MR. COLLINGREY, M.P.--PACIFIST!
I have often said that there is something grossly immoral about the
profession of journalism. These men who live on the woes of others,
who batten on the miseries of the world, must of necessity be dead to
all kindly impulse and to the gentler emotions. They must be sceptical
of all that is good, and have immeasurable faith in the wickedness of
human nature. They must have neither reverence for the great ones of
the earth nor charity for the sins of the weak.
My experience of journalists and of English journalists particularly,
had been with a Mister Haynes, who behaved with the greatest treachery
toward me, insinuated himself into my office under false colours, for
was he not an officer of the English Intelligence Department, and has
he not, as I have reason to believe, the blood of two high-spirited
German youths upon his gory hands?
In the autumn of 1916, I learnt that Berlin was sending to me a
Swedish gentleman named Heigl, and I was ordered to follow his
instructions and to give him all the assistance which lay in my power.
I have a constitutional objection to the intrusion of outsiders and
more especially to amateur intelligence officers who, in my
experience, have never failed to bungle any task to which they set
their hands, so I cannot say that I viewed with any enthusiasm the
coming of Mr. Heigl, fraught as it would be, and as I knew, with
additional risks for myself and possibly the disorganization of the
perfect system which I had with such labour established.
Mr. Heigl proved to be a very pleasant gentleman, a merchant of
Stockholm, a short man with an untidy grey beard, well dressed and
having the appearance of prosperity. In fact, as I learnt, he was a
gentleman of considerable wealth, and though not well born, even in a
Swedish sense, he was a _persona grata_ with the leaders of the
Conservative Party in Sweden and was frequently consulted by his
Government on all matters affecting trade.
Amongst other things he was the proprietor of a weekly newspaper
published in Stockholm. All this he told me within the first hour of
our meeting; in fact, on the way up from an East Coast port to whither
I had gone to meet him.
“You must understand, sir,” he said with great affability, which I
need hardly tell you I returned, since he was the trusted agent of my
beloved country and was, moreover, a man who might be able to put a
few things in my way. One never knows when one requires the help of a
man of this description or, as we say in Germany, “Don’t refuse the
carter the tyre, one day the wheel may be yours.”
To resume the record of our conversation.
“You understand, sir,” he said, “that I am a citizen of a neutral
state and, therefore, I can take no active part in any propaganda
designed to assist Germany.”
“That is understood, excellent sir,” I replied, “and, believe me, I
will not embarrass you to the smallest extent by requesting your
assistance.”
He inclined his head graciously.
“There are certain people in Berlin whom I have recently had the
pleasure of meeting. They are anxious that in this great world war the
German view shall not be entirely lost sight of.”
It was my turn to nod.
“The English press is not exactly friendly or inclined even to print
the German point of view, save to ridicule it.”
“The English, or British press, my dear sir,” I said warmly, “is a
Government press. Every evening, as is well known, the Government send
every newspaper the outlines of the leading article which they will
write. So cunningly contrived are those leaders, that in some of them
they criticize the Government, and nobody outside the office would
realize that all those articles are written by a special band of
writers who work day and night in Downing Street.”
He seemed interested at this news which was well known to me and to
many of my friends.
“But I interrupted you,” I said, “pray forgive me.”
“In Berlin,” Mr. Heigl went on, “it is thought that an excellent
opportunity exists either for founding or for purchasing a newspaper.
It is understood that the _Post-Herald_ is for sale.”
“That is so,” I said nodding. I did not know it before, but I took his
word for it. We Germans can never be caught napping.
“The price that is asked,” Mr. Heigl went on, consulting a little
note-book which he drew from his waistcoat pocket, “is £100,000, that
is to say, two million marks. It is a paper which has had a great deal
of influence in the past but seems to have fallen away gradually until
it has got into very low water indeed. We believe that if we found the
right man and spent a little money the paper could be revived to its
former prestige.”
“Of that I am convinced,” I said, “and it is a view which I have often
thought of advancing to Berlin. Believe me, Mr. Heigl, I have not
neglected the press. There is scarcely a newspaper man in Fleet Street
whom I do not know. I can tell you their circulations, the family
history of their editors, the names and records of their principal
correspondents.”
He interrupted me with a little gesture.
“I am delighted to hear this,” he said, “I had no idea that you had
taken the matter up. In fact, they thought that you were unacquainted
with the personnel of the newspapers.”
I smiled a little bitterly.
“Wilhelmstrasse is sometimes a little unjust,” I said, quietly and
sadly.
“Now, what would you say the circulation of the _Post-Herald_ was?”
asked Mr. Heigl.
It was an unfortunate and tactless question to ask at the moment, but
I replied with readiness.
“I cannot tell you until I have consulted my books. There are so many
newspapers in London and one cannot possibly keep their circulations
in one’s head.”
I could see he was a little impressed, and later he asked:
“Can you suggest a man to act as go-between? Neither you nor I can buy
the paper, but if we could only get hold of a good substantial fellow,
a bit of a crank preferably, we could easily hide ourselves behind a
bank and a lawyer and complete the sale.”
I knitted my brows and compressed my lips. “For the moment I cannot,”
I said. “This is much too important a matter to be settled off-hand.”
To tell the truth, gentle reader, since my making the acquaintance of
Mister Haynes, I had steered clear of journalists, and the only one I
knew well enough to speak to was an old gentleman in a top hat who
used to stand at the corner of Salisbury Square, and borrow
half-crowns from me. Even his name I did not know, but I felt with my
usual good fortune and perseverance, I should not be long in finding
the right kind of man.
It would not be true to say that I did not understand the British
press, or that I had not given it a great deal of thought. In my
humble way I have been a contributor to English journalism, and my
letters, signed “True Patriot,” “Mother of Six,” and other _noms de
guerre_, have appeared in newspapers of almost every colour.
The British newspaper is remarkable for its stupidity and ignorance. I
do not think that even the best friends of English journalism will
dispute this fact.
_It is a fact which I cannot too clearly emphasize, that there is not
a single London newspaper edited by a professor. Only two of the
London editors have an educational degree, and none has been in the
army or the navy._
I then proceeded like a good general, to examine the ground. The
_Post-Herald_ is an old-fashioned Whig newspaper which had fallen on
evil times, due to the fact that it was owned by a family all of whom
took something out of its coffers, and none of whom put any brains
into its management. With true German thoroughness, I discovered that
it was deeply in debt to paper manufacturers, and to a syndicate of
printing-machine makers.
This poverty-stricken rag, without two penny pieces to rub against one
another, had the temerity, the audacity, to attack “unscrupulous
Germany.” I confess when I opened the sheet and read the scathing and
vulgar abuse of our truly great kulturland, I was filled with
righteous anger. But business is business. The Fatherland has need of
thee, _Post-Herald_. Thy columns shall yet scintillate with sarcasm,
not directed toward the genius of Germany, but toward the vile and
frivolous men who have dared the wrath of Michael! Thy readers from
these dull pages shall imbibe the principles which have made Prussia
feared, aye, and hated the world over. Deutschland shall be vindicated
in triumphant and very clever articles written by professors of
learning and translated by English hack writers.
My spirits rose and my heart glowed within me at the thought that I,
Heine, should pull the strings and direct in the heart of this great
and sinister city a policy which should still further enhance my
beloved land.
_Deutschland über alles._ Also, I thought there might be some
commission on the purchase, for these things can be arranged. The
first thing to do was to find a go-between, a man who could be
implicitly trusted, and I began to ransack my mind for a likely
person. To put one of the known English pacifists in control would be
to give the show away, and to upset the apple-cart, to employ two
English idioms.
Collingrey was the man! It came to me in a flash of inspiration. He
was a member of Parliament and hard up, having an extravagant wife and
other obligations which my good German modesty prevents my describing.
He had been a failure as a barrister, and a failure as a member of
Parliament. He might have held a position in the Government but for
certain disclosures which came to light in the matrimonial suit in
which he became involved.
During the war most of his questions and speeches in Parliament had
been directed against Italy--our perfidious ally! There never was a
man who so hated the Italian Government as he, and with good reason,
for Mr. Collingrey, a year before the war started, had invested all
his fortune in the purchase of two pictures by that master, Leonardo
di Vinci. The Italian Government had prohibited the export of the
pictures and when on top of this a lawsuit was started, which involved
the ownership of these works of art, Collingrey got neither the
pictures he had bought nor the money he had spent.
He had stood to make a fortune, having resold these gems to the
American millionaire, Tilzer. The lawsuit dragged on, and Collingrey
had declared that the Italian Government was putting every obstacle in
the way of a settlement, and as the English Government refused to give
him any assistance, he was doubly incensed.
He was, therefore, a bitter man, and never lost an opportunity of
embarrassing the Government. His articles appeared regularly in those
journals which we had subsidized--very few, alas!--in this country. He
had a reputation for honesty, was a brilliant writer and a clever
debater.
The thing was to secure his co-operation, and to convey to him, with
as much delicacy as possible, the policy which he would be called upon
to support.
I have before me the draft of instructions which I received from
Berlin at a subsequent date, and I cannot do better than print these:
1. The editor will adopt a conciliatory attitude toward Germany and
German War Aims. It is not necessary that the German point of view
should be urged, since this would defeat the object aimed at. The
Germans may even be attacked, though no uncomplimentary reference to
the Great General Staff, to the Kaiser, or to any member of the German
royal family must be permitted.
2. It is permissible to condemn air-raids or U-boat sinkings in a
decorous and serious manner, but at the same time a note should be
appended to the effect that whilst these things are unfortunate, the
English have largely themselves to blame for failing at the beginning
of the war to observe the distinction between open and defended towns,
and also for not observing the Treaty of London.
3. At all times the editor must urge the necessity for arriving at an
understanding with Germany. The cost of the war, the loss of life,
must be deplored, and the possibility of avoiding further losses by
meeting the Germans at a peace council must be insisted upon.
4. References to the taxation which will follow the war, and how
hardly it will fall upon the working classes as well as upon the
moneyed classes must be made frequently.
5. Whenever possible it should be hinted that the British have no
reason for continuing the war, and that they are being bled white to
support the insensate ambitions of France. French military actions
should, in consequence, be criticized as far as possible.
6. Stories dealing with the humanity of the German soldier, which will
be supplied from time to time, should be given prominence, and
references to German strikes may be made the most of, especially at
moments of industrial unrest in England.
These were only a few of the instructions. I cannot help thinking that
Wilhelmstrasse made a great mistake in its moderation. If it had been
left to me I would have instructed the editor to lose no opportunity
of attacking every other newspaper which spoke slightingly of our
great country--but then I am a patriot!
I had no difficulty in getting an introduction to Collingrey, and he
invited me to dine at the British House of Commons. In a few words
over a post-prandial cigar I explained the object of my visit. The
good friend whose letter of introduction had procured the interview
had smoothed my path by representing me to be an agent of a South
American rancher (name unknown) who desired to break into London
society, and in tones of gentle but amused tolerance I hinted at my
client’s vanity.
It was a difficult interview, because Mr. Collingrey paid very little
attention to what I said, but launched forth into a diatribe against
the Italian Government. He was a monomaniac on the subject. He thumped
the table so that all the other members in the dining-room looked
round. He pounded his hand with his fist. He waved his finger in my
face. He sat back, he sat forward, and all the time he spoke of the
Italian Government and its iniquities. So much the better, my friend,
thought I. I give you my word you shall have your fling at false
Italia.
It gave me an opening to the exposition of the policy which the
newspaper would support, particulars of which reached me
providentially on the morning of my meeting the gentleman. Very gently
and delicately I laid down the lines on which the paper would be
conducted, and he agreed. Of course I did not give him all the
details, for I did not desire to scare him.
“If you asked me to run a pro-Government paper I should have refused
it,” he said violently, “this is a Government of nincompoops, a
Government of charlatans, a Government of Enemies of the People. I
regard the war as a crowning iniquity and its continuance inexcusable
but for the fact that our Ministers have sold themselves body and soul
to Italy. Take my own case, for instance.…”
And so I had it all over again, the story of his purchase of the di
Vinci pictures from the Montimi collection, the story of the embargo,
the story of the lawsuit. What bores these English members of
Parliament are, how childish; what a contrast to the staid members of
our own Reichstag with their serious politics and their love of the
Fatherland!
Mr. Collingrey readily undertook to act as go-between. He entered into
the spirit of the matter with great enthusiasm, and when I met him two
or three days later he produced two manuscripts dealing with the
Italian Government, which he read to me in the lobby of the House of
Commons.
When the purchase was completed and the _Post-Herald_ had passed into
the possession of a certain syndicate, which it is not advisable to
name, he had a manuscript on Italy in every pocket. Having done my
part of the work and taken the small commission which was my right,
and having seen Mr. Heigl safely on his journey back to Stockholm, I
had little time to bother about the newspaper, the more so since
Berlin in its folly had decided that I was not to interfere in its
management.
I bowed respectfully to the high authorities and to the well-born
gentlemen who directed Germania’s policy, but I submit in all humility
that had Heine been at the helm much that subsequently happened might
have been avoided.
Mr. Collingrey carried out his instructions faithfully, and when they
were explained with more elaborate detail he accepted his orders (to
my surprise) without demur or question. His vivid leading articles on
the Italian Government attracted a great deal of attention and led to
a strict application of the censorship, but this only gave him a new
interest in life, namely, in so couching his words that he could do
the maximum amount of damage to his enemies without incurring censure.
He was gentle with Germany, restrained in his reference to the
U-boats, never spoke of the Kaiser except as the Emperor William, and
his references to labour were invariably quoted in the extreme organs
of the masses. He was indeed a most satisfactory person, and I have in
my possession a letter addressed to me by the noble-born Count von
Mazberg, the head of our propaganda department, congratulating me upon
my most excellent choice. This I can show to any interested person who
doubts my word, and especially to those evil-minded un-German
journalists who have so often attacked me and my work.
I was out of London a great deal, being concerned in consultation with
certain labouring men who desired to bring the war to an end by an
understanding with Germany. These English patriots were organizing a
strike, and, naturally, I rendered them all the assistance that lay in
my power. This meant that I had to travel with a great deal of money
and could not afford to allow my attention to be distracted from the
business at hand.
I arrived in London one evening and on reaching my flat discovered an
urgent telegram from Mr. Collingrey asking me to dine with him at the
Carltonia Hotel, as he had news of the greatest importance. I
immediately changed into my evening dress and drove down to the hotel
where the editor was waiting impatiently. He was happier than I have
ever seen him. His thin, cadaverous face was wreathed in smiles, as he
heartily shook my hand, brushing aside the compliments on his conduct
of the paper which I had prepared.
“Come and have dinner, my boy,” he said. “I have got great news.”
“I am delighted to learn this,” I replied. “Have you got one in the
eye for Italy, if you will pardon the expression?”
“Oh, much better.”
Grasping my arm he led me into the dining-room.
“After all,” he said as we sat down at the table, “perhaps I have been
rather unkind about Italy--my articles have borne fruit.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in surprise.
He chuckled as he unfolded his serviette.
“They have released my pictures, my dear fellow,” he said, “you have
no idea of the weight there is off my mind. It means a tremendous lot
to me--my fortune and my wife’s was invested in those infernal daubs.
Look here,” he took a piece of paper from his pocket and passed it
across to me.
It was a cablegram which had been handed in at New York that morning:
“Agree to your price, hundred and fifty thousand dollars for di Vinci
pictures. Ship them by first mail-boat in charge of reliable
man.--Tilzer.”
“We will have a bottle of champagne on this.”
“But what induced the Government to take this step?”
“The lawsuit is ended,” said Mr. Collingrey, “and ended in my favour.
I tell you it has taken ten years off my age.”
He babbled on like a boy, but presently he grew calmer and we
discussed the policy of the paper, and I was glad to see that he still
retained those honest convictions about Germania which had ever
distinguished his writings.
It was just about this time that America was trembling on the verge of
war, when the unscrupulous Wilson was making his preparations to
commit the great crime against civilization of plunging his country
into the horrors of strife. For me it was a time of the greatest
stress and anxiety. Cablegrams from certain neutral countries reached
me every hour. Secret and confidential wireless messages from the
supreme political chiefs reached me through the usual channels.
The excuse the Americans made was the initiation by our Admiralty of
an unrestricted U-boat campaign against the munition ships of the
Allies and it was still hoped by the superlatively clever men who
guide the helm of the German state that war might be avoided.
On a night I shall never forget I received a message from Amsterdam
which I decoded. It ran:
“VERY URGENT.--To Chief S.S. Agents, London, Madrid, Paris, New York,
Stockholm, Amsterdam.
“Editors and directors of friendly and subsidized papers must be
instructed to deal sympathetically with U-boat campaign. Point out
iniquity blockade which is starving German women and children, and
suggest a compromise between Germany and her enemies. Endeavour
counteract enemy propaganda which will be unusually virulent. Prepare
articles and comments in this vein. Acknowledge to chief of staff.”
I wrote a brief note embodying these instructions to Mr. Collingrey,
telling him that the South American, the mythical proprietor of the
_Post-Herald_ was a big shipowner, and desired to save the shipping of
the Allies. This I despatched by special messenger and immediately
dismissed the matter from my thoughts for, as I say, I had not only
the organization of a great strike but also I had to condense the very
heavy reports which were coming through from our agents in the various
shipping centres.
I worked till three o’clock in the morning and then snatched a few
hours’ sleep. At seven I was at my task again with all the newspapers
ready for perusal. Naturally I turned to the _Post-Herald_ first. Here
I knew I had material for a good report and with my code book open in
front of me, I was preparing to translate the leading article into
language which would pass the censor for transmission to Holland.
I opened the paper. There was the leading article, but to my amazement
it was headed:
German Murderers at their Foul Work.
I gasped. From the very first word to the very last the article was
the bitterest, the most vehement, the most unscrupulous attack upon
Germany that had ever appeared. I grew red and white as I read it. It
called the Germans assassins of the sea, barbarians, Huns, Boches,
pirates, blackguards, thieves--I shudder as I recall the language
which was used by Mr. Collingrey.
I was in a maze, bewildered. I read on like a man in a bad dream,
conscious of the awful avalanche of fury which would sweep down upon
me when Berlin read this dreadful and disloyal article.
It was not till nearly the end of the leader that I began to
understand Mr. Collingrey’s attitude. The final paragraph ran:
“If any doubt existed that this nation of Hun marauders is lacking in
the elements of kultur, that doubt is removed by the wanton sinking of
the Italian steamship _San Salvadoro_. It was an open secret that that
ill-fated vessel was carrying to England two great masterpieces of
Italian art, two priceless examples of Leonardo’s genius. Did that
fact stay the barbarian’s hand? Nay! Rather it lent zest to the
lustful and bestial representative of a savage and unkultured people.
“Those two masterpieces, unfortunately uninsured by their owner, lie
at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay.
“Let the British Government make instant reprisals. Intern the aliens
in our midst! Imprison and shoot secret agents whose evil activity is
seducing the allegiance of our people, whose hands are discernible
even in the press itself.”
I laid down the paper and wiped the perspiration from my brow. I took
up a pen to indite the traitor’s dismissal, but on second thoughts I
put it down again.
After all, it was not my idea. Let Berlin do its own dirty work.