navy, or pro-German school histories for our children, or that we can’t make dyes, or whatever you please: the only sure thing is, that the Germany of yesterday is the Germany of tomorrow. She is not changed. She will not change. The steady stream of her propaganda all over the world proves it.
No matter how often her masquerading government changes costumes, that costume is merely her device to conceal the same cunning, treacherous wild beast that in 1914, after forty years of preparation, sprang at the throat of the world. Of all the nations in the late war, she alone is pulling herself together. She is hard at work. She means to spring again just as soon as she can.
Did you read the letter written in April of 1919 by her Vice-Chancellor, Mathias Erzberger, also her minister of finance? A very able, compact masterpiece of malignant voracity, good enough to do credit to Satan.
Through that lucky flaw of stupidity which runs through apparently every German brain, and to which we chiefly owe our victory and temporary respite from the fangs of the wolf, Mathias Erzberger posted his letter.
It went wrong in the mails. If you desire to read the whole of it, the International News Bureau can either furnish it or put you on the track of it. One sentence from it shall be quoted here: “We will undertake the restoration of Russia, and in possession of such support will be ready, within ten or fifteen years, to bring France, without any difficulty, into our power. The march towards Paris will be easier than in 1914. The last step but one towards the world dominion will then be reached. The continent is ours. Afterwards will follow the last stage, the closing struggle, between the continent and the overseas.”
Who is meant by “overseas”? Is there left any honest American brain so fond and so feeble as to suppose that we are not included in that highly suggestive and significant term? I fear that some such brains are left.
Germans remain German. I was talking with an American officer just returned from Coblenz. He described the surprise of the Germans when they saw our troops march in to occupy that region of their country. They said to him: “But this is extraordinary. Where do these soldiers of yours come from? You have only 150,000 troops in Europe. All the other transports were sunk by our submarines.” “We have two million troops in Europe,”
replied the officer, “and lost by explosion a very few hundred. No transport was sunk.” “But that is impossible,” returned the burgher, “we know from our Government at Berlin that you have only 150,000 troops in Europe.”
Germans remain German. At Coblenz they were servile, cringing, fawning, ready to lick the boots of the Americans, loading them with offers of every food and drink and joy they had. Thus they began. Soon, finding that the Americans did not cut their throats, burn their houses, rape their daughters, or bayonet their babies, but were quiet, civil, disciplined, and apparently harmless, they changed. Their fawning faded away, they scowled and muttered. One day the Burgomaster at a certain place replied to some ordinary requisitions with an arrogant refusal. It was quite out of the question, he said, to comply with any such ridiculous demands. Then the Americans ceased to seem harmless. Certain steps were taken by the commanding officer, some leading citizens were collected and enlightened through the only channel whereby light penetrates a German skull. Thus, by a very slight taste of the methods by which they thought they would cow the rest of the world, these burghers were cowed instantly. They had thought the Americans afraid of them. They had taken civility for fear. Suddenly they encountered what we call the swift kick. It educated them. It always will. Nothing else will.
Mathias Erzberger will, of course, disclaim his letter. He will say it is a forgery. He will point to the protestations of German repentance and reform with which he sweated during April, 1919, and throughout the weeks preceding the delivery of the Treaty at Versailles. Perhaps he has done this already. All Germans will believe him—and some Americans.
The German method, the German madness—what a mixture! The method just grazed making Germany owner of the earth, the madness saved the earth.
With perfect recognition of Belgium’s share, of Russia’s share, of France’s, Italy’s, England’s, our own, in winning the war, I believe that the greatest and mast efficient Ally of all who contributed to Germany’s defeat was her own constant blundering madness. Americans must never forget either the one or the other, and too many are trying to forget both.
Germans remain German. An American lady of my acquaintance was about to climb from Amalfi to Ravello in company with a German lady of her acquaintance. The German lady had a German Baedeker, the American a Baedeker in English, published several years apart. The Baedeker in German recommended a path that went straight up the ascent, the Baedeker in English a path that went up more gradually around it. “Mine says this is the best way,” said the American. “Mine says straight up is the best,” said the German. “But mine is a later edition,” said the American.
“That is not it,” explained the German. “It is that we Germans are so much more clever and agile, that to us is recommended the more dangerous way while Americans are shown the safe path.”
That happened in 1910. That is Kultur. This too is Kultur: “If Silesia become Polish Then, oh God, may children perish, like beasts, in their mothers’ womb.
Then lame their Polish feet and their hands, oh God!
Let them be crippled and blind their eyes.
Smite them with dumbness and madness, both men and women.”
From a Hymn of German hate for the Poles.
Germany remains German; but when next she springs, she will make no blunders.
Chapter V: The Ancient Grudge
It was in Broad Street, Philadelphia, before we went to war, that I overheard the foolish—or propagandist—slur upon England in front of the bulletin board. After we were fighting by England’s side for our existence, you might have supposed such talk would cease. It did not. And after the Armistice, it continued. On the day we celebrated as “British Day,” a man went through the crowd in Wanamaker’s shop, asking, What had England done in the War, anyhow? Was he a German, or an Irishman, or an American in pay of Berlin?, I do not know. But this I know: perfectly good Americans still talk like that. Cowboys in camp do it. Men and women in Eastern cities, persons with at least the external trappings of educated intelligence, play into the hands of the Germany of tomorrow, do their unconscious little bit of harm to the future of freedom and civilization, by repeating that England “has always been our enemy.” Then they mention the Revolution, the War of 1812, and England’s attitude during our Civil War, just as they invariably mentioned these things in 1917 and 1918, when England was our ally in a struggle [or life, and as they will be mentioning them in 1940, I presume, if they are still alive at that time.
Now, the Civil War ended fifty-five years ago, the War of 1812 one hundred and five, and the Revolution one hundred and thirty-seven.
Suppose, while the Kaiser was butchering Belgium because she barred his way to that dinner he was going to
