'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.