The adventures of Heine 9 – Wallace · Verses Across
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The adventures of Heine 9Mr. Collingrey, M.P.--Pacifist!
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Literature · Short Stories
The adventures of Heine 9
Mr. Collingrey, M.P.--Pacifist!
WallaceEnglish
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.
