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 eat in Paris in October, 1914, that France had said, “England is my hereditary enemy. Henry the Fifth and the Duke of Wellington and sundry Plantagenets fought me”; and suppose England had said, “I don’t care much for France. Joan of Arc and Napoleon and sundry other French fought me”—suppose they had sat nursing their ancient grudges like that? Well, the Kaiser would have dined in Paris according to his plan. And next, according to his plan, with the Channel ports taken he would have dined in London. And finally, according to his plan, and with the help of his “army of spies” overseas, he would have dined in New York and the White House. For German madness could not have defeated Germany’s plan of World dominion, if various nations had not got together and assisted. Other Americans there are, who do not resort to the Revolution for their grudge, but are in a commercial rage over this or that: wool, for instance. Let such Americans reflect that commercial grievances against England can be more readily adjusted than an absorption of all commerce by Germany can be adjusted. Wool and everything else will belong to Mathias Erzberger and his breed, if they carry out their intention. And the way to insure their carrying it out is to let them split us and England and all their competitors asunder by their ceaseless and ingenious propaganda, which plays upon every international prejudice, historic, commercial, or other, which is available. After August, 1914, England barred the Kaiser’s way to New York, and in 1917, we found it useful to forget about George the Third and the Alabama. In 1853 Prussia possessed one ship of war—her first.
In 1918 her submarines were prowling along our coast. For the moment they are no longer there. For a while they may not be. But do you think Germany intends that scraps of paper shall be abolished by any Treaty, even though it contain 80,000 words and a League of Nations? She will make of that Treaty a whole basket of scraps, if she can, and as soon as she can. She has said so. Her workingmen are at work, industrious and content with a quarter the pay for a longer day than anywhere else. Let those persons who cannot get over George the Third and the Alabama ponder upon this for a minute or two.
Chapter VI: Who Is Without Sin?
Much else is there that it were well they should ponder, and I am coming to it presently; but first, one suggestion. Most of us, if we dig back only fifty or sixty or seventy years, can disinter various relatives over whose doings we should prefer to glide lightly and in silence.
Do you mean to say that you have none? Nobody stained with any shade of dishonor? No grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great-etc. grandfather or grandmother who ever made a scandal, broke a heart, or betrayed a trust? Every man Jack and woman Jill of the lot right back to Adam and Eve wholly good, honorable, and courageous? How fortunate to be sprung exclusively from the loins of centuries of angels—and to know all about them! Consider the hoard of virtue to which you have fallen heir!
But you know very well that this is not so; that every one of us has every kind of person for an ancestor; that all sorts of virtue and vice, of heroism and disgrace, are mingled in our blood; that inevitably amidst the huge herd of our grandsires black sheep as well as white are to be found.
As it is with men, so it is with nations. Do you imagine that any nation has a spotless history? Do you think that you can peer into our past, turn over the back pages of our record, and never come upon a single blot? Indeed you cannot. And it is better—a great deal better—that you should be aware of these blots. Such knowledge may enlighten you, may make you a better American. What we need is to be critics of ourselves, and this is exactly what we have been taught not to be.