SOME DETAILS THE GERMANS KNEW
I gathered that Germany, in 1908, 1909, 1910, was growing more and
more furiously jealous of England. To make a financial wilderness of
London and reconstruct the money centre of the world in Berlin was
the ambition of some of her great financiers.
Our time had not come yet; we might grow in peace. It depended on our
attitude whether we should be plucked when ripe or not. If we could
be led, I gathered, into an attitude inimical to England, all would
be well; but that might safely be left 'to the Irish and the great
German population of the Middle West.' It was 'known that English
money prevented the development of our merchant marine'; but this,
after all, was not to the disadvantage of Germany since, if we
developed our marine, it might mean state subsidies to American ocean
steamer lines. This would not have pleased Herr Ballin.
Count Henckel-Donnersmarck held no such opinions, but the members of
the Berlin _haute bourgeoisie_, who occasionally came to Copenhagen,
were firmly convinced that English money was largely distributed in
the United States to prejudice our people against the beneficent
German Kultur, which, as yet, we were too crude to receive. I
gathered, too, that many of the important, the rich business
representatives of Germany in our country reported that we were 'only
fit to be bled.' We were unmusical, unliterary, unintellectual. We
knew not what a gentleman should eat or drink. Our cooking was vile,
our taste in amusement only a reflection of the English music halls.
We bluffed. We were not virile. The aristocrat did not express these
opinions; but the middle class, or higher middle class, sojourners in
our land did. 'Good Heavens!' exclaimed one American at one of our
receptions to a German-American guest; 'you eat that grouse from your
fists like an animal.'
'I am a male,' answered Fritz proudly; 'we must devour our food--we
of the virile race!'
The pretensions of this kind of German were intolerable. He was the
most brutal of snobs. He arrogated to himself a rank, when one met
him, that he was not allowed to assume in his own country. It was
often amusing to receive a call from a spurious 'von,' representing
German interests in Milwaukee, Chicago, or Cincinnati, who patronised
us until he discovered that we knew that he would be in the seventh
heaven if he could, by any chance, marry his half-American daughter
to the most shop-worn little lieutenant in the German army! To see
him shrivel when a veritable Junker came in, was humiliating. I often
wondered whether the well-to-do German burghers of St. Louis or
Cincinnati were really imposed upon by men of this kind.
The Nobles' Club in Copenhagen is not a club as we know clubs. There
are chairs, newspapers from all parts of the world, and bridge
tables, if you wish to use them. You may even play the honoured game
of _l'ombre_--after the manner of Christian IV., or, perhaps, His
Lordship, the High Chamberlain Polonius, of the court of his late
Majesty, King Claudius. People seldom go there. It is the one place
in Denmark where the members of the club are never found.
The country gentlemen have rooms there when they come to town. It is
in an annex of the Hotel Phoenix. A few of the best bridge players in
Copenhagen meet there occasionally; the rest is silence; therefore it
is a safe place for diplomatic conversations.
A very distinguished German came to me with a letter of introduction
from Munich, in 1909--late in the year. His position was settled. He
was not in the class of the spurious 'vons.' He was, however, high in
the confidence of the Kings of Saxony and Bavaria, both of whom, he
confessed, were displeased because the United States had no
diplomatic representatives at their courts. He had been _persona non
grata_ with Bismarck because of his father's liberalism; he had been
friendly with Windthorst, the Centre leader, and he had been in some
remote way connected with the German Legation at the Vatican. We
talked of Washington in the older days, of Speck von Sternberg[4] and
of his charming wife, then a widow in Berlin; of the cleverness of
Secretary Radowitz, who had been at the German Embassy at Washington;
of the point of view of von Schoen, who had been Minister to
Copenhagen. He spoke of the Kaiser's having dined in our apartment,
which von Schoen had then occupied; and then he came to the point.
[4] Baron Speck von Sternberg died on May 23rd, 1908.
'Is the United States serious about the Monroe Doctrine--really?' he
asked.
'It is an integral part of our policy of defence.'
'We, in Germany, do not take it seriously. I understand from my
friends you have lived in Washington a long time. We are familiar
with your relations with President Cleveland and of your attitude
towards President McKinley. We know,' he said, 'that President
McKinley offered you a secret mission to Rome. We know other things;
therefore, we are inclined to take you more seriously than most of
the political appointees who are here to-day and gone to-morrow. Your
position in the affair of the Philippines is well known to us. It
would be well for you to ask your ambassador at Berlin to introduce
you to the Emperor; he was much pleased with your predecessor, Mr.
O'Brien. There is, no doubt, some information you could give his
Imperial Majesty. You have friends in Munich, too, and in Dresden
there is the Count von Seebach whom you admire, I know.'
'I admire Count von Seebach, but I am paid not to talk,' I said; 'but
about the secret mission to Rome in the Philippine matter--you knew
of that?'
It was more than I knew, though President McKinley, through Senator
Carter, had suggested, when the Friars' difficulty had been seething
in the Philippines, a solution which had seemed to me out of the
question. But how did this man know of it? I had not spoken of it to
the Count von Seebach, or to anybody in Germany. No word of politics
had ever escaped my lips to the Count von Seebach, who was His
Excellency the Director of the Royal Opera at Dresden.
'Yes; we know all the secrets of the Philippine affair, even that
Domingo Merry del Val came to Washington to confer with Mr. Taft. I
want to know two facts,--facts, not guesses. Your ministers who
come from provincial places, after a few months' instruction in
Washington, cannot know much except local politics. They are
like Pomeranian squires or Jutland farmers. We know that
Henckel-Donnersmarck and you are on good terms, and we are prepared
to treat you from a confidential point of view.'
This was interesting; it showed how closely even unimportant persons
like myself were observed; it was flattering, too; for one grows
tired of the foreign assumption that every American envoy has come
abroad because, as De Tocqueville says in _Democracy in America_ he
has failed at home.
'Mr. Poultney Bigelow, whom you doubtless know, once said in
conversation with the Kaiser, that his father would rather see him
dead than a member of your diplomatic corps, and he was unusually
well equipped for work of that kind. With few exceptions, as I have
remarked, your service is _pour rire_. What can a man from one of
your provincial towns know of anything but local politics and
business?'
I laughed: 'But you are businesslike, too; I hear that, when the
Kaiser speaks to Americans--at least they have told me so--it is
generally on commercial subjects. He likes to know even how many
vessels pass the locks every year at Sault Sainte Marie, and the
amount of grain that can be stored in the Chicago elevators.'
'It is useful to us,' my acquaintance said. 'You would scarcely
expect him to talk about things that do not exist in your
country--music, art, literature, high diplomacy----'
My reply shall be buried in oblivion; it might sound too much like
_éloquence de l'escalier_.
After an interval, not without words, I said:
'It is not necessary for a man to have lived in Washington or New
York in order to have a grasp on American politics in relation to the
foreign problem at the moment occupying the attention of the American
people or the Department of State. Every country boy at home is a
potential statesman and a politician. I recall the impression made on
two visiting foreigners some years ago by the interest of our very
young folk in politics. "Good heavens!" said the Marquis Moustier de
Merinville, "these children of ten and twelve are monsters! They
argue about Bryan and free silver! Such will make revolutions." "I
cannot understand it," said Prince Adam Saphia. "Children ask one
whether one is a Republican or Democrat."'
'That may be so,' he said. 'Your Presidents are not as a rule chosen
from men who live in the great cities.'
'You forget that, while Paris is France, Berlin, Germany----'
'No, Berlin is Prussia,' he said, smiling; 'but London is England;
Paris, France; and Vienna would be Austria if it were not for
Budapest.'
'New York or Washington is not, as you seem to think, the United
States.'
'That may be,' he said, 'nevertheless it is difficult for a European
to understand. It may be,' he added thoughtfully, 'there are some
things about your country we shall never come to understand
thoroughly.'
'You will have to die first--like the man of your own country who,
crossing a crowded street, was injured mortally and cried: "Now I
shall know it _all_." You will never understand us in this world.'
'That is _blague_,' he said. 'We Germans know all countries. Besides,
you know the German language.'
'Who told you that? It's nonsense!' I asked, aghast.
'The other day, I have heard that the Austrians were talking in
German to the First Secretary of the German Legation at the Foreign
Office, when you suddenly forgot yourself and asked a question in
good German!' he said triumphantly.
This was true. Count Zichy, secretary of the Austrian-Hungarian
Legation, had dropped from French into German. Now, I had read Heine
and Goethe when I was young, and I had written the German script;
but that was long ago. There were great arid spaces in my knowledge
of the German language, but something that Count Zichy had said about
an arbitration treaty had vaguely caught my attention, and I had
blundered out, 'Was ist das, Herr Graf?' or something equally elegant
and scholarly. This was really amusing. My friends had always accused
me of turning all German conversation toward _Wilhelm Meister_ and
_Der Erlkönig_, since I could quote from both!
'You can _finesse_,' continued the great nobleman. 'You are not
usual. Your Government has sent you here for a special mission; it is
well to pose as a poet and a man of letters, but you have been
reported to our Government as having a _mission secrète_. You are
allied with the Russians; we know that you are not rich.' This very
charming person, who always laid himself at 'the feet of the ladies'
and clicked his heels like castanets, did not apologise for
discussing my private affairs without permission, and for insinuating
that I was paid by the Russian Government.
'Do you mean----?'
'Nothing,' he said hastily, 'nothing; but the Russians use money
freely; they would not dare to approach _you_. Nevertheless, I warn
you that their marked regard for you must have some motive, and yours
for them may excite suspicions.'
'Surely my friend Henckel-Donnersmarck has not reported me to the
Kaiser?'
'Our ministers are expected to report everything to the Kaiser,
especially from Copenhagen; but Henckel-Donnersmarck does not report
enough. He is either too haughty or too lazy. My master will send him
to Weimar, if he is not more alert; but we have others!'
'I like him.'
'It is evident. Why?' asked the Count, with great interest.
'I sent him a case of Lemp's beer. He says it is better than anything
of the kind made in Germany--polite but unpatriotic.'
'You jest,' said the Count. 'You have the reputation of being
apparently never in earnest, but----'
'You shall have a case too,' I said, 'and then you can judge whether
his truthfulness got the better of his politeness, or his politeness
of his truthfulness.' He rose and bowed, he seated himself again.
'Remember, we shall always be interested in you,' he said; 'but there
is one thing I should like to ask--are you interested in potash?'
'I have no business interests. If you wish to talk business, Count,
you must go to the Consul General.'
That was the beginning. Henckel and I continued to be friends. He
seldom spoke of diplomatic matters. He assured me (over and over
again) that, if the ideas of Frederick the Great were to be followed,
Germany and the United States must remain friends. I told him that
Count von X. had said that 'if the United States could arrange to
oust England from control of the Atlantic and make an alliance with
Germany, these two countries would rule the world.'
'You will never do that,' he said. 'You are safer with England on the
Atlantic than you would be with any other nation. I am not sure what
our ultra Pan-Germans mean by "ruling the world." You may be sure
that your Monroe Doctrine would go to splinters if our Pan-Germans
ruled the world. As for me, I am sick of diplomacy. Why do you enter
it? It either bores or degrades one. I am not curious or unscrupulous
enough to be a spy. As to Slesvig, I have little concern with it. If
Germany should find it to her interest, she might return Northern
Slesvig; but there would be danger in that for Denmark. She must live
in peace with us, or take the consequences.'
'The consequences!'
'Dear colleague, you know as well as I do that all the nations of the
earth want territory or a new adjustment of territory. In the Middle
Ages, nations had many other questions, and there was a universal
Christendom; but, since the Renascence, the great questions are land
and commerce. Germany must look, in self-defence, on Slesvig and
Denmark as pawns in her game. She is not alone in this. You know how
tired I am of it all. No man is more loyal to his country than I am;
but I should like to see Germany on entirely sympathetic terms with
the kingdoms that compose it and reasonably friendly to the rest of
the world; but we could not give up Slesvig, even if the Danish
Government would take it, except for a _quid pro quo_.'
'What?'
'Well, let us say a place in the Pacific, on friendly terms with you.
Your country can hardly police the Philippines against Japan. Germany
is great in what I fear is the New Materialism. As to Slesvig, in
which you seem particularly interested, ask Prince Koudacheff, the
Russian Minister; write to Iswolsky, the Russian Minister, or talk to
Michel Bibikoff, who is a Russian patriot never bored in the pursuit
of information. These Russians may not exaggerate the consequences as
they know what absolute power means.
'There is one thing, Germany will not tolerate sedition in any of her
provinces, and, since we took Slesvig from Denmark in 1864, she is
one of our provinces. The Danes may tolerate a hint of secession on
the part of Iceland, which is amusing, but the beginning of sedition
in Slesvig would mean an attitude on our part such as you took
towards secession in the South. But it is unthinkable. The
demonstrations against us in Slesvig have no importance.'
* * * * *
Michel Bibikoff, Secretary of the Russian Legation, was most
intelligent and most alert. Wherever he is now, he deserves well of
his country. As a diplomatist he had only one fault--he underrated
the experience and the knowledge of his opponents; but this was the
error of his youth. I say 'opponents,' because at one time or other
Bibikoff's opponents were everybody who was not Russian. A truer
patriot never lived. He was devoted to my predecessor, Mr. O'Brien,
who was, in his opinion, the only American gentleman he had ever met.
He compared me very unfavourably with my courteous predecessor, who
has filled two embassies with satisfaction to his own country and to
those to whom he was accredited.
At first Bibikoff distrusted me; and I was delighted. If he thought
that you were concealing things he would tell you something in order
to find out what he wanted to know. For me, I was especially
interested in discovering what the Tsar's state of mind was
concerning the Portsmouth peace arrangements. Bibikoff had means of
knowing. Indeed, he found means of knowing much that might have been
useful to all of us, his colleagues. A long stay in the United States
would have 'made' Bibikoff. He was one of the few men in Europe who
understood what Germany was aiming at. He predicted the present
war--but of that later. He had been in Washington only a few months.
I suffered as to prestige in the beginning only, as every American
minister and ambassador suffers from our present system of appointing
envoys. No representative of the United States is at first taken
seriously by a foreign country. He must earn his spurs, and, by the
time he earns them, they are, as a rule, ruthlessly hacked off!
Each ambassador is supposed by the Foreign Offices to be appointed
for the same reason that so many peerages have been conferred by the
British Government. Every minister, it is presumed, has given a _quid
pro quo_ for being distinguished from the millions of his countrymen.
'If you have the price, you can choose your embassy,' is a speech
often quoted in Europe. I cannot imagine who made it--possibly the
famous Flannigan, of Texas. It is notorious that peerages are sold
for contributions to the campaign fund in England; but places in the
diplomatic service, though governed sometimes by political influence,
cannot be said to be sold.
I had one advantage; nobody suspected me of paying anything for my
place; and, then, I had come from Washington, the capital of the
country.
As I said, my eyes were fixed on Russia. I found, however, that the
main business of my colleagues seemed to be to watch Germany, and
that attitude for a time left me cold. Denmark had reason to fear
Germany; but then, at that time, every other European nation was on
its guard against possible aggressions on the part of its neighbours.
I had hope that a Scandinavian Confederacy or the swelling rise of
the Social Democracy in Germany would put an end to the fears of all
the little countries. There seemed to be no hope that the attitude of
the German nation towards the world could change unless the Social
Democrats and the Moderate Liberals should gain power.
But why should we watch Germany, the powerful, the self-satisfied,
the splendid country whose Kaiser professed the greatest devotion to
our President, and had sent his brother, Prince Henry, over to show
his regard for our nation? I was most anxious to find the reason.
In my time, good Americans--say in 1880--when they died, went to
Paris, never to Berlin. The Emperor of Germany had determined to
change this. He tried to make his capital a glittering imitation of
Paris; he received Americans with every show of cordiality.
Berlin was to be made a paradise for Americans and for the world;
but nearly every American is half French at heart. Nevertheless, I
do not think that we took the French attitude of revenge against
Germany seriously; we thought that the French were beginning to
forget the _revanche_; their Government had apparently become so
'international.' Many of us had been brought up with the Germans and
the sons of Germans. We read German literature; we began with Grimm
and went on to Goethe and, to descend somewhat, Heyse and Auerbach.
Without asking too many questions, we even accepted Frederick the
Great as a hero. He was easier to swallow than Cromwell, and more
amusing.
In fact, most of us did not think much of foreign complications, the
charm of the Deutscher Club in Milwaukee, the warmth of the singing
of German _lieder_ by returned students from Freiburg or Bonn or
Heidelberg; the lavish hospitality of the opulent German in this
country, the German love for family life, and, for me personally, the
survival of the robust virtues, seemingly of German origin, among the
descendants of the Germans in Pennsylvania, impressed me.
As far as education was concerned, I had hated to see the German
methods and ideas _servilely_ applied. I belonged to the Alliance
Française and preferred the French system as more efficient in the
training of the mind than the German. Besides, the importation of the
German basis for the doctorate of philosophy into our universities
seemed to me to be dangerous. It led young men to waste time, since
there was no governmental stamp on their work and no concrete
recognition of the results of their studies as there was in Germany;
and, this being so, it meant that the dignified degree, from the
old-fashioned point of view, would become degraded, or, at its best,
merely a degree for the decoration of teachers. It would be sought
for only as a means of earning a living, not as a preparation for
research.
'Of course I know Spain,' said a flippant attaché in Copenhagen. 'I
have seen _Carmen_, eaten _olla podrida_, and adored the Russian
ballet in the _cachuca_!' None of my friends who thought they knew
Germany was as bad as this. Some of the professors of my
acquaintance, who had seen only one side of German life, loved the
Fatherland for its support to civilisation. _Nous avons changé--tout
cela!_
Other gentlemen, who had started out to love Germany, hated
everything German because they had been compelled to stand up in an
exclusive club when anybody of superior rank entered its sacred
precincts or when something of the kind happened. The man with whom I
had read Heine and worked out jokes in _Kladdertasch_ was devoted to
everything German because he had once lived in a small German town
where there was good opera! Personally, I had hated Bismarck and all
his works and pomps for several reasons:--one was because of Busch's
glorifying book about him; another for the Kulturkampf; another for
his attitude toward Hanover, and because one of my closest German
friends was a Hanoverian.
Brought up, as most Philadelphians of my generation were, in
admiration for Karl Schurz and the men of '48, I could not tolerate
anything that was Prussian or Bismarckian; but, as Windthorst, the
creator of the Centrum party in the Reichstag, was one of my heroes,
I counted myself as the admirer of the best in Germany.
The position of the great power, evident by its attitude to us in the
beginning of the Spanish-American war, was disquieting; but Germany
had shown a similar sensitiveness under similar circumstances many
times without affecting international relations. And German world
dominion? What, in the Twentieth Century?--the best of all possible
centuries? Civilised public opinion would not tolerate it!
In the Balkans, of course, there would always be rows. The German
propaganda? It existed everywhere, naturally. One could see signs
of that; these signs were not even concealed. It seemed to be
reasonable enough that any country should not depend entirely on
the press or diplomatic notes to avoid misunderstanding; and a
certain attention to propaganda was the duty of all diplomatists.
Still, my observations in my own country, even before the Chicago
Exposition--when the Kaiser had done his best to impress us with the
mental and material value of everything German--had made me more than
suspicious. I had reason to be suspicious, as you will presently see.
But war? Never!
It was Cardinal Falconio who, I think, made me feel a little chilly,
when he wrote: 'War is not improbable in Europe; you are too
optimistic. Let us pray that it may not come; but, as a diplomatist
you must not be misled into believing it impossible.' It seemed to
me that such talk was pessimistic. Other voices, from the
diplomatists of the Vatican--even the ex-diplomatists--confirmed
this. 'If the Kaiser says he wants peace, it is true--but only on his
own terms. Believe me, if the Kaiser can control Russia, and draw a
straight line to the Persian Gulf, he will close his fist on
England.'
The people at the Vatican, if you can get them to talk, are more
valuable to an inquiring mind than any other class of men; but they
are so wretchedly discreet just when their indiscretions might be
most useful. Some of them are like King James I., who 'never said a
foolish thing and never did a wise one.' Those who helped me with
counsel were both wise in speech and prudent action but, unhappily,
hampered by circumstances. Among the wise and the prudent I do not
include the diplomatic representative of the Vatican in Paris just
before the break with Rome!
The Russians in Copenhagen kept their eyes well on Germany; and it
was evident that, while the position of France gave the Germans no
uneasiness--they seemed to look on France with a certain
contempt--any move of Russia was regarded as important. Prince
Koudacheff, late the Russian Ambassador at Madrid, in 1907 Minister
at Copenhagen, who seldom talked politics, again returned to the
great question.
'My brother, who is in Washington, and an admirer of your country,
says that you Americans believe that war is unthinkable. Is this your
opinion?'
'It is--almost.'
'Well, I will say that as soon as the bankers feel that there is
enough money, there will be a war in Europe.'
'I wonder if your husband meant that?' I asked the Princess
Koudacheff; it was well to have corroboration occasionally, and she
was a sister-in-law of Iswolsky's; Iswolsky was a synonym for
diplomatic knowledge.
'If he did not mean it he would not have said it. When he does not
mean to say a thing he remains silent. As soon as there is money
enough, there will be war. Germany will go into no war that will
impoverish her,' she said. Her opinion was worth much; she was a
woman who knew well the inside of European politics.
'And who will fight, the Slavs and Teutons?'
'You have said it! It will come.'
I knew a Russian who, while a nobleman, was not an official. In fact,
he hated bureaucrats. He could endure no one in the Russian court
circle except the Empress Dowager, Marie, because she was
sympathetic, and the late Grand Duke Constantine, because he had
translated Shakespeare.
'If Prince Valdemar of Denmark had been the son instead of the
brother of the Dowager Empress, Russia would have a future. As it is,
I will quote from Father Gapon for you. You know his _Life_?'
'No,' I said.
'Well, he has attempted to give the working-men in Russia a chance;
he has tried to gain for them one-tenth of the place which
working-men in your country have, and, in 1905, he was answered by
the massacre of the Narva gate. The Tsar is a fool, with an
imperialistic _hausfrau_ for a wife. If you will read the last words
of Father Gapon's _Life_, you will find these words:
'"I may say, with certainty, that the struggle is quickly approaching
its inevitable climax: that Nicholas II. is preparing for himself the
fate which befell a certain English King and a certain French King
long ago, and that such members of his dynasty as escape unhurt from
the throes of the Revolution, will some day, in a not very distant
future, find themselves exiles upon some Western shore." I may live
to see this; but I hope that the Empress Marie may not. She knows
where the policy of her daughter-in-law, who has all the stupidity of
Marie Antoinette, without her charm, would lead; she says of her
son,--"he was on the right road before he married that narrow-minded
woman!"'
This, remember, was in 1908. It was whispered even then in Copenhagen
that Russia was beginning to break up. The Dean of the Diplomatic
Corps was Count Calvi di Bergolo, honest, brave, opinionated, who
would teach you everything, from how to jump a hurdle to the gaseous
compositions in the moon. He was of the _haute école_ at the riding
school and of the _vielle école_ of diplomacy. He was very frank. He
had a great social vogue because of a charming wife and a most
exquisite daughter, now the Princess Aage. He would never speak
English; French was the diplomatic language; it gave a diplomatist
too much of an advantage, if one spoke in his native tongue. He
believed in the protocol to the letter; he was a martinet of a Dean.
'Public opinion,' he said scornfully, 'public opinion in the United
States is for peace. In Europe, if we could all have what we want, we
should all keep the peace; but what chance of peace can there be
until Italy has the Trentino or France Alsace-Lorraine, or until
Germany gets to her place by controlling the Slavs. You are of a new
country, where they believe things because they are impossible.'
He was a wise gentleman and he, too, watched Germany. It was plain
that he disliked the Triple Alliance. Suddenly it dawned on me 'like
thunder' that we had an interest in watching Germany, too.
It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Germany would one day
absorb Denmark. 'And then the Danish West Indies would automatically
become German!' This was my one thought. The 'fixed idea'!
It is pleasanter to be Dean of the Diplomatic Corps than a new-comer.
It must be extremely difficult for a diplomatic representative to be
comfortable at once, coming from American localities where etiquette
is a matter of gentlemanly feeling only, and where artificial
conventionalities hardly count. In a monarchical country, the outward
relations are changed. Socially, rank counts for much, and the rules
of precedence are as necessary as the use of a napkin. To have lived
in Washington--not the changed Washington of 1918-19--was a great
help. After long observation of the niceties of official etiquette in
the official society of our own Capital, Copenhagen had no terrors.