Berlin, September 26th

I am not getting about as much as I would like, the line-up of my visitors is long, and the unfortunate people who wait and wait to see me seem to find comfort in the “sight,” though why they should, the Lord only knows. I can do nothing for them. I did, however, get out to Potsdam on Sunday and attended service, a penitential service, in the Garrison Church. It was thronged with the widows and the mothers of the Junkers whose broken bodies are rotting all over Europe from the Baltic to the Black Sea, from the Channel to the Volga. Well, there they were, as far as I could see through the long crepe veils not as fleshy as they had been when their arrogant spouses rode away to war. But I did not gloat over them. I imagine I’m a poor hater, as Mme. Georgitch said when I refused to enthuse or dance a hornpipe on hearing the news, the good news, that Stambolov, who had used me despitefully, had been set upon and cut to pieces with the ugly yataghans which the Macedonians use so skillfully and, above all, so silently.

But I did see that the streets, once so stately, were grass-grown and the atmosphere rank and even putrid with uncollected garbage. At times it seemed to me that the air was fresher even in the hotel lobby than Unter den Linden. And a saunter along the Friedrichstrasse in the afternoon was certainly not uplifting. (I was warned to avoid it at night.) There it was that, in prewar days, the life of Berlin, of Gross-Berlin, surged. Well, it did not surge now. The great artery was cluttered up with war cripples, who hobbled along as best they could or made imploring gestures for help from vestibules and the entrances to houses. Some of these unfortunates were bold and not a few indulged in menacing gestures. Others, and these were the more numerous, crouched against the cold, damp walls as though ashamed for the stranger to see their distorted leg and arm stumps, their dead eyes, or their faces scarred almost beyond recognition as human beings by the flame throwers which one of their great men invented— not thinking it could and would be turned against their ever-victorious army. All these unfortunates were alike in one respect. They were all talking, or rather mumbling, to themselves, their tales of woe, rather than to those callous folk who hurried by as fast as they could. Russian refugees, often barefooted, always in rags, milled around in groups too. They had escaped the revolution and apparently had no fear of the starvation with which they seem to be confronted. But how unlike they are to the Junker ladies now beaten down upon their long-unbending knees. They are not and never have been hoffahig, nor can they boast of heraldic quarterings, but they hold high their heads, and if die they must, they will die as free men and masters of their souls—an ideal which seems to be beyond the grasp of the average German.

On one of my few walks I saw a sight which made me wonder if the world, the Berlin world at least, which I had known so well in other days had not come to an end. On the Friedrichstrasse Kempinski’s restaurant and café which Pemberton Grund and I had inaugurated (well in the last century) was not only closed, but all the doors and windows were boarded up. This extra precaution is due to the fact that Kempinski, the Feinschmecker from Warsaw, was a Pole and doubtless during the welter of war had dabbled in politics. Certainly I had come to this shrine of excellent food and drink with no thought of talking about the Curzon line. This was the peach month, and I wanted to quench my thirst with a deep draught of peach Bowie which Grund had invented and which bore his name for so many years in thirsty circles. I had wanted to know why this warm-weather drink was now known as Maryland Club punch and is no longer associated with the name of my old companion, who carried the Herald tabard to so many battle fronts in Europe, Asia, and Africa. Grund sleeps in a little English churchyard near Brighton and the peach Bowie of his mixing bears an alias. Well, Kempinski has vanished and Grund, their benefactor, is no longer remembered by the fruit drinkers of Berlin. And I could also find no trace of Karl von Kleist, who had gotten into trouble by knocking down an impertinent waiter at Kempinski’s, and unfortunately in court the waiter revealed that he had a wooden leg and the Rechtsanwalt maintained that poor Kleist was known in all the cafés as “Boxer Karl.” As a witness I disputed this and demonstrated that Kleist was a dub with his fists. However, the judge held that Kleist was a redoubtable fighter für die hiesige Verhältnisse¹ and gave Kleist a stiff sentence. Certainly in these days fist fighters were not approved of in Berlin.

The Social Democrats who, while far from united, are in control, seem more inclined to ventilate and emphasize the mistakes of the imperial regime than they are to prepare to face the actual situation or the hard winter that is so near. Now and again, it is true, I hear of a shadowy plan, Winterhilfe—winter help—they call it, but nothing practical is being done in the way of feeding and clothing the thousands in dire want. More, much more zeal and energy are displayed in giving the widest possible publicity to the mistakes of imperial diplomacy which are held to share responsibility for the national defeat, with the confessed collapse of the forces in the field. (Confessed at least in Social Democratic circles!)

I try to avoid, or at least limit, these time-consuming discussions; clearly my job is to peer into the future, not to hold an inquest over the past, but I fear I am far from successful. This campaign to “place responsibilities” now under way, and in which against my will I am becoming involved, I should state was initiated by a resolution of the National Assembly (that has succeeded to the Reichstag) which three weeks ago provided for the appointment of a committee to ascertain (1) upon whose shoulders rests responsibility for the war, and (2) who they were who insisted upon the proclamation of unrestricted U-boat warfare in January 1917, which forced an evidently reluctant America into the war and sealed the fate of the Central Empires.

The private hearings of this Committee, whose members are nearly all Majority Socialists, are now under way, and it is announced that the investigation will be kept upon a high, consequently upon a nonpartisan, plane. The chairman has been authorized to hold secret sessions when it may seem advisable in the public interest, but judging from the communications with which I am deluged, sooner or later much soiled linen will be hung on the lines—publicly.

The controversy which resulted in the fateful decision goes back farther than was generally known before the records were opened. They reveal that in January 1916 von Tirpitz, then at the head of the navy, demanded the proclamation of unrestricted (“ruthless,” as we may well call it) submarine warfare. With the support of the Foreign Office, Bethmann-Hollweg stoutly opposed the plan, not because it was barbarous or politically unwise, but for the reason that at the time the German Navy did not have available a sufficient number of submarines to clear the seas of hostile and neutral shipping. Many here— and they are very vocal—assert that this statement on the part of the unfortunate Chancellor was a subterfuge, that he greatly feared the political consequences of the new policy on the still-neutral nations, and that he merely advanced the argument he did because he recognized it was the only one that would be listened to in Berlin. With his darling project defeated, von Tirpitz resigned, and for some months nothing further was heard of his plan—born of desperation.

As to what followed is a matter of hot debate; no one is as well informed as BernstorfF but, trained career-diplomat that he is, he shows no eagerness to enter into the controversy. He will await his day in court and that is coming in a week; in the meantime he says he is fully occupied in reviving the long-dormant Democratic party, which he insists is the hope of Germany.

“If we are to gain control of the National Assembly,” the former Ambassador said to me yesterday, “we shall need recruits from all the prewar parties. Only with their co-operation can we hope to bring our tempest-tossed Vaterland back on an even keel.”

Naturally in these circumstances he does not wish to alienate any of the political groups which later on might prove invaluable. But Bernstorff is very human. While he will not flaunt in the faces of his former critics the dispatches from Washington that would justify him in saying, “Well, I told you so. I warned you what would happen,” he is not displeased to know that the Washington correspondence will be placed before the Inquiry. One of the members of the Commission has already given me an undoubtedly authentic copy of the dispatch which the Chancellor sent to the Ambassador in Washington on January 16th (1917) and his reply which clears the skirts of the much-maligned diplomat and places the responsibility where it belongs. It reads:

I know full well that by taking this step (unrestricted U-boat warfare) we run the danger of bringing about a break, and possibly war, with the United States. We have determined to take the risk. But I request your Excellency to advise me as to any possible means likely to afford an opportunity for taking steps to diminish the danger of a break.

(Signed) Bethmann-Hollweg

The Ambassador’s answer, although couched in diplomatic language, was to the effect that the only way to avoid a head-on collision with America was to rescind the order.

* * *

. . . With evident reluctance Bethmann-Hollweg, at the second meeting of the Committee, placed into the record some details of his long fight against the new submarine campaign and in doing so he showed conclusively that he had delayed it for at least twelve months. He testified: On October 1, 1916, I was informed by Admiral von Holtzendorff, in strict confidence, that the Naval High Command, the Army General Staff concurring, had decided to inaugurate unrestricted submarine warfare on October 18th. I immediately sent the following telegram to Baron Grunau, the representative of the Foreign Office at Imperial Headquarters:

“‘I cannot conceive of a final decision being taken on this momentous question, and of my being merely informed thereof, confidentially, by the chief of the Admiralty Staff, without an agreement, sanctioned by His Majesty, having been reached on this point with me, and I desire to make the following comment. It is well known that we are now pledged to the United States to carry on U-boat warfare solely under the rules of prize. We can recede from this position only after making an impressive statement of our reasons for so doing and after allowing a certain period of time to elapse in which, in theory at least, the American Government would be enabled to prevent the sailing of American ships with passengers to England. It should be borne in mind that, at the personal command of His Majesty the Emperor, Count Bernstorff in Washington has been instructed to approach President Wilson on the subject of issuing an appeal for peace. In case President Wilson is prevailed upon to do this, the probable rejection of the appeal by England and her Allies, taken in connection with our acceptance of it, will constitute good grounds for us to withdraw our promise to the United States and permit us to do so in a manner which would justify us in the sight of the world at large, and particularly in the eyes of the European neutral powers. It is evident that this course could not fail to have important influence upon the attitude they will probably assume later. Until the situation here described is cleared up, at least in respect to our relations with the United States, the proclamation of U-boat warfare, to be followed by steps for putting it into execution according to the present orders of His Majesty, is absolutely impossible.’ ”

For the time being the Chancellor was successful. But the evil day had only been postponed for a few months.

While defeated and retired from the scene, as the records now brought to light clearly reveal, it is apparent that von Tirpitz still clung to his darling project and that he remained all-powerful at the Admiralty. In November, undoubtedly at his instigation, a memorial to the Emperor was drawn up. It is signed by five senior admirals and his name does not appear, but the original draft of the letter now before the Committee is in his handwriting. It reads:

“If the Imperial Navy is permitted to carry on unrestricted U-boat warfare, Britain will be forced to sue for peace within five months.” In the secret hearings of the War Committee of the Reichstag, according to the accounts now brought to light, there was advanced only one thought in a less confident spirit. It was voiced by Herr Helfferich, then Minister of Economy and Finance, later Vice-Chancellor, who said: “This (unrestricted U-boat warfare) is a card we must play. If it is not trumps, Germany is lost for the ages.”

While Bernstorff himself will not speak on the subject of his treatment on his return from Washington, his paper, the organ of the new Democratic party, is not so discreet. The fact that the Emperor for three months refused to accord the Ambassador back from his post the usual audience, is referred to frequently and in terms of deep indignation. Also the insulting words of Ludendorff, who apparently accosted the waiting envoy outside the imperial audience chamber, are given much publicity. The Generalissimo, then supreme in political as well as military matters, is reported to have said, indeed to have shouted: “With our U-boats running free we shall end the war in three months. On that day you will regret your opposition, which delayed its adoption for some months. A heavy, a very heavy responsibility, Herr Botschafter.”

“I do not think so,” answered Bernstorff, and the paper adds: “He was dismissed like a lackey because he told the truth.”

The only remark Bernstorff made to me on the delicate subject is as follows:

“I do not know why I was not received. When I was admitted to the imperial presence four months later, the die was cast: we were at war with America. His Majesty asked me no questions and I offered no information. I had said all I was entitled to say; our conversation should be described as conventional; certainly it had no political significance.”

As the prospect of a decisive military victory on the Western Front grew more doubtful, many civilians rallied to the position taken by the Army and Navy Command. The testimony before the Reichstag Committee, to clarify the situation and advise as to a course of action, became more voluminous and, so at least it seemed to me, distincdy more one-sided. Particularly striking was the statement of Admiral von Capelle, the successor of von Tirpitz in January 1917. It carried great weight and is thought by many to have shaped the final decision.

“I am aware,” he said, “if our plan is approved and carried out America may enter the war, but I am confident that the military assistance she may give our enemies will amount to nothing. On the other hand, we of the navy are unanimously of the opinion that U-boat warfare, if pushed to its logical conclusion, will relieve the food situation in six weeks and give us complete victory over our enemies in four months—at latest.” In response to an inquiry from a member of the Committee, von Capelle said: “We should not worry about American reinforcements to the Allied armies. We can assure you that not a single ship with troops will reach this side of the Atlantic. To stop them we have the U-boats; that, indeed, is why we have the U-boats.”