Aaronshon, the expert for the Jewish Agricultural Society in Palestine, came; a wonderful man, capable of great things, and shrewd beyond the power of words to express. He did not deny that the Turkish Crown Prince had been shot, having first fired at Enver Pasha. Harold al Raschid is a novice to him in his knowledge of Eastern things that Western diplomatists ought to know. From all sources came the corroboration of the fact that, once sure of Russia, with the Slavs in her grasp, Germany held, in her own opinion, the keys to the world.
Opinions differed as to whether she was starving or not. Rumania had helped her with oil and perhaps coal. The Chinese Minister at Berlin said that she could hold out longer than China could in similar circumstances, as his citizens would be compelled to reduce themselves to less than two meals, and the Germans were coming down from four! We know on the authority of the actor in the episode that he had paid twenty marks in a restaurant in Berlin for a portion of roast fowl; it was tough, and he laid down his knife and fork in despair, when two ladies, at a table near him, politely asked if they might take it!
Rumours, very disturbing, as to the conditions of Russia, came to us from all sides. Our neighbour, Prince Valdemar, looked disturbed when one asked as to the health of the Empress Dowager, who had been most kind to my daughter, Carmel. He seemed to think that she would be safe, though I heard him say that a revolution seemed inevitable. The forcible and insolent 'conversations' on the part of Germany with Norway—shortly before October 16th, 1916, she had actually threatened war—had ceased for the moment.
Mr. Angel Carot, the French journalist, who was correspondent of the Petrograd press, had reported on good authority that the Germans were preparing a descent on Jutland. Vicomte de Faramond seemed to think that the rumour was well founded. 'We know the point of view that the Berlin Foreign Office has; Count Rantzau represents it,' said Mr. de Scavenius, 'but who can not tell from day to day what the General Staff will do?' The General Staff kept its secrets.
Poland was in a frightful condition. The Germans were not only impoverishing the landed proprietors, but seizing their cattle and forcing their farm people into the army. A Pole fighting for German autocracy was in as pitiable position as a Slesviger fighting for the enslaving of his own land. The Poles were not inclined toward a republic, but there was not one of their noble families from whom they would draw a constitutional king. A son of the Austrian Grand Duke Stefan, who was popular in Poland, was much spoken of. I felt that I ought to be flattered when a Polish prince and princess came, well introduced, to lay the plan before me, as a diplomatist who might assist in making a royal marriage! I concealed my surprise; but it was delightful to hear of my 'relations avec des grandes personnes dans toutes les chancelleries du monde.' And what a pleasure to hear, 'we know that even the Quirinal and the Vatican, etc. You who are three times minister of the United States.' The 'three times minister of the United States' puzzled me at first; then I remembered that one of the German papers, I think it was Die Woche, had said the same thing, meaning that I had served under three Presidents.
Our Polish guests were willing, under the circumstances, to approve of the marriage with Archduke Stefan's son, provided a Catholic princess, of liberal political views, could be found. To have a German princess forced on them would mean new disturbances,—revolts, dissatisfaction. There was perhaps the Princess Margaret of Denmark, who had every quality, they understood, to make an ideal Queen of Poland. 'Every quality,' I agreed, 'to make a man happy—but it must be the right man.' I knew that Prince Valdemar, who had refused Balkan thrones, was not desirous of marrying his daughter to a prince 'simply because he was a prince.' Would I sound His Royal Highness? 'I know,' I answered, 'that Prince Valdemar believes in happy marriages, not in brilliant ones. In fact, I had heard him say that he did not want Denmark to be looked on only as an arsenal for the making of crowns.'
The prince and princess went on their way, to consult more influential persons. They would not have welcomed a republic; in February 1916 the German grip was strong in Poland, and a Danish princess, the daughter of a French mother, seemed to offer them hope in the gloom.
The fears of the Austrians, of the Russians, of the Poles, of the Bulgarians that, if the war continued, anarchy must ensue, were not concealed. The Polish prince and princess believed that Russia would have a change of Government, but this change, they thought, would be brought about by a 'palace revolution,' for Petrograd was the centre of intrigues. The British Minister was accused of working in the interests of the Grand Duke Nicholas; the German propaganda, as far as we could discover, was for the practical application of 'divide and conquer.' Baron de Meyendorff, whose cheerfulness was as proverbial as his discretion, was uneasy; but as, unlike his chief, Baron de Buxhoevenden, he belonged to the more liberal party, this was taken as a sign that he was uncertain whether the new elements in Russian political life would develop in an orderly way or not.
Baron de Buxhoevenden, the most calm, the most self-controlled of all my colleagues, was unusually silent; his wife, than whom Russia had no more intelligent and patriotic woman in her borders, had said that the war would either break or make Russia. 'The Russian people,' she said, 'since the beginning of the war, are better fed than they ever were. The suppression of vodka has enabled them to pay their taxes and to begin to get rid of the parasites who prey on thoughtless drunkards. Their prosperity will either induce them to rebel against their rulers, or to accept the government because of their improved conditions.'
'But why are they better fed?' I had asked.