Ten Years Near the German Frontier: A Retrospect and a Warning

It is different to-day; the old system has broken down now. Money is supplied, even to that most starved of all the branches of the service, the State Department, where men, like ten I could name, work for salaries which a third rate bank clerk in New York would refuse – and poor men too! As things were, the Legation did the best it could.

The greatest difficulty was to get trustworthy information. What were the German military plans? What were the social conditions in Germany? As to financial conditions, it was comparatively easy to secure information. The German financiers would never have consented to the war had they not scientifically analysed the situation. Industrials, like Herr Ballin, counted on a short war; they had provided. We knew, too, that the military authorities, which overrode the civil, believed that the Foreign Office could manage to ameliorate the consequences of their insolence and arrogance. It was strange that these very military authorities thought that the United States would not fight under any circumstances, for they had voluminous reports in their archives on the details of our military position. Our Government had always been generous in giving information to foreign military attachés. In fact, a German officer once boasted to me that his war office had filed the secrets of every military establishment in the world, except the Japanese.

That we were despised for our inaction was plain; Americans were treated with contempt by certain Austrian officials, until some enterprising newspaper announced that a great army of American students had made a hostile demonstration in New York against Germany! A change took place at once; even in France, it was believed that the United States would make only a commercial war. I remember that the Vicomte de Faramond, who deserves the credit of having unveiled Prussian schemes before many of his brother diplomatists even guessed at them, asked me anxiously, 'You must fight, but is it true that it will be only a commercial war? I think, if I know America, that you will fight with bayonets.' He has an American wife.

Ambassador Gerard was quietly warning Americans to leave Berlin; and yet we were 'neutral,' and the German Government believed that we would remain neutral at least in appearance. No German seemed to believe that we were neutral at heart, though there were those among the expatriated who held that we ought to be, in spite of the Lusitania and our traditions. One of the puzzles of this was (every American in Copenhagen tried to solve it) the effect that a long residence in Germany had on Americans. 'I sometimes read the English papers,' said one of these; 'I try to be fair, but I am shocked by their calumnies. The Kaiser loves the United States; he has said it over and over again to Americans, and yet you will not believe it.'

'Belgium!'

'Oh, the Germans have made a fruitful and orderly country out of Belgium.'

This kind of American helped to deceive the Germans into the belief that our patience would endure all the insults of Cataline. There was very little opportunity to compare notes with my colleagues in Sweden and Norway. They were busy men. I fancy Mr. Morris's real martyrdom did not begin in Sweden until after Easter Sunday, 1917. Mr. Schmedeman doubtless had his when the rigours of the embargo struck Norway; but for me, the worst time was when we were 'neutral'!

As to the German Foreign Office, why should it listen to the warnings of our Ambassador, in November, who might be recalled by a change of administration in March?

Six months before election, no American envoy has any real influence at the Foreign Office with which he deals. The chances are that the policy of the last four years will be reversed by the election in November. Up to the last moment, as far as I could see, the Foreign Office in Berlin believed that the growing warlike democratic attitude would be softened by the new Administration, which, it was informed, would not dare to make Colonel Roosevelt Secretary of State.

'Secretary of State,' an Austrian said, 'how could an ex-President condescend to become Secretary of State. One might as well expect a deposed Pope to become Grand Electeur!'

Previous to November 7th, 1916, the day of the Presidential election, our situation was looked on by all the diplomatists and all the Foreign Offices as fluid. It might run one way or the other. There was a widely diffused opinion in Denmark that, as President Wilson had been elected on a peace platform for his first term, Germany might go as far as she liked without drawing the United States into the conflict.

In Berlin, in high circles, the election of Mr. Hughes was considered certain. He was supposed to represent capital, and capital would think twice before burning up values. The Kaiser had given Colonel Roosevelt up; 'Sa conduite est une grande illusion pour notre Empereur,' Count Brockdorff-Rantzau had said. I learned from Berlin that the ex-President had been approached by a representative of the Kaiser of sufficient rank, who had reminded Colonel Roosevelt of the honours the Kaiser had showered upon him during his European tour. 'I was also well received by the King of the Belgians,' Colonel Roosevelt answered. 'C'est une grande illusion,' Count Brockdorff-Rantzau repeated, more in sorrow than in anger. 'The Emperor did not think that the ex-President would turn against him!'

Until election day, every American diplomatist in Europe merely marked time. He represented a Government which was without power for the time being.

An expatriated Irish-American came in to sound us as to the prospects. 'President Wilson will have a second term,' I said; 'the West is with him, and Mr. Hughes's speeches are not striking at the heart of the people.'

'He is pro-English, God forbid!' he said. 'Wilson means war!'

'We may have, on the other hand, Colonel Roosevelt as Secretary of State for War.'

'God forbid!' he said. He had stepped between two stools; he still lives in Germany – a man without a country.

We were still 'neutral,' and the election was some months off. Count Rantzau saw the danger which the military party was courting. He was too discreet to make confidential remarks which I would at once repeat to my Government; he knew, of course, that I would not repeat them to my colleagues, who never, however, asked me what he said to me. He was equally tactful, but we saw that he was exceedingly nervous about the outcome of the U-boat aggression. It was worth while to know his attitude, for he represented much that was really important in Germany. He began to be more nervous, and many things he said, which I cannot repeat, indicated that the military party was running amuck. He was always decent to Americans, and he was shocked when he found that his laissez passer, which I obtained from him for the Hon. D. I. Murphy and his wife to pursue their journey to Holland, was treated as 'a scrap of paper.' Mr. Murphy had not received the corroborative military pass, which one of my secretaries had obtained at the proper office, consequently Mrs. Murphy was treated shamefully at the German frontier. I remonstrated, of course, but it was evident that the military authorities had orders to treat all civil officials as inferiors.

Miss Boyle O'Reilly had a much worse experience at the frontier. Her papers had been taken from her boxes at a hotel in Copenhagen, carefully examined, and put back. Miss O'Reilly had had many thrilling experiences (people imitated Desdemona – and loved her for the dangers she had passed through) but like most of her compatriots she could not be induced to disguise her opinions or to really believe that there were spies everywhere. Being a Bostonian, she could not say 'damn,' but she never used the name of the Kaiser without attaching to it, with an air of perfect neutrality, the Back Bay equivalent for that dreadful adjective. She made a great success in Copenhagen. Her magnificent lace, presented to her by an uncle who had been a chamberlain to Cardinal Rampolla, was extravagantly admired at the dinner Mrs. Egan gave for her. Miss O'Reilly, according to some of the experts present, had reason to be proud of it. After the adventure of the note books at the hotel, it was almost hopeless to imagine that Miss Boyle O'Reilly would be allowed to cross the frontier, in spite of her passport and the courtesy of the German Legation. She was undaunted as any other daughter of the gods. She tried it, and came back, not very gently propelled, but with the calm contentment of one who had said what she thought to various official persons on the frontier. We were glad to get her back on any terms. People asked for invitations to meet her; we were compelled to adopt her as a daughter of the house to retain her. The experts in lace were horrified to find that the vulgar creatures at the frontier – smelling of sausage and beer – had injured the precious texture. They seemed to have thought that its threads were barbed wire. We protested; Miss Boyle O'Reilly demanded damages. Ambassador Gerard seemed to be impressed by the fact that the lace had been part of a surplice of the late Cardinal Rampolla's. We made this very plain, but the German authorities took it very lightly; they were so frivolous, so lacking in tact and justice, that Miss Boyle O'Reilly became more 'neutral' than ever.

In spite of Count Rantzau's courtesy, we were having constant trouble at the frontier. Every Dane who had relatives in the United States expected us to protest against the rigidity of the search. 'I did not mind when they took all my letters; but when they rubbed me with lemon juice to bring out secret writing, I said it was too much'; said one of these ladies, who had to be escorted to her own Foreign Office.

Mrs. William C. Bullitt, just married, had to be coached into 'neutrality.' 'Good gracious! I always say what I think,' she remarked, declaring that, of course, the German, His Serene Highness she was to go into dinner with, must see how wrong the Belgian business was! Mr. and Mrs. Bullitt had some trouble at the frontier, but her diary, uncensored, came over safe for our delight.

The Spanish Minister, Aguera, who had lately been superseded by his brother, had his own troubles, which, however, he wore very lightly. He was as neutral as his temperament, which was rather positive, allowed him to be. When he left to be promoted, the pro-Germans enthusiastically announced that the German Government had complained of him to Madrid.

The cause of the war, it was generally conceded, was the question of the way to the Near East and the control of the East. Now that Germany had practically all of the Bagdad Railway and more than that, a clear way to the Persian Gulf, would she cut short the war, if she could? Count Rantzau, without explicitly admitting that his country's chief aim had been accomplished, said Yes. The great desire of his nation was for peace. The U-boat war was only a means of forcing peace. 'We do not want to crush England! Heaven forbid!' said Count Szchenyi, 'but we tolerate the U-boat war only as an instrument for obliging England to make peace. Peace,' he said, 'we must have peace or all the world will be in anarchy,' I do not think he 'accepted' the U-boat war, except diplomatically. Another distinguished representative of one of the Central Powers, making a flying visit, said, first assuming that the 'North American' and English interests were identical – 'Peace may bring Germany and England close together. We are too powerful to be kept apart. With Germany ruler of the land of the world, and England of the sea, – what glory might we not expect!'

'If the Allies do not accept the Chancellor's peace note, I give them up!' cried Szchenyi. 'People talk democracy and the need of it among us! Why, Hungary is verging on a democracy of which you Americans, with your growing social distinctions, have no conception of. What we want is peace, to save the world!'

When the new Emperor Karl ascended the Austro-Hungarian throne, Szchenyi, whose ideas were more liberal than some of the old régime liked, became a prime favourite at court, and was removed to the Foreign Office.

Before the fall of Russia, it was generally conceded that Germany, in holding Turkey and Bulgaria, had gained her main purpose. Both of these countries hated her in their hearts. We had proof of this. What more did she want? Only peace on her own terms, perhaps slightly modified, owing to the hardness of the hearts of the English; if she could gain England, she could deal with France and easily with Russia. Before the Czar abdicated, it was understood in diplomatic circles that Germany believed it was time to stop. While there was no immediate danger of starvation in Germany, there was great inconvenience. Moreover, the great commercial position of Germany was each day that prolonged the war melting like ice on summer seas; and a short war had been promised to the German nation. Parties in Germany were divided as to indemnities and the retention of Belgium. Antwerp was as a cannon levelled at the breast of England (Hamburg had good reason for not wanting Antwerp retained as a rival city in German territory); but the way to the Persian Gulf, the submission of Bulgaria and Turkey, the possession of the key to the Balkans, the Near East, meant the confusion of the English in India. The Germans were ready to oust the English from their place in the sun! It was plain that the diplomatists, at least, looked on the Alsace-Lorraine question as of small importance in comparison. Alsace-Lorraine, as Bismarck admitted, had nothing to do with national glory. It was a proposition of iron and potash. As to Italy, 'We must always live on good terms with such a dangerous neighbour,' said the Austrians. 'Prussia would throw us over to-morrow for any advantage in the East. If she could hamstring the Slavs, we might appeal in vain against her destroying our scraps of paper!'

We knew that the Austrian distrust of Prussia never slept. But Austria and Germany were absolute monarchies – against the world.

It was the general belief that Rumania would not be drawn into the war. The Swedish Legation at Rome seemed to be of a different opinion. It was noted for the accuracy of its information, but this time we doubted. As observers, it seemed incredible to us in Copenhagen, that she should be allowed to sacrifice herself; but the rumours from Rome persisted. One well-known British diplomatist, Sir Henry Lowther, formerly the British Minister at Copenhagen, had never wavered in his doubts as to the solidarity of Russia. At the beginning of the war, he had said, to my astonishment, 'Our great weakness is Russia; if you do not come in and offset it, I fear greatly.' Events proved that he was right.

For those of the diplomatic corps who came in contact with people from the Near East, or with the Turkish diplomatists, the great question was – the designs of Germany in the East. One of the advantages of diplomatic life is that one comes in contact with the most interesting people. In spite of a determination to follow all the rules of the protocol as closely as possible Terence's announcement, through the lips of Chremes, was good enough for me, – 'Homo sum; humani nil a me alienum puto,' and consequently, I made profit out of good talk wherever I found it. I saw too little of Dr. Morris Jastrow, of the University of Pennsylvania, in 1908, when he came to Copenhagen with a group of distinguished orientalists; but one of his sentences remained in my mind (I quote from memory), 'The crucial question, and a terrible answer it may be when Germany gives it to the world, is, Who shall control Bulgaria and Serbia and Constantinople. Settle the matter of the road to the East, so that Germany and Austria may not join in monopolising it, and then, we can begin to talk of a tranquil Europe.'

Much later, I had a long talk with Rudolph Slatin, who had been a close friend of King Edward's, and who knew the East. He had had too many favours from England to be willing to take arms against her; he was Austrian, but not pro-Prussian. His views were not exactly those of Dr. Jastrow's, as Dr. Jastrow afterwards expressed them,¹⁷ but one could read between the lines. The Eastern route was the real core of the war. Russia knew this when she began to make preparations for mobilisation in the early spring of 1914. All the Turks I met, including the two ministers, confirmed this.

Lady Paget, the wife of the British Minister, who came to Copenhagen in 1916, knew more of the inside history of the war in the Balkans than the soi-disant experts who talked. She seldom talked; but the Serbians, who adored her, did not hesitate to sing the praises of her knowledge and of her efforts to save them. To her very few intimates it was plain that she, as well as her husband, looked on the Balkans as the key to the cause of the war. The Serbians that I knew, men of all classes, said that, if Lady Paget had been listened to, Serbia would have been saved to herself and the Allies. Whether this was true or not, the Serbians believed it.

The missionaries driven out of Turkey who came to the Legation were full of the Eastern situation, and the wrongs of the Armenians. The stories of the missionaries, driven out, made one feel that Germany was paying – even from the point of view of her longed-for conquest – too high a price for the possession of Turkey. The Turkish Ministers were more French than German in their sympathies, but to them the Armenians were deadly parasites. They looked on them as the Russian Yunker looked on the lower class of Jews.

Miss Patrick of Roberts College, passed our way. She was ardent, sincere, naturally diplomatic, – discreet is a better word. But one could see that the Turks and the Balkan peoples, whatever might be their difference of opinion, or their own desire for territory, felt that the German control meant the closing of the steel fist upon them. The young Turks believed that they could hold the Dardanelles, when they once turned the Germans out, and that Turkey might be the land of the Turks. To attain this, they did not fail to appeal to all the bigotry of the Moslem. One could see that Serbia despaired of the Allies, that the Bulgarians believed that their untenable position was due to the intrigues of Czar Ferdinand and to the blundering of these same Allies. America was a land of promise, the hope of freedom; but America seemed too far off. The Balkans peoples felt that even America, had, while conserving her democracy at home, cared little for the rights of the people abroad. This feeling existed in all the neutral nations. A graduate of Roberts College with whom I had talked of our interest in the small nations, smiled. 'The attitude of your country to the smaller nations reminds me of a famous speech of the author of Utopia when one of his household congratulated him on Henry VIII.'s putting his arms about the Chancellor's neck. 'If the King's Grace could gain a castle in France by giving up my head, off it would go.' I did not dream, in January 1916, how soon we should begin to 'make the world safe for democracy.' Mr. Vopika, our Minister to Rumania, came on the way home from Bucharest about this time. He was full of interesting information, and very cheerful, though practically imprisoned in Copenhagen, as no boats were running. More and more it became plain that Russia was breaking, and that Germany would soon be lifted from that doubt which had begun to worry her statesmen. There was talk of the Grand Rabbi going to Washington as Ambassador, which seemed to infuriate the young Turkish Party.

Aaronshon, the expert for the Jewish Agricultural Society in Palestine, came; a wonderful man, capable of great things, and shrewd beyond the power of words to express. He did not deny that the Turkish Crown Prince had been shot, having first fired at Enver Pasha. Harold al Raschid is a novice to him in his knowledge of Eastern things that Western diplomatists ought to know. From all sources came the corroboration of the fact that, once sure of Russia, with the Slavs in her grasp, Germany held, in her own opinion, the keys to the world.

Opinions differed as to whether she was starving or not. Rumania had helped her with oil and perhaps coal. The Chinese Minister at Berlin said that she could hold out longer than China could in similar circumstances, as his citizens would be compelled to reduce themselves to less than two meals, and the Germans were coming down from four! We know on the authority of the actor in the episode that he had paid twenty marks in a restaurant in Berlin for a portion of roast fowl; it was tough, and he laid down his knife and fork in despair, when two ladies, at a table near him, politely asked if they might take it!

Rumours, very disturbing, as to the conditions of Russia, came to us from all sides. Our neighbour, Prince Valdemar, looked disturbed when one asked as to the health of the Empress Dowager, who had been most kind to my daughter, Carmel. He seemed to think that she would be safe, though I heard him say that a revolution seemed inevitable. The forcible and insolent 'conversations' on the part of Germany with Norway – shortly before October 16th, 1916, she had actually threatened war – had ceased for the moment.

Mr. Angel Carot, the French journalist, who was correspondent of the Petrograd press, had reported on good authority that the Germans were preparing a descent on Jutland. Vicomte de Faramond seemed to think that the rumour was well founded. 'We know the point of view that the Berlin Foreign Office has; Count Rantzau represents it,' said Mr. de Scavenius, 'but who can not tell from day to day what the General Staff will do?' The General Staff kept its secrets.

Poland was in a frightful condition. The Germans were not only impoverishing the landed proprietors, but seizing their cattle and forcing their farm people into the army. A Pole fighting for German autocracy was in as pitiable position as a Slesviger fighting for the enslaving of his own land. The Poles were not inclined toward a republic, but there was not one of their noble families from whom they would draw a constitutional king. A son of the Austrian Grand Duke Stefan, who was popular in Poland, was much spoken of. I felt that I ought to be flattered when a Polish prince and princess came, well introduced, to lay the plan before me, as a diplomatist who might assist in making a royal marriage! I concealed my surprise; but it was delightful to hear of my 'relations avec des grandes personnes dans toutes les chancelleries du monde.' And what a pleasure to hear, 'we know that even the Quirinal and the Vatican, etc. You who are three times minister of the United States.' The 'three times minister of the United States' puzzled me at first; then I remembered that one of the German papers, I think it was Die Woche, had said the same thing, meaning that I had served under three Presidents.

Our Polish guests were willing, under the circumstances, to approve of the marriage with Archduke Stefan's son, provided a Catholic princess, of liberal political views, could be found. To have a German princess forced on them would mean new disturbances, – revolts, dissatisfaction. There was perhaps the Princess Margaret of Denmark, who had every quality, they understood, to make an ideal Queen of Poland. 'Every quality,' I agreed, 'to make a man happy – but it must be the right man.' I knew that Prince Valdemar, who had refused Balkan thrones, was not desirous of marrying his daughter to a prince 'simply because he was a prince.' Would I sound His Royal Highness? 'I know,' I answered, 'that Prince Valdemar believes in happy marriages, not in brilliant ones. In fact, I had heard him say that he did not want Denmark to be looked on only as an arsenal for the making of crowns.'

The prince and princess went on their way, to consult more influential persons. They would not have welcomed a republic; in February 1916 the German grip was strong in Poland, and a Danish princess, the daughter of a French mother, seemed to offer them hope in the gloom.

The fears of the Austrians, of the Russians, of the Poles, of the Bulgarians that, if the war continued, anarchy must ensue, were not concealed. The Polish prince and princess believed that Russia would have a change of Government, but this change, they thought, would be brought about by a 'palace revolution,' for Petrograd was the centre of intrigues. The British Minister was accused of working in the interests of the Grand Duke Nicholas; the German propaganda, as far as we could discover, was for the practical application of 'divide and conquer.' Baron de Meyendorff, whose cheerfulness was as proverbial as his discretion, was uneasy; but as, unlike his chief, Baron de Buxhoevenden, he belonged to the more liberal party, this was taken as a sign that he was uncertain whether the new elements in Russian political life would develop in an orderly way or not.

Baron de Buxhoevenden, the most calm, the most self-controlled of all my colleagues, was unusually silent; his wife, than whom Russia had no more intelligent and patriotic woman in her borders, had said that the war would either break or make Russia. 'The Russian people,' she said, 'since the beginning of the war, are better fed than they ever were. The suppression of vodka has enabled them to pay their taxes and to begin to get rid of the parasites who prey on thoughtless drunkards. Their prosperity will either induce them to rebel against their rulers, or to accept the government because of their improved conditions.'

'But why are they better fed?' I had asked.

'We are exporting nothing. The Russian peasant eats the food he raises. Butter is no longer a luxury. I have hopes for Russia – and fears.'

Her fears were justified. The murder of Rasputin called attention to the dissensions in the Russian court. Admiring the Empress Dowager, as everybody in the court circle did, it seemed amazing that her son, of whom we knew little, should have permitted this peasant to acquire such influence over his wife. There were fashionable ladies who knelt to this strange apostle of the occult, who kissed his hands with fervour. But murder was murder, and coming not so long after the killing of the Crown Prince of Turkey, it gave the impression that the oriental point of view as to the value of human life existed in both countries. As time went on, Russia occupied our vision more and more.

In spite of the revelations that have been made, revelations which show that the only secrets are those buried with men who have found it to their honour or interest to keep them – the details of the reasons which caused Russia to mobilise in July are not fully known. How the Russians gained their information of the intentions of Germany in their regard is very well known. The most clever of Russian spies was always in the confidence of the Kaiser; he paid for his knowledge with his life.

As days passed, it became evident that the Royal Couple in Russia were being gradually isolated. Calumnies almost as evil and quite as baseless against the Tsarina as those published about Marie Antoinette were freely circulated. To review here this campaign of malice is not necessary. There were no chivalrous swords ready to leap from the scabbards for her. The age of chivalry seemed indeed dead. The poor lady was not even picturesque, whereas her brilliant mother-in-law, Dagmar of Denmark, was still beautiful and picturesque; she was imperial, but then she understood what democracy meant. It is said that she believed that, if her son had appeared in his uniform on horseback, surrounded by a staff of men who represented traditions, the revolution would not have begun. Neither the Tsar not the Tsarina understood what tradition meant to the Russian mind. The empress was a German at heart, – an overfond and superstitious mother. Good women have never made successful rulers, as a rather cynical Russian said to me, à propos of the Empress Catherine. The nobility disliked her because she kept aloof from them. The glitter and the pomp of court life which the Russian aristocracy loved, the consideration which monarchs are expected to show for the social predilections of their subjects were disregarded by her. Living in perpetual fear, her nerves were shattered. All her interests centred in her family and in the unbending conviction of a German princess that the divine right of kings is a dogma. She was as incapable of understanding that there were powers in the nation which could destroy as was Marie Antoinette before she met destruction. We understood at Copenhagen that she looked on all the acts of the emperor that were not autocratic as weak; members of the Duma must be subservient and grateful; otherwise, it was the duty of the Tsar to treat them with the severity they deserved. The concessions, which, if granted earlier would have saved the emperor, were very moderate – merely a responsible ministry and a constitution. The Tsar, under the influence of the empress, the reactionary Protopopoff and the little clique of exclusives, who had forgotten everything valuable and learned nothing new, refused to grasp these ropes of salvation. The strength of the Grand Duke Nicholas-Michailovitch amazed and disconcerted this clique. 'If,' said one of the elderly Russian gentlemen we knew, 'he is not exiled, he will try to be President of all the Russias one day!' The emperess dowager was distrusted by the party around the empress. The empress dowager believed in prosecuting the war, for she knew that Russia could only follow her destiny happily freed from German control.

From February until March, 1917, Russia continued to be the one subject of discussion in diplomatic circles. It was the general opinion that the empress was the great obstacle to the emperor's giving a liberal constitution to his people. The Danish court, though the Emperor William had accused it of indiscretion, was silent. Prince Valdemar, who was, like all the sons and daughters of King Christian IX., devoted to the dowager empress, was plainly uneasy. We all knew that his sympathies were with the Liberal Party and against the pro-German and absolutist clique. 'The Russian people have endured much,' he said on March 10th, the day on which the news of the Tsar's abdication arrived; and, afterwards, – 'Thank God – so far it has been almost a bloodless Revolution.'