A character I met of a different sort, and anything but a Socialist, was a Russian diplomat of the ancien régime. He was at one time Russia’s Chargé d’Affaires at Berne. The sight of him swinging his cane along the Lucerne boulevard reminded me of his interesting career. He had the reputation of being the most intelligent diplomat in Switzerland; of his private character the most merciless stories were openly told. It was taken for granted that even before the Revolution he had been in the pay of the Austrians, but as an excellent Russian patriot he took the Austrian money and gave them Tartar news! He was elegant, amiable, and amazingly frank. Contrary to many of his colleagues, he did not pretend in the least to have any liking for democracy. He was a thorough reactionary, not only in feeling but in ideas. He did not merely abuse the Bolsheviks. He studied and analysed them. He was extremely cynical but clear thinking. He had marvellous powers of conversation, and could describe things with a fullness of language that made them stand out in the imagination of the listener. Under the spell of his voice the old Russia stood clear as the new.
During the Peace Conference he pretended to be Clemenceau’s chosen instrument against Bolshevism. Many people in Berne who were waiting to be admitted to the holy precincts of the city of Peace paid him large sums of money to procure them a French visum. Some of them are said to have succeeded in getting one. Others gave up their money, their hopes and their Peace Conference!
In those days his funds ran low. With the assistance of his beautiful wife he established a gambling salon at his flat, where a number of young diplomats, and very many of the aristocratic refugees from the Central Empires, were thoroughly plucked. Berne being rather a dull place, and the waiting for visa rather tedious, this establishment became an invaluable social convenience.
Continuing to live at the very height of extravagant luxury he could not avoid his financial collapse. His costly furniture was sold, and one day his orders—Russian, Austrian, Italian, German, English—some of which were of solid gold, were passed on a beautiful plate round the cafés of Berne for sale.
Whatever the truth about his character, it was a fact that most of the diplomats of Berne on both sides would have nothing to do with him. During his last few months in Switzerland he divorced his wife, on which occasion it was revealed that his wedding a dozen years before was attended by the cream of the Russian aristocracy and that he owned vast estates in Russia. He is rumoured to have left Berne for South America in the company of the beautiful blonde manicurist of the Belle Vue Hotel! Sic transit gloria mundi.
Miss Catherine Marshall appeared at the Lucerne Conference. She is one of the ablest of the feminists of Great Britain. For some years she had been very ill, the victim of overwork and overstrain. It was feared she might not return to public life. Her appearance in Lucerne gave everybody pleasure. She was lately returned from Germany, whither she had gone in defiance of prohibitions, and had a strange, sad story to tell. Reckless of her own delicate health she had lived as the people live, and showed marks in herself of the poverty of that living. The restlessness of her mind and body were evidence of continued ill-health, and I strongly pressed her to go home and take a quiet time in the country somewhere. The most pitiful thing in creation is the nervous woman unable to rest. The deliberate waste of great powers by their ill-regulated use robs the gift of them of half its worth. Together we walked in the woods and on the hill slopes of Lucerne, and I talked to her, with the cruel candour of a friend, of the need for “going slow” if she wished to do more good work for the cause of women.
At the end of four days I returned to Berne to prepare for a longer journey than I had hitherto taken. I would make an effort to go to Vienna.
CHAPTER VII
DYING AUSTRIA (AUGUST-SEPTEMBER, 1919)
After spending two weeks at the mountain hotel in Berne I succeeded in getting a passport for Vienna in August, 1919; but it was an Austrian passport. A certain relaxation of the rules of the British Foreign Office in favour of the representatives of the Press wishing to travel in Austria was made in July of that year. For the future such people were not required to have a British visum for a journey to Vienna. So I was informed by several returned newspaper men who had taken no trouble of this sort. Twice previously my earnest plea for the necessary visum had been rejected, though Mr. Savery of the British Legation had met me with the greatest civility and had made, I am sure, sincere efforts on my behalf. I heartily rejoiced in the withdrawal of the regulation and made my plans. I had a commission from a London newspaper to report the Lucerne International, and secured a letter from the editor authorizing me to proceed to Vienna on his behalf. Armed with this I proceeded to the Austrian Legation to see what could be done.