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!'