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.