a good case against me and interfered with the sale, perhaps I might not have been so forgiving; one's motives are always mixed.
New difficulties were coming upon us, and I think that most of our diplomatic representatives knew that we were unprepared for them. Since the opening of the war, we had been adjured to be neutral. That was sometimes hard enough. But, as it seemed inevitable that our country must be drawn into the war (though we were told that the popular air at home was 'I Did not Raise My Boy to be a Soldier') it seemed necessary to be prepared. Captain Totten – now Colonel – our military attaché, urged 'preparedness' in season and out of season. The position of a Minister who wants to be prepared for a coming conflict, but is obliged to act as if no contest were possible, is not an easy one. Besides, through the departure of Mr. Francis Hagerup, the Norwegian Minister, to Stockholm, I had become Dean of the Diplomatic Corps. I represented, when I went to Court officially, the Central Powers as well as their enemies. 'You are Atlas,' the king said, when I presented myself as Dean for the first time; 'you bear all the Powers of the world on your shoulders!'
He regretted that the Foreign Ministers could not meet at a neutral Court on occasions of ceremony. I think His Majesty believed that the members of the diplomatic corps were in the position of the heralds of the elder time – exempt, at least outwardly, from all the hatreds developed by the war, and ready to look on the enemy of to-day as their friend of to-morrow. This is good diplomacy; I agreed with His Majesty, but wondered whether, if His Majesty's country was in the position of Belgium, he would have instructed his Minister to be polite to the representative of the invader. I had my doubts, for if there were ever a king passionately devoted to his country, it is King Christian X. After the sinking of the Lusitania, my position would have been terribly difficult, if my German and Austrian colleagues had not acted in a way that made it possible for me to forget that I had said, on hearing of Bernstorff's warning, 'The day after an American is killed without warning at sea, we will declare war!' It was undiplomatic; but I had said it to Count Rantzau, to Prince Wittgenstein, to Count Raben-Levitzau, to Prince Waldemar, to the Princes, to other persons, and, I think, at the Foreign Office. A very distinguished German had replied, in the true Junker spirit, 'But your great Government would not bring a war on itself for the sake of the lives of a few hundred bourgeoisie.' And, when I stood, foolish and confounded, recognising that the time had not come for our Government to act, he said: 'You see you were wrong. Your Government is not so altruistic as you thought, nor so ready to bring new disasters on the world.'
Count Rantzau always took a moderate tone. When in difficulty he could switch the conversation to a passage in the Memoirs of St. Simon, or some other chronicle – a little frivolous – of the past. Count Szchenyi was hard hit – his brother-in-law, Mr. Vanderbilt, had perished among the bourgeoisie on the Lusitania; it was a subject to be avoided. Prince von Wittgenstein simply said that it was a pity that the Lusitania carried munitions of war, though they were not high explosives, but he made no excuses. It was evident that these gentlemen regretted the horrible crime.
The few Germans one met in society were inclined to blame what they called the stupidity of the captain of the steamship; they had the testimony of the hearing taken from the London Times, at their finger ends, and they knew 'the name of the firm in Lowell, Massachusetts, whose ammunition had been exported on the Lusitania.' Their opinions I always heard at second-hand. A great Danish lady, whose family the King of Prussia and the present Emperor had honoured, sent me from the country all the signed portraits of the Kaiser, torn to pieces. 'I could not write,' she said afterwards at dinner, 'I could not say what I thought, – I had promised my husband to be silent, – but you know what I meant,' and she added in Danish, 'damn little Willie!'
The only place in which representatives of the warring nations saw one another was in church, that is, in the church of St. Ansgar; but Count Szchenyi and Prince von Wittgenstein were always so deeply engaged in prayer that they could not see the French Minister or the Belgian. The English church – one of the most beautiful in Copenhagen – was frequented only by the English and a few Americans, so the Rector, the Rev. Dr. Kennedy, was never troubled about the position of his pews, nor was the Russian pope across the street from St. Ansgar's.
Mr. Francis Hagerup had been a model Dean. Everybody trusted and respected him; it seemed a pity that he should go away from Copenhagen, after such good service, without the usual testimonial from the diplomatic corps; but there were difficulties in the way. Would Sir Henry Lowther, the English, and Baron de Buxhoevenden, the Russian Minister, permit their names to go on a piece of plate with those of Count Brockdorff-Rantzau and Count Szchenyi? Count Szchenyi, always kindness itself, had his eye on two silver vegetable dishes of the true Danish-Rosenborg type. He consulted me as the Dean. I wanted Mr. Hagerup to have these beautiful things, and Szchenyi seemed to think that the matter could be arranged. I agreed to get the signatures to the proposition, expressed in French, that the dishes should be bought from the court jeweller, the famous Carl Michelsen, who had designed them. I doubt whether any of the Tiffanys have more foreign decorations than Michelsen; it is worth while being a jeweller and an artist in Denmark.
The gift was to show the unusual honour to an unusual Dean, offered by all the diplomatic corps in time of war. I had the opinion of the ladies sounded; they were all against it, especially one of the most intellectual ladies of the diplomatic corps, Madame de Buxhoevenden. She warned me that my attempt would be a failure. However, I sent the paper out, done in the most diplomatic French. Hans, our messenger, asked for the ladies first. If they were at home, he waited for another day. After I had all the signatures and they were engraved on the dishes, the Baroness de Buxhoevenden bore down on me, warlike.
'Quelle horreur,' she said. 'How did you get my husband's name?'
'When you were out!' I said.
'I think it disgraceful all the same, that my husband's name should appear on the same plate with those of the enemies of my country.'
'On the second plate, Madame, the enemies' appear,' I answered, – 'there are two!'
Hagerup was so touched when I took the plates to him that I saw tears in his eyes. The Baroness de Buxhoevenden remained very friendly to me, 'because,' she said, 'she loved my wife so much.' Not long after, she died in Russia, heartbroken. She had faced the inclemencies of the weather and the first outbreak of the Revolution (she was a sane woman, an imperialist, but one who would have had imperialism reform itself, well-read and deeply religious) to see her daughter, the young Baroness Sophie, who was one of the maids of honour to the late Czarina. This young lady was ill and imprisoned with the imperial family. She was the only child of the Buxhoevendens – their son, a brave soldier, having died some years before. You can imagine the anxiety of the Buxhoevendens when the unrestrained ferocity of the mob in Petrograd broke out. Madame de Buxhoevenden could not see her daughter, though, thanks to the American Ambassador, who never failed to do a kind thing for us in Copenhagen, she managed to have a message from her. A lover of Russia, like her husband, of order, of reason in Government, she died.
With all the Russians I knew, love of country was a passion. They might differ among themselves. Meyendorff might look on Bibikoff as a 'clever boy' and smile amicably at his vagaries; Bibikoff might declare that 'Baron Meyendorff had, as St. Simon said of the Regent d'Orleans, all the talents, but the talent of using them'; but they were fervently devoted to Russia. They were in a labyrinth, and, as at the time of the French Revolution, everybody differed in opinion as to the best way out. It was from the Russians I first heard of Prince Karl Lichnowsky. I think it was Meyendorff, who once said: 'The Austrian Ambassador to London and Prince Lichnowsky are such honest men that the Prussians find it easy to deceive them into deceiving the English as to the designs of Germany!'
One great difficulty would have stood in the way, had I, as Dean, been willing to accept the kindly hint of the king and attempt to arrange that all the corps should go as usual together at New Years and on birthdays to Court. There was the conduct of the German Government to the French Ambassador at the opening of the war. It was frightfully rude, even savage, and unprecedented. It shocked everybody. It will be difficult to explain it when relations between the belligerents are resumed again. It seems to be a minor matter, but it corroborated the variation of the old proverb, – 'Scratch a Prussian and you find a Hun.' The tale of the insults heaped on the French Ambassador is a matter of record for all time.
Judge Gerard has told his own story.
The Russian ladies coming out of Berlin were treated no better than a group of cocottes driven from a city might have been. The condition of the Russian ladies when they reached Copenhagen was deplorable. They all possessed the inevitable string of pearls, which every Russian young girl of the higher class receives before her marriage. These and the clothes they wore were all they were allowed to bring out of the super-civilised city of Berlin. It did not prevent them from smiling a little at the plight of the old Princess de – , one of the haughtiest and richest of the noble ladies, who loved the baths of Germany more than her compatriots approved of. Her carefully dressed wig – never touched before except by the tender fingers of her two maids – was lifted off her head, while the German soldiers looked underneath it for secret documents!
From all this it will be seen that, notwithstanding the politeness of the representatives of the Central Powers in Copenhagen, it would have been impossible for the diplomatic corps to unite itself in the same room, even for a moment.
Everybody went to see Mr. Francis Hagerup off; but this was at the railway station, where people were not obliged to seem conscious of one another's presence. This would have been impossible at Court.
Social life in Copenhagen has fixed traditions (very fixed, in spite of the democracy of the people); they make it delightful. Society is all the better for fixed, artificial rules. They enable everybody to know his place and produce that ease that cannot exist where there is a constant expectancy of the unexpected; but they were not proof against the savagery which Germany's action had indicated.
When Count Szchenyi's mother died, his colleagues, disliking the action of his country as they did, sent messages of condolence privately, through me, then a 'neutral.' When Madame de Buxhoevenden died, deep sympathy was expressed by the diplomatists on the other side, but the utter disregard, on the part of the Germans in Berlin for the ordinary decencies of social life caused society in Copenhagen to become resentful and cold and suspicious whenever a German appeared in a 'neutral' house. It seemed incredible that hatred should have so carried away those around the German Emperor, who had formerly seemed only too anxious to observe the smallest social decencies, that the civilised world was willing to retort in kind.
Even in the convents, the German Sisters were 'suspect,' and it took all the tact of the Superiors to emphasise the fact that these ladies by their vows were bound to look on all with the eyes of Christ. 'Yes,' a Belgian Sister had answered, 'with the eyes He turned to the impenitent thief!'
However, religious discipline is strong, and it is the business of those set apart from the world to overcome even their righteous anger. Still, when I saw the expression on the face of the Abbé de Noë, who had been a Papal Zouave and was still at heart a French soldier, on a great festival, as he gave the kiss of peace to two German priests on the altar steps, I felt that the grace of God is compelled sometimes to run uphill!
Commercial transactions formed a great part of the work of the Legation when Great Britain began seriously to restrain alien foreign trade and to put a firm hand on such neutrals as adopted the motto of some of the English merchants, before they were awakened, 'Business as usual.' I am afraid that I gave little satisfaction; our instructions were not precise. That some of our great business people should have fallen into a panic after August 1914, – men of the highest ability, of the most scientific imagination, who foresaw contingencies to the verge of the impossible – seemed amazing. In conversation with some of these gentlemen as late as the spring of 1914, when I had come home to deliver some lectures at Harvard University, I was convinced that they knew what Germany's aims were in the East. They were aware of the negotiations regarding the Bagdad Railway and the opposition which existed between German and Russian claims. How long would Germany be satisfied with the English and Russian predominance?
They discussed this. Some of them had travelled much in Germany; they were willing to admit that the Balkan question could be settled only by war. In 1914, Secretary Bryan seemed to be sure that no war cloud threatened. When I saw him early in that year, he was entirely absorbed in the Mexican question and in extending the knowledge of the minutiæ of the Sacred Scriptures among American travellers in Palestine. I had just opened my lips (having silently listened to the most delectable eloquence I have ever heard) to say that Russia had begun to mobilise and that Germany would be ready to pounce by September, when Mr. John Lind came in, and the Secretary had attention for no other man. The affairs of Europe faded.
The Germans, as far as I could see, had great hopes of a breakdown of the Allies through treachery in the French Government itself. From such private information as we could get, it seemed that they relied on treachery among the Italians – especially among the 'Reds.' There is a French lady who wore the pearls of the Deutsche Bank, whose husband they had bought, and there were others it was said.
Our means of getting private information was not great. We had no money for secret service or for organisation. When we went into the war, our Legation had neither the offices nor the staff to meet the event. This was not the fault of the State Department, but of the system on which it rests. It was necessary to have a decent official place in which to receive people, a place which was elegant and simple at the same time. This we had, but barely room enough for ordinary work.
If a distinguished visitor came, he was ushered into the salon or the dining-room. If Sir Ralph Paget, the British Minister, came hurriedly on business a moment after Count Szchenyi arrived, he was shown into the dining-room, as the three offices were always full of people. After the war opened, the Legation – a very elegant apartment, which I secured through the foresight of my predecessor, Mr. T. I. O'Brien – was often like a bit of scenery in a modern French farce, where people disappear behind all kinds of screens and curtains in order to avoid embarrassments. Mr. Allard, the Belgian, to whom we were devoted, came one day by appointment, and almost met Prince Wittgenstein in the salon, while the Turkish Minister held the dining-room, confronted by Lady Paget, who was led off to Mrs. Egan's rooms on pretence of hearing a Victrola which happened to have been lent to somebody a few days before.
The State Department would have permitted me to rent, on urgent request, a satisfactory place, but the coal bill would have amounted to three thousand dollars a year. As I had not recovered from the expenses of the entertainment of the Atlantic Squadron (they were small enough considering the pleasure the gentlemen of that squadron gave us) and other outlays, I felt that the coal bill would be too great, and even with the war cloud on the horizon, the State Department was not in a position to give us a reasonable amount of money or the necessary rooms for a staff such as the British had been obliged to collect. The British Government owned its own house, which answered the demands made on it. The fiery Captain Totten gave the Legation no peace. We were not prepared; we knew it. It would have absorbed twenty thousand dollars to put us on an efficient basis. And our staff for the very delicate work must be specialists; one cannot pick up specialists for the salary paid to a secretary of Legation or even to a Minister.
