Poor Serbia! As our train sped through her devastated valleys I had a picture of what the war had meant to this brave little country. In the last two years this nation had stood alone, practically unassisted by her allies, attempting to stem the rush of Pan-German conquest, just as, for three centuries, she had stood as a bulwark against the onslaughts of the Turks. And she had paid the penalty. Practically every farm we passed was abandoned, overgrown with weeds and full of debris, and the buildings were usually roofless and sometimes razed to the ground. Whenever we crossed a stream we saw the remains of a dynamited bridge; in all cases the Germans had built new ones to replace those which had been destroyed. We saw many women and children, looking ragged and half-starved, but, significantly, we saw very few men, for all had either been killed or they were in the ranks of Serbia’s still existing and valiant little army. All this time trainloads of German soldiers were passing us or standing on the switches at the stations where we slowed up, a sufficient explanation for all the misery and devastation we saw on our way.
CHAPTER XXIX
VON JAGOW, ZIMMERMAN, AND GERMAN-AMERICANS
Our train drew into the Berlin station on the morning of February 3rd, 1916. The date is worth mentioning, for that marked an important crisis in German-American relations. Almost the first man I met was my old friend and colleague, Ambassador James W. Gerard. Mr. Gerard told me that he was packing up, and expected to leave Berlin at any moment, for he believed that a break between Germany and the United States was a matter only of days, perhaps of hours. At that time Germany and the United States were discussing the settlement of the Lusitania outrage. The negotiations had reached a point where the Imperial Government had expressed a willingness to express her regrets, pay an indemnity, and promise not to do it again. But the President and Mr. Lansing insisted that Germany should declare that the sinking of the Lusitania had been an illegal act. This meant that Germany at no time in the future could resume submarine warfare without stultifying herself and doing something which her own Government had denounced as contrary to international law. But our Government would accept nothing less, and the two nations were therefore at loggerheads.
“I can do nothing more,” said Mr. Gerard. “I want to have you talk to Zimmerman and von Jagow, and perhaps you can give them a new point of view.”
I soon discovered from my many callers that the atmosphere in Berlin was tense and exceedingly anti-American. Our country was regarded everywhere as practically an ally of the Entente, and I found that the most absurd ideas prevailed concerning the closeness of our relations with England. Thus it was generally believed that Sir Cecil Spring-Rice, the British Ambassador in Washington, met regularly with President Wilson’s Cabinet and was consulted on all our national policies.
At three o’clock Mr. Gerard took me to the Foreign Office and we spent an hour there with von Jagow. Von Jagow was a small, slight man of nervous disposition. He lighted cigarette after cigarette during our interview. He was apparently greatly worried over the American situation. Let us not suppose that the German Government regarded lightly a break with the United States. At that time their newspapers were ridiculing and insulting us and making fun of the idea that Uncle Sam would go to war. The contrast between these journalistic vapourings and the anxiety, even the fear, which this high German official displayed much impressed me. The prospect of having our men and our resources thrown on the side of the Entente he did not regard indifferently, whatever the Berlin Press might say.
“It seems to us a shame that Mr. Lansing should insist that we declare the Lusitania sinking illegal,” von Jagow began. “He is acting like a technical lawyer.”
“If you want the real truth,” I replied, “I do not think that the United States is particular or technical about the precise terms that you use. But you must give definite assurances that you are sorry for the act, say that you regard it as an improper one, and that it will not occur again. Unless you do this, the United States will not be satisfied.”
“We cannot do that,” he answered. “Public opinion in Germany would not permit it. If we should make a declaration such as you outline the present Cabinet would fall.”
“But I thought that you had public opinion here well under control,” I answered. “It may take a little time, but certainly you can change public sentiment so that it would approve such a settlement.”