characterized better or more rightly (applause).”
A German saying has it that one is wiser coming from, than going to, the Rathaus, the place of counsel. It is easy to see now that it would have been better had the Emperor not written the letter, better had the _Times_ not brought it to public notice, better, also, had the Emperor or Lord Tweedmouth or Sir Edward Grey–for one of them must have spoken of it to a third person–not let its existence become known to anyone save themselves, at least not until the international situation which prompted it had ceased. As regards the Emperor in particular, judgment must be based on the answer to the question, Was the letter a private letter or a public document? The _Times_ regarded it as the latter, and many politicians took that view, but probably nine people out of ten now regard it as the former. For such, the reflection that it was part of a private correspondence between two friendly statesmen, both well known to be sincere in their views that a country’s navy–that all military preparations–are based on motives of national defence, not of high-handed aggression, must absolve the Emperor from any suspicion of political immorality. It was unfortunate that the letter was written, unfortunate that it was made known publicly, but, as it is an ill wind that blows nobody good, the episode may profit monarchs as well as meaner folk as an object lesson in the advantages of discretion.
Discussion of the Tweedmouth letter had hardly ceased when the whole question of the “personal regiment” was again, and as it now, five years after, appears, finally thrashed out between the Emperor and his folk. Before, however, considering the _Daily Telegraph_ interview and the Emperor’s part in it, something should be said as to the state of international ill-feeling which caused him to sanction its publication.
The ill-feeling was no sudden wave of hostility or pique, but a sentiment which had for years existed in the minds of both nations–a sentiment of mutual suspicion. The Englishman thought Germany was prepared to dispute with him the maritime supremacy of Great Britain, the German that England intended to attack Germany before Germany could carry her great design into execution. The proximate cause of the irritation–for it has not yet got beyond that–was the decision, as announced in her Navy Law of 1898, to build a fleet of battleships which Germany, but especially the Emperor, considered necessary to complete the defences, and appropriate for affirming the dignity, of the Empire.
This was the _origo_, but not the _fons_. The source was the Boer War and the Kruger telegram, though the philosophic historian might with some reason refer it in a large measure also to the surprise and uneasiness with which the leading colonial and commercial, as well as maritime, nation of the world saw the material progress, the waxing military power, and the longing for expansion of the not yet forty-year-old German Empire. Forty years ago the word “Germany” had no territorial, but only a descriptive and poetical, significance; certainly it had no political significance; for the North German Union, out of which the modern German Empire grew, meant for Englishmen, and indeed for politicians everywhere, only Prussia. Prussia was less liked by the world then than she is now, when she is not liked too well; and accordingly there was already in existence the disposition in England to criticize sharply the conduct of Prussia and to apply the same criticism to the Empire Prussia founded. In this condition of international feeling England’s long quarrel with the Transvaal Republic came nearer to the breaking-point; at the same time there was an idea prevalent in England that Germany was coquetting with the Boers–if not looking to a seizure of Transvaal territory, at least hoping for Boer favour and Boer commercial privileges. The Jameson Raid was made and failed; the Emperor and his advisers sent the fateful telegram to President Kruger; and the peace of the world has been in jeopardy ever since!
The “storm” arose from the publication, in the London _Daily Telegraph_ of October 28, 1908, of an interview coming, as the editor said in introducing it, “from a source of such unimpeachable authority that we can without hesitation commend the obvious message which it conveys to the attention of the public.” As to the origin and composition of the interview a good deal of mystery still exists. All that has become known is that some one, whose identity has hitherto successfully been concealed, with the object of demonstrating the sentiments of warm friendship with which the Emperor regarded England, put together, in England or in Germany, a number of statements made by the Emperor and sanctioned by him for publication. Whether the Emperor read the interview previous to publication or not, no official statement has been made; it is, however, quite certain that he did. At all events it was sent, or sent back, to England and published in due course. The immediate effect was a hubbub of discussion, accompanied with general astonishment in England, a storm of popular resentment and humiliation in Germany, and voluminous comment in other countries, some of it favourable, some of it unfavourable, to the Emperor.
The text of the interview in the _Daily Telegraph_ was introduced, as mentioned, with the words:–
We have received the following communication from a source of such unimpeachable authority that we can without hesitation commend the obvious message which it conveys to the attention of the public.
And continued as follows:–
Discretion is the first and last quality requisite in a diplomatist, and should still be observed by those who, like myself, have long passed from public into private life. Yet moments sometimes occur in the history of nations when a calculated indiscretion proves of the highest public service, and it is for that reason that I have decided to make known the substance of a lengthy conversation which it was my recent privilege to have with his Majesty the German Emperor. I do so in the hope that it may help to remove that obstinate misconception of the character of the Kaiser’s feelings towards England which, I fear, is deeply rooted in the ordinary Englishman’s breast. It is the Emperor’s sincere wish that it should be eradicated. He has given repeated proofs of his desire by word and deed. But, to speak frankly, his patience is sorely tried now that he finds himself so continually misrepresented, and has so often experienced the mortification of finding that any momentary improvement of relations is followed by renewed out-bursts of prejudice, and a prompt return to the old attitude of suspicion.
As I have said, his Majesty honoured me with a long conversation, and spoke with impulsive and unusual frankness. “You English,” he said,
“are mad, mad, mad as March hares. What has come over you that you are so completely given over to suspicions quite unworthy of a great nation? What more can I do than I have done? I declared with all the emphasis at my command, in my speech at Guildhall, that my heart is set upon peace, and that it is one of my dearest wishes to live on the best of terms with England. Have I ever been false to my word? Falsehood and prevarication are alien to my nature. My actions ought to speak for themselves, but you listen not to them but to those who misinterpret and distort them. That is a personal insult which I feel and resent. To be for ever misjudged, to have my repeated offers of friendship weighed and scrutinized with jealous, mistrustful eyes, taxes my patience severely. I have said time after time that I am a friend of England, and your Press–or, at least, a considerable section of it–bids the people of England refuse my proffered hand, and insinuates that the other holds a dagger. How can I convince a nation against its will?”
“I repeat,” continued his Majesty,
“that I am the friend of England, but you make things difficult for me. My task is not of the easiest. The prevailing sentiment among large sections _of_ the middle and lower classes of my own people is not friendly to England. I am, therefore, so to speak, in a minority in my own land, but it is a minority of the best elements, just as it is in England with respect to Germany. That is another reason why I resent your refusal to accept my pledged word that I am the friend of England. I strive without ceasing to improve relations, and you retort that I am your arch-enemy. You make it very hard for me. Why is it?”
Thereupon I ventured to remind his Majesty that not England alone, but the whole of Europe had viewed with disapproval the recent action of Germany in allowing the German Consul to return from Tangier to Fez, and in anticipating the joint action of France and Spain by suggesting to the Powers that the time had come for Europe to recognize Muley Hand as the new Sultan of Morocco.
His Majesty made a gesture of impatience. “Yes,” he said,
“that is an excellent example of the way in which German action is misrepresented. First, then, as regards the journey of Dr. Vassel. The German Government, in sending Dr. Vassel back to his post at Fez, was only guided by the wish that he should look after the private interests of German subjects in that city, who cried for help and protection after the long absence of a Consular representative. And why not send him? Are those who charge Germany with having stolen a march on the other Powers aware that the French Consular representative had already been in Fez for several months when Dr. Vassel set out? Then, as to the recognition of Muley I Hand. The Press of Europe has complained with much acerbity that Germany ought not to have suggested his recognition until he had notified to Europe his full acceptance of the Act of Algeciras, as being binding upon him as Sultan of Morocco and successor of his brother. My answer is that Muley Hafid notified the Powers to that effect weeks ago, before the decisive battle was fought. He sent, as far back as the middle of last July, an identical communication to the Governments of Germany, France, and Great Britain, containing an explicit acknowledgment that he was prepared to recognize all the obligations towards Europe which were incurred by Abdul Aziz during his Sultanate. The German Government interpreted that communication as a final and authoritative expression of Muley Hand’s intentions, and therefore they considered that there was no reason to wait until he had sent a second communication, before recognizing him as the _de facto_ Sultan of Morocco, who had succeeded to his brother’s throne by right of victory in the field.”
I suggested to his Majesty that an important and influential section of the German Press had placed a very different interpretation upon the action of the German Government, and, in fact, had given it their effusive approbation precisely because they saw in it a strong act instead of mere words, and a decisive indication that Germany was once more about to intervene in the shaping of events in Morocco. “There are mischief-makers,” replied the Emperor,
“in both countries. I will not attempt to weigh their relative capacity for misrepresentation. But the facts are as I have stated. There has been nothing in Germany’s recent action with regard to Morocco which runs contrary to the explicit declaration of my love of peace which I made both at Guildhall and in my latest speech at Strassburg.”
His Majesty then reverted to the subject uppermost in his mind–his proved friendship for England. “I have referred,” he said,
“to the speeches in which I have done all that a sovereign can to proclaim my goodwill. But, as actions speak louder than words, let me also refer to my acts. It is commonly believed in England that throughout the South African War Germany was hostile to her. German opinion undoubtedly was hostile–bitterly hostile. The Press was hostile; private opinion was hostile. But what of official Germany? Let my critics ask themselves what brought _to_ a sudden stop, and, indeed, to absolute collapse, the European tour of the Boer delegates who were striving to obtain European intervention? They were feted in Holland; France gave them a rapturous welcome. They wished to come to Berlin, where the German people would have crowned them with flowers. But when they asked me to receive them–I refused. The agitation immediately died away, and the delegation returned empty-handed. Was that, I ask, the action of a secret enemy?
“Again, when the struggle was at its height, the German Government was invited by the Governments of France and Russia to join with them in calling upon England to put an end to the war. The moment had come, they said, not only to save the Boer Republics, but also to humiliate England to the dust. What was my reply? I said that so far from Germany joining in any concerted European action to put pressure upon England and bring about her downfall, Germany would always keep aloof from politics that could bring her into complications with a Sea Power like England. Posterity will one day read the exact terms of the telegram–now in the archives of Windsor Castle–in which I informed the Sovereign of England of the answer I had returned to the Powers which then sought to compass her fall. Englishmen who now insult me by doubting my word should know what were my actions in the hour of their adversity.
“Nor was that all. Just at the time of your Black Week, in the December of 1899, when disasters followed one another in rapid succession, I received a letter from Queen Victoria, my revered grandmother, written in sorrow and affliction, and bearing manifest traces of the anxieties which were preying upon her mind and health. I at once returned a sympathetic reply. Nay, I did more. I bade one of my officers procure for me as exact an account as he could obtain of the number of combatants in South Africa on both sides, and of the actual position of the opposing forces. With the figures before me, I worked out what I considered to be the best plan of campaign under the circumstances, and submitted it to my General Staff for their criticism. Then I dispatched it to England, and that document, likewise, is among the State papers at Windsor Castle, awaiting the serenely impartial verdict of history. And, as a matter of curious coincidence, let me add that the plan which I formulated ran very much on the same lines as that which was actually adopted by Lord Roberts, and carried by him into successful operation. Was that, I repeat, the act of one who wished England ill? Let Englishmen be just and say!
“But, you will say, what of the German navy? Surely that is a menace to England! Against whom but England are my squadrons being prepared? If England is not in the minds of those Germans who are bent on creating a powerful fleet, why is Germany asked to consent to such new and heavy burdens of taxation? My answer is clear. Germany is a young and growing Empire. She has a world-wide commerce, which is rapidly expanding, and to which the legitimate ambition of patriotic Germans refuses to assign any bounds. Germany must have a powerful fleet to protect that commerce, and her manifold interests in even the most distant seas. She expects those interests to go on growing, and she must be able to champion them manfully in any quarter of the globe. Germany looks ahead. Her horizons stretch far away. She must be prepared for any eventualities in the Far East. Who can foresee what may take place in the Pacific in the days to come–days not so distant as some believe, but days, at any rate, for which all European Powers with Far Eastern interests ought steadily to prepare? Look at the accomplished rise of Japan; think of the possible national awakening of China; and then judge of the vast problems of the Pacific. Only those Powers which have great navies will be listened to with respect when the future of the Pacific comes to be solved; and if for that reason only Germany must have a powerful fleet. It may even be that England herself will be glad that Germany has a fleet when they speak together on the same side in the great debates of the future.”
Such was the purport of the Emperor’s conversation. He spoke with all that earnestness which marks his manner when speaking on deeply pondered subjects. I would ask my fellow-countrymen who value the cause of peace to weigh what I have written, and to revise, if necessary, their estimate of the Kaiser and his friendship for England by his Majesty’s own words. If they had enjoyed the privilege, which was mine, of hearing them spoken, they would doubt no longer either his Majesty’s firm desire to live on the best of terms with England or his growing impatience at the persistent mistrust with which his offer of friendship is too often received.
There are more indiscretions than one in the interview, but the most important and most dangerous was the Emperor’s statement that at the time of the Boer War the Governments of France and Russia invited the German Government to join with them “not only to save the Boer Republics, but also to humiliate England to the dust.” Such a revelation coming from the Emperor ought, one would suppose, to have caused serious trouble between Great Britain and her Entente friends. That it did not is at once testimony to the cynicism of Governments and the reality and strength of the Entente engagement. In private life, if a fourth person confidentially told one of the three partners in a firm that the other two partners had invited him to join them in humiliating him to the dust, there would have been a pretty brisk, not to say acrimonious correspondence between the proposed victim and his partners. Governments, it appears, look on things differently, and so far as the public knows, England simply took no notice of the Emperor’s communication. Possibly, however, the Emperor had put the matter too strongly and an explanation of some kind was forthcoming. If so, it must be looked for among the secret archives of the Foreign Office. It was at once suggested that the Emperor made the revelation expressly to weaken, if not destroy, the Entente. One can conceive Bismarck doing such a thing; but it is more in keeping with the Emperor’s character, and with the indiscreet character of the entire interview, to suppose it to be a proof of deplorable candour and sincerity.
The excitement in Germany caused by the publication of the interview soon took the shape of a determination on the part of the Chancellor and the Federal Council, for once fully identifying themselves with the feelings of Parliament, Press, and people, that “something must be done,” and it was decided that the Chancellor should go to Potsdam, see the Emperor, and try to obtain from him a promise to be more cautious in his utterances on political topics for the future. The Chancellor went accordingly, being seen off from the railway terminus in Berlin by a large crowd of people, among whom were many journalists. To Dr. Paul Goldmann, who wished him God-speed, he could only reply that he hoped all would be for the best. He looked pale and grave, as well he might, since he was about to stake his own position as well as convey a mandate of national reproach.
What passed at Potsdam between the Emperor and his Chancellor has not transpired. Naturally there are various accounts of it, one of them representing the Emperor as flying into a passion and for long refusing to give the required guarantees; but as yet none of them has been authenticated. It should not be difficult to imagine the mental attitudes of the two men on the occasion, and especially not difficult to imagine the sensations of the Emperor, a Prussian King, on being impeached by a people–his people–for whom, his feeling would be, he had done so much, and in whose best interests he felt convinced he had acted; but whatever occurred, it ended in the Emperor bowing before the storm and giving the assurances required.
The Chancellor’s countenance and expressions on his return to Berlin showed that his mission had been successful, and there was great satisfaction in the capital and country. The text of these assurances, which was published in the _Official Gazette_ the same evening, was as follows:
“His Majesty, while unaffected by public criticism which he regards as exaggerated, considers his most honourable imperial task to consist in securing the stability of the policy of the Empire while adhering to the principle of constitutional responsibility. The Kaiser accordingly endorses the statements of the Imperial Chancellor in Parliament, and assures Prince von Buelow of his continued confidence.”
After returning to Berlin, Prince Buelow gave in the Reichstag his impatiently awaited account of the result of his mission, and made what defence he could of his imperial master’s action in allowing the famous interview to be published. Before giving the speech, which was delivered on November 10, 1908, it will be as well to quote the five interpellations introduced in Parliament on the subject, as showing the unanimity of feeling that existed in all parts of the House:–
1. By Deputy Bassermann (leader of the National Liberals):
“Is the Chancellor prepared to take constitutional responsibility for the publication of a series of utterances of his Majesty the Kaiser in the _Daily Telegraph_ and the facts communicated therein?”
2. By Deputy Dr. Ablass (Progressive Party):
“Through the publication of utterances of the German Kaiser in the _Daily Telegraph_, and through the communication of the real facts in the _Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung_ caused by the Chancellor, matters have become known which demonstrate serious short-comings in the treatment of foreign affairs, and are calculated to influence unfavourably the relations of the German Empire to other Powers. What does the Chancellor propose to do to devise a remedy and to give full effect to the responsibility attributed to him by the Constitution of the German Empire?”
3. By Deputy Albrecht (Socialist):
“What is the Chancellor prepared to do to prevent such occurrences as have become known through the _Daily Telegraph’s_ communications regarding acts and utterances of the German Kaiser?”
4. By Deputy von Norman (Conservative Party):
“Is the Chancellor prepared to submit further information regarding the circumstances which led to the publication of utterances of his Majesty the Kaiser in the English Press?”
5. By Prince von Hatzfeldt and Freiherr von Gamp (Imperial Party–Conservative):
“Is the Chancellor willing to take precautions that such occurrences as that brought to light by the publication in the _Daily Telegraph_ shall not recur?”
In reply to the interpellations Prince von Buelow said:–
“Gentlemen, I shall not apply myself to every point which has just been raised by previous speakers. I have to consider the effect of my words abroad, and will not add to the great harm already caused by the publication in the _Daily Telegraph_ (hear, hear, on the Left and Socialists).
“In reply to the interpellations submitted, I have to declare as follows:–
“His Majesty the Kaiser has at different times, and to different private English personalities, made private utterances which, linked together, have been published in the _Daily Telegraph_. I must suppose that not all details of the utterances have been correctly reproduced (hear, hear, on the Right). One I know is not correct: that is the story about the plan of campaign (hear, hear, on the right). The plan in question was not a field campaign worked out in detail, but a purely academic (laughter among the Socialists)–Gentlemen, we are engaged in a serious discussion. The matters on which I speak are of an earnest kind and of great political importance–be good enough to listen to me quietly: I will be as brief as possible. I repeat therefore: the matter is not concerned with a field campaign worked out in detail, but with certain purely academic thoughts–I believe they were expressly described as ‘aphorisms’–about the conduct of war in general, which the Kaiser communicated in his interchange of correspondence with the late Queen Victoria. They are theoretical observations of no practical moment for the course of operations and the issue of the war. The chief of the General Staff, General von Moltke, and his predecessor, General Count Schlieffen, have declared that the General Staff reported to the Kaiser on the Boer War as on every war, great or small, which has occurred on the earth during the last ten years. Both, however, have given assurances that our General Staff never examined a field plan of campaign, or anything similar, prepared by the Kaiser in view of the Boer War, or forwarded such to England (hear, hear, on the Right and Centre). But I must also defend our policy against the reproach of being ambiguous _vis-a-vis_ the Boers. We had–the documents show it–given timely warning to the Transvaal Government. We called its attention to the fact that in case of a war with England it would stand alone. We put it to her directly, and through the friendly Dutch Government in May, 1899, peacefully to come to an understanding with England, since there could be no doubt as to the result of a war.
“In the question of intervention the colours in the article of the _Daily Telegraph_ are too thickly laid on. The thing itself had long been known (hear, hear). It was some time previously the subject of controversy between the _National Review_ and the _Deutsche Revue_. There can be no talk of a ‘revelation.’ It was said that the imperial communication to the Queen of England, that Germany had not paid any attention to a suggestion for mediation or intervention, is a breach of the rules of diplomatic intercourse. Gentlemen, I will not recall indiscretions to memory, for they are frequent in the diplomatic history of all nations and at all times (‘Quite right,’ on the Right). The safest policy is perhaps that which need fear no indiscretion (‘Quite right,’ on the Left). To pass judgment in particular cases as to whether or not a breach of confidence has occurred, one must know more of the closely connected circumstances than appears in the article of the _Daily Telegraph_. The communication might be justified if it were attempted in one quarter or another to misrepresent our refusal or to throw suspicion on our attitude; circumstances may have previously happened which make allusion to the subject in a confidential correspondence at least intelligible. Gentlemen, I said before that many of the expressions used in the _Daily Telegraph_ article are too strong. That is true, in the first place, of the passage where the Kaiser is represented as having said that the majority of the German people are inimically disposed towards England. Between Germany and England misunderstandings have occurred, serious, regrettable misunderstandings. But I am conscious of being at one with this entire honourable House in the view that the German people desire peaceful and friendly relations with England on the basis of mutual esteem (loud and general applause)–and I take note that the speakers of all parties have spoken to-day in the same sense (‘Quite right’). The colours are also too thickly laid on in the place where reference is made to our interests in the Pacific Ocean. It has been construed in a sense hostile to Japan. Wrongly: we have never in the Far East thought of anything but this–to acquire and maintain for Germany a share of the commerce of Eastern Asia in view of the great economic future of this region. We are not thinking of maritime adventure there: aggressive tendencies have as little to say to our naval construction in the Pacific as in Europe. Moreover, his Majesty the Kaiser entirely agrees with the responsible director of foreign policy in the complete recognition of the high political importance which the Japanese people have achieved by their political strength and military ability. German policy does not regard it as its task to detract from the enjoyment and development of what Japan has acquired.
“Gentlemen, I am, generally speaking, under the impression that if the material facts–completely, in their proper shape–were individually known, the sensation would be no great one; in this instance, too, the whole is more than all the parts taken together. But above all, gentlemen, one must not, while considering the material things, quite forget the psychology, the tendency. For two decades our Kaiser has striven, often under very difficult circumstances, to bring about friendly relations between Germany and England. This honest endeavour has had to contend with obstacles which would have discouraged many. The passionate partisanship of our people for the Boers was humanly intelligible; feeling for the weaker certainly appeals to the sympathy. But this partisanship has led to unjustified, and often unmeasured, attacks on England, and similarly unjust and hateful attacks have been made against Germany from the side of the English. Our aims were misconstrued, and hostile plans against England were foisted on us which we had never thought of. The Kaiser, rightly convinced that this state of things was a calamity for both countries and a danger for the civilized world, kept undeviatingly on the course he had adopted. The Kaiser is particularly wronged by any doubt as to the purity of his intentions, his ideal way of thinking, and his deep love of country.
“Gentlemen, let us avoid anything that looks like exaggerated seeking for foreign favour, anything that looks like uncertainty or obsequiousness. But I understand that the Kaiser, precisely because he was anxious to work zealously and honestly for good relationship with England, felt embittered at being ever the object of attacks casting suspicion on his best motives. Has one not gone so far as to attribute to his interest in the German fleet secret views against vital English interests–views which are far from him. And so in private conversation with English friends he sought to bring the proof, by pointing to his conduct, that in England he was misunderstood and wrongly judged.
“Gentlemen, the perception that the publication of these conversations in England has not had the effect the Kaiser wished, and in our own country has caused profound agitation and painful regret, will–this firm conviction I have acquired during these anxious days–lead the Kaiser for the future, in private conversation also, to maintain the reserve that is equally indispensable in the interest of a uniform policy and for the authority of the Crown (‘Bravo!’ on the Right).
“If it were not so, I could not, nor could my successor, bear the responsibility (‘Bravo!’ on the Right and National Liberals).
“For the fault which occurred in dealing with the manuscript I accept, as I have caused to be said in the _Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung_, entire responsibility. It also goes against my personal feelings that officials who have done their duty all their lives should be stamped as transgressors because, in a single case, they relied too much on the fact that I usually read and finally decide everything myself.
“With Herr von Heydebrand I regret that in the mechanism of the Foreign Office, which for eleven years has worked smoothly under me, a defect should on one occasion occur. I will answer for it that such a thing does not happen again, and that with this object, without respect to persons, though also without injustice, what is needful will be done (‘Bravo!’).
“When the article in the _Daily Telegraph_ appeared, its fateful effect could not for a moment be doubtful to me, and I handed in my resignation. This decision was unavoidable, and was not difficult to come to. The most serious and most difficult decision which I ever took in my political life was, in obedience to the Kaiser’s wish, to remain in office. I brought myself to this decision only because I saw in it a command of my political duty, precisely in the time of trouble, to continue to serve his Majesty the Kaiser and the country (repeated ‘Bravo!’). How long that will be possible for me, I cannot say.
“Let me say one thing more: at a moment when the fact that in the world much is once again changing requires serious attention to be given to the entire situation, wherever it is matter of concern to maintain our position abroad, and without pushing ourselves forward with quiet constancy to make good our interests–at such a moment we ought not to show ourselves small-spirited in foreign eyes, nor make out of a misfortune a catastrophe. I will refrain from all criticism of the exaggerations we have lived through during these last days. The harm is–as calm reflection will show–not so great that it cannot with circumspection be made good. Certainly no one should forget the warning which the events of these days has given us (‘Bravo!’)–but there is no reason to lose our heads and awake in our opponents the hope that the Empire, inwardly or outwardly, is maimed.
“It is for the chosen representatives of the nation to exhibit the prudence which the time demands. I do not say it for myself, I say it for the country: the support required for this is no favour, it is a duty which this honourable House will not evade (loud applause on the Right, hisses from the Socialists).”
Prince Buelow’s speech requires but little comment–its importance for Germany is the fact that it brought to a head the country’s feeling, that if the Emperor’s unlimited and unrestrained idea of his heaven-sent mission as sole arbiter of the nation’s destinies was not checked, disaster must ensue. The speech itself is rather an apology and an explanation than a defence, and in this spirit it was accepted in Germany. It is fair to say that the Emperor has faithfully kept the engagement made through Prince Buelow with his people so far, and unless human nature is incurable there seems no reason why he should not keep it to the end of the reign. More than four years have passed since the incidents narrated occurred. The storm has blown over, the sea of popular indignation has gone down, and at present no cloud is visible on the horizon.
Besides the Tweedmouth Letter and the “November Storm” there were one or two other notable events in the parliamentary proceedings of the year. The Reichstag dealt with Prussian electoral reform and the attitude of Germany towards the question of disarmament. As to the first, the Government refused to regard it as an imperial concern, though the popular claim was and is that the suffrage should be the same in Prussia as in the Empire, viz., universal, direct, and secret. This claim the Emperor will not listen to, on the ground that it would injure the influence of the middle classes by the admission of undesirable elements (meaning the Socialists); that the electoral system for the Empire, with the latter’s national tasks, should be on a broader basis than in the case of the individual States, where the electors are chiefly concerned with administration, the school, and the Church; and that it would bring the Imperial and Prussian Parliaments into conflict to the injury of German unity. The Emperor has made only one reference to electoral reform in Prussia, a promise, namely, he gave the Diet in October of this year, that the regulations concerning the voting should experience
“an organic further development, which should correspond to the economic progress, the spread of education and political understanding, and the strengthening of the feeling of State responsibility.”
No reform, however, has yet been effected by legislation.
As to disarmament, Germany’s position is simply negative, though it may be noticed by anticipation that she has recently (1913) expressed her disposition to accept the proportion of ten German to sixteen English first-class battleships suggested by Sir Edward Grey in 1912 as offering the basis of a possibly permanent arrangement. At the time now dealt with, however, Chancellor von Buelow asserted that no proposal that could serve as a basis had ever been submitted to his Government, and added that even if such a proposal were made it was doubtful if it could be accepted. It was not merely the number of ships, he said, that was involved; there were a host of technical questions–standards, criteria of all sorts, which could not be expressed in figures, economic progress abroad and the possible effect of new scientific inventions–to be considered. Lastly there were the navy laws, which the Government was pledged to carry out. As for military disarmament, the Emperor and his advisers regard it as impossible, considering the unfavourable strategic situation of Germany in the midst of Europe, with exposed frontiers on every side.
This year the Emperor and his family took up their quarters for the first time in their new Corfu spring residence “Achilleion.” They were met by the Royal Family of Greece, who showed them over the Castle, and in the evening were welcomed by the mayor of Corfu, who, in a flight of metaphor, said his people desired to wreathe the Emperor’s “Olympic brow” with a crown of olive. That the Emperor did not pass his days wholly in admiring the beauty of the scenery was shown by the fact that a few days after his arrival he delivered a lecture in the Castle on “Nelson and the Battle of Trafalgar,” being prompted thereto by a book on the subject by Captain Mark Kerr, of H.M.S. _Implacable_. The Emperor illustrated his lecture with sketches drawn by himself of the positions of the united French and Spanish fleets during the battle.
Almost every year sees some specialty produced at the Royal Opera in Berlin. This year it was Meyerbeer’s “Les Huguenots,” performed in the presence of the French Ambassador in Berlin, Monsieur Jules Cambon, and two directors of the Paris Opera. The Emperor told Monsieur Messager, one of the latter, that he had taken an infinity of trouble to get the right character, colour, and movement of the period of the opera, and explained his interest in the work by the fact that he had lost two of his ancestors, Admiral Coligny and the Prince of Orange, in the historic massacre. This opera, with Verdi’s “Aida,” are still, as given at the Royal Opera, the favourite operas of the Berlin public.
Americans, like all other people, regard the Emperor with friendly feelings, but for a time this year their respect for him suffered some diminution owing to what was known as the Tower-Hill affair. When the American Ambassador in Berlin, Mr. Charlemagne Tower, resigned his post in 1908, the Washington authorities found difficulty in choosing a suitable successor. Mr. Tower was a wealthy man, who by his personal qualities, aided by a talented wife, whom the Emperor once described as “the Moltke of society,” and by frequent entertainments in one of the finest houses of the fashionable Tiergarten quarter, had fully satisfied the Emperor of his fitness to represent a great nation at the Court of a great Empire. The Emperor has a high opinion of his country, and, in small things as in great, will not have it treated as a _quantite negligeable_: consequently a millionaire was not too good for Berlin. The impression produced by Mr. Tower on Republican America was not quite the same. When Ambassador in St. Petersburg, Mr. Tower had invented a Court uniform for himself and staff of a highly ornate, not to say fantastic, kind, and when in Berlin was thought to take too little trouble to win popularity among his American fellow-colonists. This non-republican attitude, as it seemed to be, met with a good deal of adverse criticism in America, and the Washington authorities, for that or for some other reason, considered it advisable to choose as Mr. Tower’s successor a man of another type. Their choice fell on Dr. David Jayne Hill, American Minister at Berne, a former President of Rochester University, the author of a standard work on the History of Diplomacy, and as renowned for the amiability of his character as for his academic attainments. A further reason for choosing him was that he had been attached to the service of the Emperor’s brother, Prince Henry, during the latter’s visit to the United States some years before. Dr. Hill spoke German excellently, was able and distinguished, and, if not a man of great means, was sufficiently well-to-do to represent his country becomingly at the Court of Berlin. His selection was in due course communicated for _agrement_ to the German Foreign Office, and by it, also in due course, transmitted to the Emperor. The Emperor without more ado signed the _agrement_ and the arrival of Dr. Hill in Berlin was daily expected.
Just at this time, however, Mr. Tower gave a farewell dinner to the Emperor, and invited to it specially from Rome the American Ambassador to Italy, Mr. Griscom. Mr. Griscom was accompanied by his clever and attractive wife. The dinner-party assembled, and Mr. Griscom and his wife were placed in the immediate neighbourhood of the Emperor. Before dinner was over it was evident that the Griscoms had made a most favourable impression on the imperial guest. Accordingly, so the story goes, when towards the end of dinner the Emperor, in his impulsive way, exclaimed, “Now, why didn’t America send me the Griscoms instead of the Hills?” or words to that effect, the company was not completely taken by surprise. When, however, the Emperor went on to suggest to his host to telegraph to President Roosevelt to make the change, it became evident that an international incident of exceptional delicacy had been created. Mr. Tower, who would perhaps have acted with better judgment had he declined to adopt the Emperor’s suggestion, cabled to President Roosevelt, and at the same Mr. Griscom wrote to him privately. Before Mr. Griscom’s letter arrived, perhaps before Mr. Roosevelt was in possession of Mr. Tower’s telegram, the words of the Emperor had become known in Berlin, were cabled to the American Press, and much indignation at the Emperor’s conduct was aroused in all parts of America. The two Governments, as well as Dr. Hill, were placed in a position of great embarrassment. In view of the state of public opinion in America, and in view also of the American Government’s engagement _vis a vis_ Dr. Hill, the Washington authorities could not withdraw a nominee who had been already signalled to it from Germany as _persona grata_. The only way possible out of the difficulty was to employ the machinery of the official _dementi_, and this was accordingly done. It was denied by the Foreign Office that the Emperor had expressed dissatisfaction with Dr. Hill’s appointment, and the incident closed with the carrying out of the original arrangements and the arrival of Dr. Hill in Berlin. Subsequent events proved that had the Emperor known Dr. Hill personally he would never have thought of expressing dissatisfaction at the prospect of seeing him as Ambassador at his Court, for Dr. Hill, during the two years of his stay, fully vindicated the wisdom of the Washington Government’s choice, and before he left his post had earned the Emperor’s complete respect, if not his cordial friendship.
XV.
AFTER THE STORM
1909-1913
Next year, 1909, was the year of the famous finance reform measure which, though finally carried through, led to the resignation of Chancellor von Buelow. It had been obvious for some years that a reorganization of the imperial system of finance with a view to meeting the growing expenses of the Empire, and in especial those of the army and navy, was necessary if imperial bankruptcy was to be avoided. The practice of taking what were known as matricular contributions from the separate States to make up for deficits in the imperial budgets, and of burdening posterity by State loans, had one day to cease. At the beginning of the reign the National Debt was 884 million marks (L44,200,000), and in 1908 over 4,000 million marks (L200,000,000). A year before this Prince Buelow had made his first proposals for reform, including new taxes on beer, wine, tobacco, and succession duties on property.
All parties in Parliament, except of course the Social Democrats, admitted that fresh imposts were inevitable, but, very naturally, no party was willing to bear them. The Conservatives would not hear of an inheritance tax and the Liberals would not hear of duties on popular consumption. The result was to make the Centrum masters of the political field and place the Conservative-Liberal “bloc” at its mercy. After long discussion, the Government proposals were put to the vote on June 24th, and as the Centrum threw in its lot with the Conservatives, the proposals were rejected by 195 votes to 187. Prince Buelow thereupon went to Kiel and tendered his resignation to the Emperor, but at the latter’s urgent request consented to remain in office until financial reform in one shape or another had been effected. This result was attained a month later, after much compromising and discussion. The Chancellor renewed his request for retirement, and the Emperor agreed. On the same day, July 14th, that the resignation took effect, it was officially announced that Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg, who had hitherto been Minister of the Interior, was appointed to succeed Prince von Buelow as Imperial Chancellor.
An impression prevails widely in Germany that Prince Buelow’s retirement was due to the loss of the Emperor’s favour owing to the Prince’s attitude towards the monarch during the “November storm.” Prince Buelow, very properly, has always refused to say anything about his relations with his royal master, but a lengthy statement he made to a newspaper correspondent referring his resignation to the conduct of the Conservatives, and a letter from the Emperor gratefully thanking the Prince in the warmest terms for his “long and intimate co-operation,” and conferring upon him at the same time the highest Order in the Empire, that of the Black Eagle, should be sufficient evidence to disprove the supposition. It is more probable that the Prince was weary of the cares of office and of the strife of party. Moreover, he had, in the state of his health, a strong private reason for retirement. Four years before, on April 5, 1906, he had fallen unconscious from his seat on the ministerial bench during the proceedings in the Reichstag, and although he was back again in Parliament, perfectly recovered, in the following November, the attack was an experience which warned him against too great a prolongation of such heavy work and responsibility as the Chancellorship entails.
The retirement of Prince Buelow meant the disappearance of the most notable figure in German political life since the beginning of the century. In ability, wit, and those graces of a refined and richly cultivated mind which have so often distinguished great English statesmen, he was a head and shoulders above any of his fellow-countrymen; while the mere fact that he was able to maintain his position for almost twelve years (he had been, as Foreign Secretary for over two years, the Emperor’s most trusted counsellor and the real executive in foreign policy) is a convincing proof of his tact and diplomatic talent, as well as of his statesmanship.
His successor, the present Chancellor, Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg, is a man of another and very different type. He incorporates the spirit of Prussian patriotism of the most orthodox kind in its worthiest and best manifestations, but as yet he has given no proofs of possessing the breadth of view, the oratorical talent, or the urbanity which distinguished his predecessor. Prince von Buelow’s career as a German diplomatist in foreign capitals made him an acute and highly polished man of the world. The present Chancellor has spent all his life within the comparatively narrow confines of Prussian administrative service. It is, of course, too soon to pass final judgment on him as German Prime Minister.
The visit of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra to Berlin in February, 1909, disposed finally of the idea, which had prevailed in Germany as well as abroad for two or three years, that England was pursuing a policy aiming to bring about the “isolation” of Germany in world-politics. The visit was an official one, paid, of course, chiefly to the Emperor; but its most remarkable feature politics apart, was the friendly relations which King Edward established with the Berlin City Fathers at a reception in the Town Hall. It was not that he said anything out of the way to the assembled burghers; but his simple manner, genial remarks, and perhaps especially the sympathetic way in which he handled the loving-cup offered by his hosts, made an instantaneous and strong impression.
The controversy that raged round the so-called “Flora Bust” contributed not a little to the gaiety of nations towards the close of this year. The bust, an undraped wax figure, reproducing the features of Leonardo da Vinci’s famous “La Joconde,” was bought by Dr. Wilhelm Bode, Director of the Kaiser Friedrich Museum in Berlin, for L8,000 from a London dealer as an authentic work of the celebrated Italian painter, dating from about the year 1500. It was brought with a great flourish of trumpets to Berlin, and a chorus of self-congratulation was raised in Germany on the successful carrying off of such a prize from England. The harmony, however, was rudely disturbed by the publication of a letter from Mr. F.C. Cooksey, art critic of the _Times_, stating that the bust was not by da Vinci at all, but was in reality the work of Mr. R.C. Lucas, an artist of some note forty or fifty years ago, and that it had for long occupied a pedestal in Lucas’s suburban garden.
The Emperor, whose curiosity as well as patriotism was aroused, spent half an hour on November 11th discussing the bust with Dr. Bode and examining an album containing photographs of the works of Lucas. At the close of his inspection the Emperor expressed great delight at the acquisition, as to the genuineness of which he declared he “had not the slightest doubt,” and said he did not regard the price paid as extremely high. Unfortunately for the Emperor’s conviction, a letter now appeared in the _Times_ from Mr. A.C. Lucas, a son of R.C. Lucas, who said he recollected the making of the bust, and suggested that there might be found in its interior a piece of cloth, probably a part of an old waistcoat of his father’s, which had been used as a sort of filling. In the presence of such a statement there was only one thing left to be done: to examine the interior of the bust. First of all it was subjected to the Roentgen rays, the result being to show that the interior was not homogeneous. A few days after, there was a great gathering of experts at the Museum, a hole was cut in the wax at the back of the bust, a bent wire was introduced, and the search for the famous piece of waistcoat began. It was a dramatic moment as Professor Latghen with his wire explored the interior of the bust, and the tension reached its highest point when the Professor, drawing from the bust what was evidently a piece of cloth, exclaimed, “_Hier ist die Veste!_” On being further withdrawn the substance proved to be about two square inches of a grey, canvas-like material, feeling soft and velvety to the touch. It was a disagreeable discovery for the Germans, but it was got over by the suggestion that the original bust had been entrusted to Lucas for repair, and that in this way the waistcoat had got into it. The “poor English newspapers,” Dr. Bode said, referring to the sarcastic comments on the discovery from the other side of the Channel, “had had, without any acquaintance with our bust or with the work of its alleged forger, to give this particular form of expression to their ill-humour at the sale.” As a matter of fact, the bust, whoever made it, is a lovely work of art, as every one who has seen it readily admits.
The Emperor’s friendship with Mr. Theodore Roosevelt, which was now to be confirmed by personal acquaintance, throws a side light on his own character, and testifies to his desire to keep in touch with the rulers of other countries–another illustration, by the way, of his consistency, since he laid down the policy of cultivating friendly relations with foreign rulers at the very commencement of his reign. Probably many letters in the large characteristic handwriting of both men have passed between them, and there probably always existed a desire on the part of the wielder of the mailed fist to make the personal acquaintance of the advocate of the big stick. The meeting occurred in May, 1910, after Mr. Roosevelt had shot wild beasts in Africa, visited Egypt, London, Vienna, Rome, and other continental cities, with a cohort of newspaper correspondents, and caused by his speeches political, if fortunately harmless, disturbance almost everywhere he went. When in Berlin he was to have lodged at the Emperor’s palace; but the Emperor’s hospitable intent was frustrated by the death of King Edward VII, which prevented all entertainment in the home of his German nephew.
The Roosevelt party, consisting of the ex-President, Mrs. Roosevelt, and Miss Ethel Roosevelt, arrived in Berlin on May 11th from Stockholm, and at noon the same day were taken by royal train to Potsdam. At the New Palace the party were heartily greeted by the Emperor, whom they found standing on the steps waiting to receive them. After shaking hands the Emperor led his guests into a small reception-room, where they were introduced to the Empress, the Crown Prince and Crown Princess, and other members of the imperial family. The Emperor then took them to the Shell Room, so called from its being inlaid with shells and rare stones, and here were found some of the Emperor’s high officials, including Admiral von Mueller, chief of the Marine Cabinet, and one of the most able and amiable of the Emperor’s entourage, who had met Mr. Roosevelt when on his trip to America with Prince Henry several years before. Luncheon followed at six small tables in the Jasper Gallery, the Emperor taking his seat between Mrs. Roosevelt and the Crown Princess, while the Empress had Mr. Roosevelt on her left and her eldest son, the Crown Prince, on her right. Princess Victoria Louise, the Emperor’s only daughter, occupied a seat on Mr. Roosevelt’s left. After lunch was over the guests went back to the Shell Room, and here the Emperor, taking Mr. Roosevelt apart, began a conversation so long and animated that the shades of evening began to fall before it ended. The Roosevelts did not return to Berlin by train, but were first driven by the Emperor to inspect Sans Souci, and were afterwards whirled back to Berlin in the yellow imperial motors.
Only two other incidents of the visit need be mentioned. One of them was a lecture on “The World Movement,” delivered by Mr. Roosevelt in very husky tones (for he was suffering badly from hoarseness) at Berlin University, in the presence of the Emperor and Empress. The other was a parade of 12,000 troops, arranged by the Emperor at Doeberitz, the great military exercise camp near Potsdam, which Mr. Roosevelt, clad in a khaki coat and breeches, and wearing brown leather gaiters and black slouch hat, observed from horseback beside the Emperor. As the troops went by at the close of the review the Emperor and Mr. Roosevelt saluted in military fashion simultaneously.
Immediately after the visit of the Roosevelts, the Emperor was called to England to attend the funeral of King Edward VII. The imperial yacht _Hohenzollern_, with the Emperor on board, arrived in England on May 19th. Next day the Emperor travelled to Victoria terminus, where he was received and warmly embraced by King George. They proceeded to Buckingham Palace, where the Emperor’s first call was made on the widowed Queen Alexandra. On the 21st took place the funeral of King Edward, the procession to Westminster Abbey, where the service was held, being headed by King George with the Emperor on his right and the Duke of Connaught on his left. Both the Emperor and the Duke were dressed in Field-Marshal’s uniform and carried the batons of their rank. The countenance of the Emperor is described by a chronicler of the time (and the _Times_) as wearing “an expression grave even to severity.”
The procession moved slowly on to the famous Abbey, the Emperor riding a grey horse, saluting at intervals as he rode along. On arrival at the Abbey an incident occurred. As soon as Queen Alexandra’s carriage arrived and drew up, the Emperor, according to the accounts of eyewitnesses, ran to the door of the carriage with so much alacrity that he had reached it before the royal servants, and when it appeared that her Majesty was not to alight from that side of the carriage, the Emperor motioned the lacqueys round to the other door, and was there before them to assist her Majesty. This he did, after himself opening the door. The Emperor remained in England only a very few days after the funeral, seeing old friends, among them Lord Kitchener.
As of interest to both Englishmen and Germans may be mentioned the tour through India undertaken by the Crown Prince in November. Steele once happily said of a Lady Hastings that “to love her was a liberal education”; to make a tour through India, it might similarly be said, is an education in the extent and character of British imperial power and administration. The Crown Prince naturally devoted a goodly share of his time to the delights of sport, including tiger-shooting and pig-sticking, but he must also have learned much of England’s fine imperial spirit from his intercourse with an official hierarchy as honest and conscientious as that of his own country. The Crown Prince, on his return home, published a volume of hunting reminiscences which does no small credit to him as an author.
The Emperor’s “shining armour” political remark dates from this period. He was on a visit to his Triplice ally, Kaiser Franz Josef, in September, 1910, and made a speech at the Vienna Town Hall on the 21st which contained a reference to the loyal conduct he claimed Germany had observed when the action of Austria-Hungary in annexing Bosnia and Herzegovina, despite the wording of the Treaty of Berlin, had raised an outcry in other countries, and in particular strained Austrian relations with Russia. After thanking his audience for the personal reception given him, he continued:
“On the other hand, it seems to me I read in your resolution the agreement of the city of Vienna with the action of an ally in taking his stand in shining armour at a grave moment by the side of your most gracious sovereign.”
The outcry caused in the world by Austria’s high-handed annexation, and especially in Russia, theoretically always Austria’s most probable enemy, owing to conflicting interests in the Balkans, subsided, we know, as suddenly as it was raised. The reason, it is currently believed, and the form in which the rays of the shining armour acted, was an intimation from the Emperor to the Czar that, if necessary, Germany was prepared to fight for Austria.
Peoples are said to have the institutions, and husbands the wives, they deserve; but if German cities, and especially Berlin, have the police they deserve, the fact speaks very uncomplimentarily for their inhabitants. Foreigners in Germany, coming from countries where manners are more natural and obliging, frequently use the adjectives “brutal” and “stupid” when speaking of the Prussian constable. The proceedings of the Berlin police during the Moabit riots in the capital in September this year are often quoted as an example of their brutality, while, as to stupidity, it is enough to say that a stranger in Berlin, discussing its mounted police, naively remarked that what most struck him about them was the look of intelligence on the faces of the horses. Judgments of this kind are too sweeping. It should be remembered that Germany is surrounded by countries of which the riff-raff is at all times seeking refuge in it or passing through it, that polyglot swindlers of every kind, the most refined as well as the most commonplace, abound, and that Anarchists are not yet an extinct species. For the Prussian police, moreover, there is a Social Democrat behind every bush.
Possibly to this condition of things, and to the suspicion that Social Democratic organizers were about, was due the gallant charge made by half a dozen policemen, with drawn swords in their hands and revolvers at their belts, on four inoffensive English and American journalists during the Moabit riots. Towards midnight of September 29th the journalists were seated in an open taximeter cab, in a brilliantly lighted square, which some little time before had been swept of rioters–rioters from the Berlin police point of view being any one, man, woman, or child, who is, with guilty or innocent intent, it makes no difference, in or near a theatre of disturbance. Suddenly half a dozen burly policemen, led on by a police spy, as he afterwards turned out to be, charged the cab and laid about them with their swords. They probably only intended to use the flat of their weapons, but one of them succeeded in slashing deeply the hand of Reuter’s representative, who was of the party. The other journalists escaped with contusions and bruises, thanks chiefly to the sides of the cab impeding the sword-play of the attackers.
The journalists naturally complained to their Ambassadors, who took up their cause with commendable readiness. Without immediate effect, however; the authorities, though themselves very strong on the point of duty, wondered much at journalists being in a place where duty alone could have brought them, and refused any sort of apology or other satisfaction. The Government, however, eventually expressed its “regret,” and a year or two after, possibly in the spirit of conciliation and compensation, agreed to give foreign journalists in Berlin the _passe-partout_, or _coupe-fil_, as it is known in France, which is one of the privileges most valued by the journalist, native and foreign, in Paris.
Among the international agreements of the year was a commercial one between Germany and America. Commercial relations between the two countries have never been quite satisfactory to either, and if there is no tariff war, occasions of tariff tension, with consequent disturbance of trade, constantly arise. Germany’s European commercial treaties have secured her a sufficiency of raw material for her industry. Her chief object now is not so much perhaps to facilitate imports of material from other countries as to find markets, in America as elsewhere, for her industry’s finished products. Consequently she strongly dislikes the high tariff barriers of the United States, inaugurated by the Dingley tariff of 1897, and has in addition certain grievances against that country regarding customs administration in respect of appraisement, invoices, and the like. Her commercial connexion with America dates from the treaty of “friendship and commerce” made by Frederick the Great, and having the most-favoured-nation treatment as its basis; a regular treaty of the same kind between Prussia and America was entered into in 1828; and since then commercial relations have been regulated provisionally by a series of short-term agreements which, however, America claims, do not confer on Germany unrestricted right to most-favoured-nation treatment. By the agreement now in force, concluded this year (1910), America and Germany grant each other the benefit of their minimum duties.
Since the “November storm” the Emperor had made no reference to the doctrine of Divine Right, nor given any indication of a desire to exercise the “personal regiment” which is the natural corollary to it. It has been seen that the doctrine, viewed from the English standpoint, is a species of mental malady to which Hohenzollern monarchs are hereditarily subject. It recurs intermittently and particularly whenever a Hohenzollern monarch speaks in Koenigsberg, the Scone of Prussia, where Prussian Kings are crowned. When at Koenigsberg this year the Emperor suffered from a return of the royal _idee fixe_. “Here my grandfather,” he said,
“placed, by his own right, the crown of the Kings of Prussia on his head, once again laying stress upon the fact that it was conferred upon him by the Grace of God alone, not by Parliament, by meetings of the people, or by popular decisions; and that he considered himself the chosen instrument of Heaven and as such performed his duties as regent and as ruler.”
Speaking of himself on the occasion he said:
“Considering myself as an Instrument of the Lord, without being misled by the views and opinions of the day, I go my way, which is devoted solely and alone to the prosperity and peaceful development of our Fatherland.”
The Emperor, by the way, on this occasion made what sounds like an indirect reference to the Suffragette craze. “What shall our women,” he asked, after mentioning the pattern Queen of Prussia, Queen Louise,
“learn from the Queen? They must learn that the principal task of the German woman does not lie in attending public meetings and belonging to societies, in the attainment of supposed rights in which women can emulate men, but in the quiet work of the home and in the family.”
The Emperor’s reference to his divine appointment did not pass without a good deal of popular criticism in Germany, but nearly all Germans were at one with the Emperor in his view of the proper sphere for womanly activities.
The Emperor’s domestic life for the last two or three years, including the early months of the present year, have passed without special cause of interest or excitement, if we except the visit he and the Empress made to London in May, 1911, to be present at the unveiling of Queen Victoria’s statue, and the announcement he was able to make a few months ago that his only daughter, Princess Victoria Louise, had become engaged to Prince Ernest August, Duke of Cumberland, the still persisting claimant to the Kingdom of Hannover, absorbed by Prussia in 1866. The visit to London lasted only five days and produced no incident particularly worthy of record. The engagement of Princess Victoria Louise, while generally believed to be a love-match, possesses also political significance for Germany, not indeed as putting an end to the claim of the Duke of Cumberland, but as practically effecting a reconciliation between the Hohenzollerns and Guelphs. The young Duke of Brunswick had already implicitly renounced his claim to Hannover by entering the German army and taking the oath of allegiance to the Emperor as War Lord, so that, when his father dies, the Guelph claim to Hannover will die with him.
It is difficult to determine whether the Government’s abandonment of its design to amend the Prussian franchise system in 1910, its submissive attitude towards the Pope’s Borromeo Encyclical in 1911, the rapid rise in food prices which marked both years, or finally, the Emperor’s failure to secure a slice of Morocco for Germany had most antagonizing effect on German popular feeling; but whatever the cause, the general elections of January, 1912, proved a tremendous Socialist victory, which must have been, and still remains, gall and wormwood to the Emperor. Notwithstanding official efforts, over one-third of the votes polled at the first ballots went for Social Democratic candidates. The number of seats thus obtained was 64, and this number, after the second ballots, rose to 110, thus making the Socialist party numerically the strongest in the Reichstag. Up to the present, however, Herr Bebel and his cohorts appear to be happy in possessing power rather than in using it.
Before completing the Emperor’s domestic chronicle of more recent years, a few lines may be devoted to the role in which he has last appeared before the public–that of farmer. On February 12, 1913, he attended a meeting of the German Agricultural Council in Berlin, and with only a few statistical notes to help him narrated in lively and amusing fashion his experiences as owner of a farm, the management of which he has been personally supervising since 1898. The farm is part of the Cadinen Estate, bequeathed to him by an admirer and universally known for the majolica ware made out of the clay found on the property. The Emperor was able to show that he had achieved remarkable success with his farm, and particularly with a fine species of bull, _Bos indicus major_, he maintained on it. A year or two before, at a similar meeting, when speaking of the same breed of bull, he caused much hilarity among the military portion of his audience by jokingly remarking that it had “nothing to do with the General Staff.” On the present occasion he also caused laughter by recounting how he had “fired,” to use an American expression exactly equivalent to the German word employed by the Emperor, a tenant who “wasn’t any use.” The Emperor, however, would, as it turned out, have done better by not mentioning the incident, for the Supreme Court at Leipzig a few days subsequently quashed the Emperor’s order of ejectment on the tenant and condemned him to pay all the costs in the case. The role of farmer, it may be added, is one which, had he been born a country gentleman like Bismarck, the Emperor would have filled with complete success. But in what role would he not have done well?
Foreign politics everywhere for the last three or four years have been full of incident, outcry, and bloodshed. The state of things, indeed, prevailing in the world for some time past is extraordinary. A visitant from another planet would imagine that normal peace and abnormal war had changed places, and that civilized mankind now regard peace as an interlude of war, not war as an interlude of peace. He would be wrong, of course, but the race in armament, which threatens to leave the nations taking part in it financially breathless and exhausted, might easily lead him astray. On some of the situations with which these politics are concerned we may briefly touch.
For the last three or four years the dominant note in the music of what is called the European Concert, taking Europe for the moment to include Great Britain, has been the state of Anglo-German relations. There have been times, as has been seen, when public feeling in both England and Germany was strongly antagonized, but all through the period there has been evident a desire on the part of both Governments to adopt a mutually conciliatory attitude, and if the war in the Balkans does not lead to a general international conflagration, which at present appears improbable, the two countries may arrive at a permanent understanding. There was, and not so very long ago, a similar state of tension, prolonged for many years, between England and France. That tension not only ceased, but was converted into political friendship by the Anglo-French Agreement of 1904. Parallel with this tension between England and France was the tension between England and Russia, owing to the latter’s advance towards England’s Indian possessions. The latter state of things ended with the Anglo-Russian Agreement of 1907, and it should engender satisfaction and hope, therefore, to those who now apprehend a war between England and Germany to note that neither of the tensions referred to, though both were long and bitter, developed into war.
The tension between England and Germany of late years has been tightened rather than relaxed by ministerial speeches as well as by newspaper polemics in both countries. One of the most disturbing of the former was the speech delivered by Mr. Lloyd George at the Mansion House on July 21, 1911. Doubtless with the approval of the Prime Minister, Mr. Asquith, Mr. Lloyd George said:
“I believe it is essential, in the highest interest not merely of this country, but of the world, that Britain should at all hazards maintain her place and her prestige amongst the Great Powers of the world. Her potent influence has many a time been in the past, and may yet be in the future, invaluable to the cause of human liberty. It has more than once in the past redeemed continental nations, which are sometimes too apt to forget that service, from overwhelming disasters and even from national extinction. I would make great sacrifices to preserve peace. I conceive that nothing would justify a disturbance of international goodwill except questions of the gravest national moment. But if a situation were to be forced upon us in which peace could only be preserved by the surrender of the great and beneficent position Britain has won by centuries of heroism and achievement, by allowing Britain to be treated, where her interests are vitally affected, as if she were of no account in the cabinet of nations, then I say emphatically that peace at that price would be a humiliation intolerable for a great country like ours to endure.”
These rhetorical platitudes were uttered at the time of the “conversations” between the French and German Foreign Offices about the compensation claimed by Germany for giving France, once for all, a free hand in Morocco. Germany was apparently making demands of an exorbitant character, and what Mr. Lloyd George really meant was that if Germany persisted in these demands England would fight on the side of France in order to resist them. As a genuinely democratic speaker, however, he followed the rule of many publicists, who are paid for their articles by the column and say to themselves, “Why use two words when five will do?”
Another unfortunate remark that may be noted in this connexion was that made by Mr. Winston Churchill in referring to the German navy as “to some extent a luxury.” The remark, though true (also to a certain extent), was unfortunate, for it irritated public opinion in Germany, where it was regarded as a species of impertinent interference.
As evidence of the desire on the part of the Emperor and his Government for a friendly arrangement with England may be quoted the statement made in December, 1910, by the German Chancellor, Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg, _to_ the following effect:–
“We also meet England in the desire to avoid rivalry in regard to armaments, and non-binding _pourparlers_, which have from time to time taken place, have been conducted on both sides in a friendly spirit. We have always advanced the opinion that a frank and sincere interchange of views, followed by an understanding with regard to the economic and political interests of the two countries, offers the surest means of allaying all mistrust on the subject of the relations of the Powers to each other on sea and land.”
The Chancellor went on to explain that this mistrust had manifested itself “not in the case of the Governments, but of public opinion.”
With regard, in particular, to a naval understanding between England and Germany, Chancellor von Buelow, in a Budget speech in March, 1909, declared that up to that time no proposals regarding the dimensions of the fleets or the amount of naval expenditure which could serve as a basis for an understanding had been made on the side of England, though non-binding conversations had taken place on the subject between authoritative English and German personalities. In March last year (1912) such proposals may be said to have been made in the form of a suggestion by Sir Edward Grey during the Budget debate that the ratio of 16 to 10 (i.e., 50 per cent. more and 10 per cent. over) should express the naval strength of the two countries. The suggestion was “welcomed” by Admiral von Tirpitz on behalf of Germany in February, 1913. And there the matter rests.
A perhaps inevitable result of the tension between England and Germany during the period under consideration has been the amount of mutual espionage discovered to be going on in both countries. An incident that attracted wide attention was the arrest in 1910 of Captains Brandon and Trench, the former of whom was arrested at Borkum and the latter at Emden. They were tried before the Supreme Court at Leipzig, and were both sentenced to incarceration in a fortress for four years. Many other arrests, prosecutions, and sentences have taken place both in England and Germany since then, with the consequence that English travellers in Germany and German travellers in England, particularly where the travellers are men of military bearing and are in seaside regions, are now liable, under very small provocation, to a suspicion of being spies. An English lady recently made the acquaintance of a German in England. He was a very nice man, she said, and went on to relate how they were talking one day about Ireland. She happened to mention Tipperary. “Oh, I know Tipperary,” the German officer said; “it is in my department.” “It was a revelation to me,” the lady concluded when repeating the conversation to her friends. As a matter of fact, the Intelligence Departments of the army in both Germany and England are well acquainted with the roads, hills, streams, forts, harbours, and similar details of topography in almost all countries of the world besides their own.
In regard to 1911 should be recorded the journey of the Crown Prince and Crown Princess to England to represent the Emperor at the coronation of King George in June; the outbreak in September of the Turco-Italian War, which placed the Emperor in a dilemma, of which one fork was his duty to Italy as an ally in the Triplice and the other his platonic friendship with the Commander of the Faithful; and, lastly, the suspicion of the Emperor’s designs that arose in connexion with the fortification of Flushing at a cost to Holland of some L3,000,000. The Emperor was supposed to have insisted on the fortification in order to prevent the use of the Netherlands by Great Britain as a naval base against Germany. Like many another scare in connexion with foreign policy, the supposition may be regarded only as a product of intelligent journalistic “combination.”
Finally, among subsidiary occurrences, should be mentioned the meeting of the Emperor and the Czar in July, 1912, at Port Baltic in Finnish waters, accompanied by their Foreign Ministers, with the official announcement of the stereotyped “harmonious relations” between the two monarchs that followed; and the premature prolongation, with the object of showing solidarity regarding the Balkan situation, of the Triple Alliance, which, entered into, as mentioned earlier, in the year 1882, had already been renewed in 1891, 1896, and 1902. The next renewal should be in 1925, unless in the meantime an international agreement to which all Great Powers are signatories should render it superfluous.
The war in the Balkans need only be referred to in these pages in so far as it concerns Germany. The position of Germany in regard to it, so far, appears simple; she will actively support Austria’s larger interests in order to keep faith with her chief ally of the Triplice, and so long as Austria and Russia can agree regarding developments in the Balkan situation, there is no danger of war among the Great Powers. People smiled at the declaration of the Powers some little time ago that the _status quo_ in the Balkans should be maintained; but it should be remembered that the whole phrase is _status quo ante bellum_, and that, once war has broken out, the _status_, the position of affairs, is in a condition of solution, and that no new _status_ can arise until the war is over and its consequences determined by treaties. The result of the present war, let it be hoped, will be to confine Turkey to the Orient, where she belongs, and that the Balkan States, possibly after a period of internecine feud, will take their share in modern European progress and civilization.
The amount of declaration, asseveration, recrimination (chiefly journalistic), rectification, intimidation, protestation, pacification, and many other wordy processes that have been employed in almost all countries with the avowed object of maintaining peace during the last four years is in striking contrast to the small progress actually made in regard to a final settlement of either of the two great international points at issue–the limitation of armaments and compulsory arbitration.
Enough perhaps has been said in preceding pages to show the attitude of the Emperor, and consequently the attitude of his Government, towards them. A history of the long agitation in connexion with them is beyond the scope of this work. The agitation itself, however, may be viewed as a step, though not a very long one, on the way to the desired solution, and it is a matter for congratulation that the two subjects have been, and are still being, so freely and copiously and, on the whole, so sympathetically and hopefully ventilated. The great difficulty, apparently, is to find what diplomatists call the proper “formula”–the law-that-must-be-obeyed. Unfortunately, the finding of the formula cannot be regarded as the end of the matter; there still remains the finding of what jurists call the “sanction,” that is to say, the power to enforce the formula when found and to punish any nation which fails to act in accordance with it. Nothing but an Areopagus of the nations can furnish such a sanction, but with the present arrangements for balancing power in Europe, to say nothing of the ineradicable pugnacity, greed, and ambition of human nature, such an Areopagus seems very like an impossibility. Time, however, may bring it about. If it should, and the Golden Age begin to dawn, an epoch of new activities and new horizons, quite possibly more novel and interesting than any which has ever preceded it, will open for mankind.
XVI.
THE EMPEROR TO-DAY
What strikes one most, perhaps, on looking back over the Emperor’s life and time, are two surprising inconsistencies, one relating to the Emperor himself, the other to that part of his time with which he has been most closely identified.
The first arises from the fact that a man so many-sided, so impulsive, so progressive, so modern–one might almost say so American–should have altered so little either in character or policy during quarter of a century. This is due to what we have called his mediaeval nature. He is to-day the same Hohenzollern he was the day he mounted the throne, observing exactly the same attitude to the world abroad and to his folk at home, tenacious of exactly the same principles, enunciating exactly the same views in politics, religion, morals, and art–in everything which concerns the foundations of social life. He still believes himself, as his speeches and conduct show, the selected instrument of Heaven, and acts towards his people and addresses them accordingly. He still opposes all efforts at political change, as witness his attitude towards electoral reform, towards the Germanization of Prussian Poland, towards the Socialists, towards Liberalism in all its manifestations. He is still, as he was at the outset of his reign, the patron of classical art, classical drama, and classical music. He is still the War Lord with the spirit of a bishop and a bishop with the spirit of the War Lord. He is still the model husband and father he always has been. Most men change one way or another as time goes on. With the Emperor time for five-and-twenty years appears to have stood still.
The inconsistency relating to his time arises from the contrast between the real and the seeming character of the reign. For, strikingly and anomalously enough, while the Emperor has been steadily pursuing an economic policy, a policy of peace, his entire reign, as one turns over the pages of its history, seems to resound, during almost every hour, with martial shoutings, confused noises, the clatter of harness, the clash of swords, and the tramp of armies. From moment to moment it recalls those scenes from Shakespearean drama in which indeed no dead are actually seen upon the stage, but at intervals the air is filled with battle cries, “with excursions and alarms,” with warriors brandishing their weapons, calling for horses, hacking at imaginary foes, and defying the world in arms.
And yet in reality it has been a period of domestic peace throughout. Though there has been incessant talk of war, and at times war may have been near, it never came, unless the South West African and Boxer expeditions be so called. Commerce and trade have gone on increasing by leaps and bounds. The population has grown at the rate of nearly three-quarters of a million a year. Emperor William the First’s social policy has been closely followed. The navy has been built, the army strengthened, the Empire’s finances reorganized; in whatever direction one looks one finds a record of solid and substantial and peaceful progress and prosperity. A great deal of it is owing, admittedly, to the Germans themselves, but no small share of it is due to the “impulsive” Emperor’s consistency of character and conduct.
Probably the inconsistencies are only apparent. Germany and her Emperor have grown, not developed, if by development is meant a radical alteration in structure or mentality, and if regard is had to the real Germany and the real Emperor, not to the Germany of the tourist, and not to the Emperor of contemporary criticism. It has been seen that the Emperor’s nature and policy have not altered. The Constitution of Germany has not altered, nor her Press, nor her political parties, nor her social system, nor, indeed, any of the vital institutions of her national life. With one possible exception–the navy. The navy is a new organic feature, and, like all organisms, is exerting deep and far-reaching influences. Germany, of course, is in a process of development, a state of transition. But nations are at all times in a state of transition, more or less obvious; and it will require yet a good many years to show what new forms and fruits the development now going on in Germany is to bring. The Emperor, it is safe to say, will remain the same, mediaeval in nature, modern in character, to the end of his life.
The main thing, however, to be noted both about Germany and the German Emperor is what they stand for in the movement of world-ideas at the present time. Germans cause foreigners to smile when they prophesy that their culture, their civilization, will become the culture and the civilization of the world. The sameness of ideas that prevailed in mediaeval times about life and religion–about this life and the life to come–was succeeded, and first in Germany, by an enormous diversity of ideas about life and religion, beginning with the Rationalism (or “enlightenment,” as the Germans call it) which set in after the Reformation and the Renaissance; and this diversity again promises–let us at least hope–to go back, in one of the great circles that make one think human thought, too, moves in accordance with planetary laws, to a sameness of views among the nations in regard to the real interests of society, which are peace, religious harmony through toleration, commercial harmony through international intercourse, and the mutual goodwill of governments and peoples. For all this order of ideas the Emperor, notwithstanding his mailed fist and shining armour, stands, and in this spirit both he and the German mind are working.
More than half a century has passed over the Emperor’s head; let us look a little more closely at him as the man and the monarch he is to-day. Time appears to have dealt gently with him; the heart, one hears it said, never grows bald, and in all but years the Emperor is probably as young and untiring as ever.
His personal appearance has altered little in the last decade. An observer, who had an opportunity of seeing him at close quarters in 1902, describes him, as he then appeared, as follows:–
“I was standing within arm’s length of him at Cuxhaven, where we were waiting the landing of Prince Henry, his brother, on his return from America. The _Deutschland_ had to be warped alongside the quay, and the Emperor, in the uniform of a Prussian general of infantry, meanwhile mixed with the suite and chatted, now to one, now to another, with his usual bonhomie. I was speaking to the American attache, Captain H—-, when the Emperor came up, and naturally I stood a little to one side.
“The thing that most struck me was the Emperor’s large grey eyes. As they looked sharply into those of Captain H—- or glanced in my direction, they seemed to show absolutely no feeling, no sentiment of any kind. Not that they gave the notion of hardness or falsity. They were simply like two grey mirrors on which outward things made no impression.
“Two other features did not strike me as anything out of the ordinary, but the whole face had an air of ability, cleverness, briskness, and health. The Emperor is about middle height, with the body very erect, the walk firm, and is very energetic in his gestures. I did not notice the shortness of the left arm, but that may have been because his left hand was leaning on his sword-hilt. Captain H—- told me he could not put on his overcoat without assistance, and that the hand is so weak he can do very little with it. There was nothing of a Hohenzollern hanging under-lip.”
The following judgment was formed a year or two ago by an American diplomatist: “I have often met him,” the diplomatist said,
“and only speak of the impression he made on me. I would describe him as intelligent rather than intellectual. He appreciates men of learning and of philosophic mind, and while not learned and philosophic himself, enjoys seeing the learned and philosophic at work, and gladly recognizes their merit when their labours are thorough and well done. His mind is marvellously quick, but it does not dwell on anything for long at a time. It takes in everything presented to it in, so to speak, a hop, skip, and jump.
“In company he is never at rest, and surprises one by his lively play of features and the entirely natural and unaffected expression of his thoughts. He is sitting at a lecture, perhaps, when a notion occurs to him, and forthwith indicates it by a humorous grimace or wink to some one sitting far away from him. He is always saying unexpected things. On the whole, he is a right good fellow, and I can imagine that, though he can come down hard on one with a heavy hand and stern look, he does not do so by the instinct of a despot, but acting under a sense of duty.”
Another diplomatist has remarked the Emperor’s habit in conversation of tapping the person he is talking to on the shoulder and of scrutinizing him all over–“ears, nose, clothes, until it makes one feel quite uncomfortable.”
The next sketch of him is as he may be seen any day during the yachting week in June at Kiel:–
“The Emperor is in the smoking-room of the Yacht Club, dressed in a blue lounge suit with a white peaked cap. He is sitting carelessly on the side of a table, dangling his legs and discussing with fellow-members and foreign yachtsmen the experience of the day, now speaking English, now French, now German. He seems quite in his element as sportsman, and puts every one at ease round him. His expression is animated and his voice hearty, if a little strident to foreign ears. His right hand and arm are in ceaseless movement, emphasizing and enforcing everything he says. He asks many questions and often invites opinion, and when it differs from his own, as sometimes happens, he takes it quite good-humouredly.”
To-day the Emperor is outwardly much the same as he has just been described. He is perhaps slightly more inclined to stoutness. His features, though they speak of cleverness and manliness, are forgotten as one looks into the keen and quickly moving grey eyes with their peculiar dash of yellow. He is well set up, as is proper for a soldier ever actively engaged in military duties, and his stride continues firm and elastic. He is still constantly in the saddle. His hair, still abundant, is yet beginning to show the first touches of the coming frost of age, and the reddish brown moustache, once famous for its haughtily upturned ends, has taken, either naturally or by the aid of Herr Haby, the Court barber, who attends him daily, a nearly level form.
In public, whether mounted or on foot, he preserves the somewhat stern air he evidently thinks appropriate to his high station, but more frequently than formerly the features relax into a pleasant smile. The colour of the face is healthy, tending to rosiness, and the general impression given is that of a clever man, conscious, yet not overconscious, of his dignity. The shortness of the left arm, a defect from birth, is hardly noticeable.
The extirpation of a polypus from the Emperor’s throat in 1903, which must have been one of the severest trials of his life when the history of his father’s mortal illness is remembered, might lead one to suppose that his vocal organs would always suffer from the effects of the operation. It has fortunately turned out otherwise. His voice was originally strong by nature, and remains so. It never seems tired, even when, as it often does, it pleases him to read aloud for his own pleasure or that of a circle of friends. It frequently occurs that he will pick up a book, one of his ancient favourites, Horace or Homer perhaps, Mr. Stewart Houston Chamberlain’s “Foundations of the Nineteenth Century”–a work he greatly admires–or a modern publication he has read of in the papers, and read aloud from it for an hour or an hour and a half at a time. Nor is his reading aloud confined to classical or German books. He is equally disposed to choose works in English or French or Italian, and when he reads these he is fond of doing so with a particularly clear and distinct enunciation, partly as practice for himself, and partly that his hearers may understand with certainty. This is not all, for there invariably follows a discussion upon what has been read, and in it the Emperor takes a constant and often emphatic part. It has been remarked that at the close of the longest sitting of this character his voice is as strong and sonorous as at the beginning.
He is still the early riser and hard worker he has always been; still devotes the greater part of his time to the duties that fall to him as War Lord; still races about the Empire by train or motor-car, reviewing troops, laying foundation-stones, unveiling statues, dedicating churches, attending manoeuvres, encouraging yachting at Kiel by his presence during the yachting week, or hurrying off to meet the monarch of a foreign country. He still enjoys his annual trip along the shores of Norway or breaks away from the cares of State to pass a few weeks at his Corfu castle, dazzling in its marble whiteness and overlooking the Acroceraunian mountains, or to hunt or shoot at the country seat of some influential or wealthy subject. In fine, he is still engaged with all the energy of his nature, if in a somewhat less flamboyant fashion than during his earlier years, in his, as he believes, divinely appointed work of guiding Prussia’s destiny and building up the German Empire.
It is because he is an Empire-builder that his numerous journeys abroad and restlessness of movement at home have earned for him the nickname of the “travelling Kaiser.” The Germans themselves do not understand his conduct in this respect. If one urges that Hohenzollern kings, and none of them more than the Great Elector and Frederick the Great, were incessant travellers, they will reply that their kings had to be so at a time when the Empire was not yet established, when rebellious nobles had to be subdued, and when the spirit of provincialism and particularism had to be counteracted. Hence, they say, former Hohenzollerns had to exercise personal control in all parts of their dominions, see that their military dispositions were carried out, and study social and economic conditions on the spot; but nowadays, when the Empire is firmly established, when the administration is working like a clock and the post and telegraph are at command, the Emperor should stay at home and direct everything from his capital.
The Emperor himself evidently takes a different view. He does not consider the forty-year-old Empire as completed and consolidated, but regards it much as the Great Elector or Frederick the Great regarded Prussia when that kingdom was in the making. He believes in propagating the imperial idea by his personal presence in all parts of the Empire, and at the same time observing the progress that is being made there. He is, finally, a believer in getting into personal touch, as far as is possible, with foreign monarchs, foreign statesmen, and foreign peoples, for he doubtless sees that with every decade the interests of nations are becoming more closely identified.
In connexion with the subject of the Emperor’s travelling, mention may be made of the fact that many years ago he thought it necessary to explain himself publicly in reference to the idea, prevalent among his people at the time, that he was travelling too much. “On my travels,” he said,
“I design not only to make myself acquainted with foreign countries and institutions, and to foster friendly relations with neighbouring rulers, but these journeys, which have been often misinterpreted, have high value in enabling me to observe home affairs from a distance and submit them to a quiet examination.”
He expresses something in the same order of thought in a speech telling of his reflections on the high sea concerning his responsibilities as ruler:
“When one is alone on the high sea, with only God’s starry heaven above him, and holds communion with himself, one will not fail to appreciate the value of such a journey. I could wish many of my countrymen to live through hours like these, in which one can take reckoning of what he has designed and what achieved. Then one would be cured of over self-estimation–and that we all need.”
When the Emperor is about to start on a journey, confidential telegrams are sent to the railway authorities concerned, and immediately a thorough inspection of the line the Emperor is about to travel over is ordered. Tunnels, bridges, points, railway crossings, are all subjected to examination, and spare engines kept in immediate readiness in case of a breakdown occurring to the imperial train. The police of the various towns through which the monarch is to pass are also communicated with and their help requisitioned in taking precautions for his safety. Like any private person, the Emperor pays his own fares, which are reckoned at the rate of an average of fifteen shillings to one pound sterling a mile. A recent journey to Switzerland cost him in fares L200. Of late years he has saved money in this respect by the more frequent use of the royal motor-cars. The royal train is put together by selecting those required from fifteen carriages which are always ready for an imperial journey. If the journey is short, a saloon carriage and refreshment car are deemed sufficient; in case of a long journey the train consists of a buffer carriage in addition, with two saloon cars for the suite and two wagons for the luggage. The train is always accompanied by a high official of the railway, who, with mechanics and spare guard, is in direct telephonic communication with the engine-driver and guard. The carriages are coloured alike, ivory-white above the window-line and lacquered blue below.
All the carriages, with the exception of the saloon dining-car, are of the corridor type. A table runs down the centre of the dining-car; the Emperor takes his seat in the centre, while the rest of the suite and guests take their places at random, save that the elder travellers are supposed to seat themselves about the Emperor. If the Emperor has guests with him they naturally have seats beside or in the near neighbourhood of their host. Breakfast is taken about half-past eight, lunch at one, and dinner at seven or eight. The Emperor is always talkative at table, and often draws into conversation the remoter members of the company, occasionally calling to them by their nickname or a pet name. He sits for an hour or two after dinner, with a glass of beer and a huge box of cigars before him, discussing the incidents of the journey or recalling his experiences at various periods of his reign.
The Emperor’s disposition of the year remains much what it was at the beginning of the reign. The chief changes in it are the omission of a yachting visit to Cowes, which he made annually from 1889 to 1895, and, since 1908, the habit of making an annual summer stay at his Corfu castle, “Achilleion,” instead of touring in the Mediterranean and visiting Italian cities. January is spent in Berlin in connexion with the New Year festivities, ambassadorial and other Court receptions, drawing-rooms, and balls, and the celebration of his birthday on the 27th. The Berlin season extends into the middle of February, so that part of that month also is spent in Berlin. During the latter half of February and in March the Emperor is usually at Potsdam, occasionally motoring to Berlin to give audience or for some special occasion. April and part of May are passed in Corfu. Towards the end of May the Emperor returns to Germany and goes to Wiesbaden for the opera and Festspiele in the royal theatre; but he must be in Berlin before May has closed, for the spring parade of the Berlin and Potsdam garrisons on the vast Tempelhofer Field. His return on horseback from this parade is always the occasion of popular enthusiasm in Berlin’s principal streets. In early June the Emperor stays at Potsdam or perhaps pays a visit to some wealthy noble, and at the end of the month the yachting week calls him to Kiel. Once that is over he proceeds on his annual tour along the coast of Norway. September sees him back in Germany for the autumn manoeuvres. October and November are devoted to shooting at Rominten or some other imperial hunting lodge, or with some large landowner or industrial magnate. The whole of December is usually spent at Potsdam, save for an annual visit to his friend Prince Fuerstenberg at Donaueschingen. Naturally he is in Potsdam for Christmas, when all the imperial family assemble to celebrate the festival in good old German style.
In music, as we know, he retains the classical tastes he has always cultivated and sometimes dictatorially recommended. Good music, he has said, is like a piece of lace, not like a display of fireworks. He still has most musical enjoyment in listening to Bach and Handel. The former he has spoken of as one of the most “modern” of composers, and will point out that his works contain melodious passages that might be the musical thought of Franz Lehar or Leo Fall. He has no great liking for the music of Richard Strauss, and his admiration of Wagner, if certain themes, that must, one feels, have been drawn from the music of the spheres, be excepted, is respectful rather than rapturous. Of Wagner’s works the “Meistersingers” is “my favourite.”
A faculty that in the Emperor has developed with the years is that of applying a sense of humour, not originally small, to the events of everyday life. He is always ready to joke with his soldiers and sailors, with artists, professors, ministers–in short, with men of every class and occupation. Several stories in illustration of his humour are current, but a homely example or two may here suffice. He is sitting in semi-darkness in the parquet at the Royal Opera House. “Le Prophete” is in rehearsal, and it is the last act, in which there is a powder cask, ready to blow everything to atoms, standing outside the cathedral. Fraulein Frieda Hempel, as the heroine, appears with a lighted torch and is about to take her seat on the cask. Suddenly the imperial voice is heard from the semi-gloom: “Fraulein Hempel, it is evident you haven’t had a military training or you wouldn’t take a light so near a barrel of gunpowder.” And the _prima donna_ has to take her place on the other side of the stage. Or he is presenting Professor Siegfried Ochs, the famous manager of the Philharmonic Concerts, with the Order of the Red Eagle, third class, and with a friendly smile gracefully excuses himself for conferring an “Order of the third class on a musician of the first class,” by pleading official rule. A third popular anecdote tells of a lady seated beside him at the dinner-table. Salad is being offered to her, but she thinks she is bound to give all her attention to the Emperor and takes no notice of it. Thereupon the Emperor: “Gnadige Frau, an Emperor can wait, but the salad cannot.” Possibly the Emperor had in mind Louis XIII, who complained that he never ate a plate of warm soup in his life, it had to pass through so many hands to reach him.
The German takes his theatre as he takes life, seriously. To cough during a performance attracts embarrassing attention, a sneeze almost amounts to misdemeanour. To the German the theatre is a part of the machinery of culture, and accordingly he is not so easily bored as the Anglo-Saxon playgoer, who demands that drama shall contain that great essential of all good drama, action. To the Anglo-Saxon, the more plentiful and rapid the action is, the better. The German, differing from most Anglo-Saxons, likes historical scenes, great processions, costume festivals, the representation of mediaeval events in which his monarchs and generals played conspicuous parts. The Emperor has the same disposition and taste.
Yet both national taste and disposition, like other of the nation’s characteristics, are slowly altering with the growth of the modern spirit, and Germans now begin to require something of a more modern kind, a more social order, something that comes home more to their business and bosoms. Greater variety in subject is asked for, more laughter and tears, more representations of scenes and life dealing with everyday doings and the fate of the people as distinguished from the doings and fate of their rulers and the upper classes. The Emperor has not followed his people in the new direction. He regards the stage as a vehicle of patriotism, an instrument of education, a guider of artistic taste, an inculcator of old-time morality. Its aim, he appears to think, is not to help to produce, primarily, the good man and good citizen, but the good man and good monarchist, and–perhaps–not so much primarily the good monarchist as the liege subject of the Hohenzollern dynasty. Having secured this, he looks for the elevation of the public taste along his own lines. He assumes that the public taste can be elevated from without, from above, when it can only be elevated proportionately with its progress in general education and its purification from within. Consequently he is for the “classical,” as in the other arts. But apart from its aims and uses, the theatre has always appealed to him. His fondness for it is a Hohenzollern characteristic, which has shown itself, with more or less emphasis, in monarch after monarch of the line. Nor is it surprising that monarchs should take pleasure in the stage, since the theatre is one of the places which brings them and their subjects together in the enjoyment of common emotions, and shows them, if only at second hand, the domestic lives of millions, from personal acquaintance with which their royal birth and surroundings exclude them.
The Emperor treats all artists, male and female, in the same friendly and unaffected manner. There is never the least soupcon of condescension in the one case or flirtation in the other, but in both a lively and often unexpectedly well-informed interest in the play or other artistic performance of the occasion, and in the actors’ or actresses’ personal records. The nationality of the artist has apparently nothing to do with this interest. The Emperor invites French, Italian, English, American or Scandinavian artists to the royal box after a performance as often as he invites the artists of his own country, and, once launched on a conversation, nothing gives him more pleasure than to expound his views on music, painting, or the drama, as the case may be. “Tempo–rhythm–colour,” he has been heard to insist on to a conductor whom in the heat of his conviction he had gradually edged into a corner and before whom he stood with gesticulating arms–“All the rest is _Schwindel_.” At an entertainment given by Ambassador Jules Cambon at the French Embassy after the Morocco difficulty had been finally adjusted, he became so interested while talking to a group of French actors that high dignatories of the Empire, including Princes, the Imperial Chancellor and Ministers, standing in another part of the _salon_, grew impatient and had to detach one of their number to call the Emperor’s attention to their presence. Since then, it is whispered, it has become the special function of an adjutant, when the occasion demands it, diplomatically and gently to withdraw the imperial _causeur_ from too absorbing conversation.
Several anecdotes are current having reference to the Emperor as sportsman. One of them, for example, mentions a loving-cup of Frederick William III’s time, kept at the hunting lodge of Letzlingen, which is filled with champagne and must be emptied at a draught by anyone visiting the lodge for the first time. This is great fun for the Emperor, who a year or two ago made a number of Berlin guests, including Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg, the Austrian Ambassador, Szoghenyi-Marich, the Secretary for the Navy, Admiral von Tirpitz, and the Crown Prince of Greece stand before him and drain the cup. As the story goes, “the attempts of the guests to drink out of the heavy cup, which is fixed into a set of antlers in such a way as to make it difficult to drink without spilling the wine, caused great amusement.”
The principles of sport generally, it may be here interpolated, are not quite the same in Germany as in England, though no country has imitated England in regard to sport so closely and successfully as Germany. Up to a comparatively few years ago the Germans had neither inclination nor means for it, and though always enthusiastic hunters, hunting–not the English fox-hunting, but hunting the boar and the bear, the wolf and the deer–was almost the sole form of manly sport practised. _Turnen_, the most popular sort of German indoor gymnastics, only began in 1861, a couple of years after the birth of the Emperor. There are now nearly a dozen cricket clubs alone in Berlin, football clubs all over the Empire, tennis clubs in every town, rowing clubs at all the seaports and along the large rivers, nearly all following English rules and in numerous cases using English sporting terms. At the same time sport is not the religion it is in England–indeed, to keep up the metaphor, hardly a living creed.
The German attitude towards sport is not altogether the same as the English attitude. In England the object of the game is that the best man shall win, that he shall not be in any way unfairly or unequally handicapped _vis-a-vis_ his opponent, and the honour, not the intrinsic value of the prize, is the main consideration. These principles are not yet fully understood or adopted in Germany, possibly owing to the early military training of the German youth making the carrying off the prize anyhow and by any means the main object. It is _Realpolitik_ in sport, and a _Realpolitik_ which is not wholly unknown in England; but while the spirit of _Realpolitik_ is still perceivable in German sport, it is equally perceivable that the standard English way of viewing sporting competition is becoming more and more approached in Germany.
The Emperor is an enthusiastic patron of sport of all healthy outdoor kinds, not as sympathizing with the English youth’s disposition to regard play as work and work as play, to give to his business any time he can spare from his sport, but because he estimates at its full value its place in the national health-budget. His personal likings are for bear-shooting, deer-stalking, and yachting, but he also wields the lawn-tennis racket and the rapier with fair skill. The names of several of his hunting lodges—Rominten, Springe, Hubertusstock, and so on–are familiar to many people in all countries. Rominten preserve is in East Prussia, and embraces about four square miles, with little lakes and some rising ground. September is the Emperor’s favourite month for visiting it. Here one year he shot a famous eight-and-twenty-ender antelope, which had come across from Russian territory. Before the present reign the deer, or pig, or other wild animal used to be beaten up to the royal sportsman of the day, but that practice has long ceased, and the Emperor has to tramp many a mile, and at times crawl on all fours for hundreds of yards, to get a shot.
We have seen that the Emperor’s position as King and Emperor renders inevitable his adoption, either of natural bent, which is extremely probable, or from a policy in harmony with the wishes of his people, of a view of the monarch’s office that to perhaps most Englishmen living under parliamentary rule must seem antiquated, not to say absurd. This attitude apart, the Emperor possesses, as it is hoped has been sufficiently shown, as modern and progressive a spirit as any of his contemporaries. His instant recognition of all useful modern appliances, particularly, of course, those of possible service in war, is a prominent feature of his mentality. He went, doubtless, too far in heralding Count Zeppelin, in 1909, as “the greatest man of the century,” but the very words he chose to use marked his appreciation of the new aeronautical science Count Zeppelin was introducing. Similarly, the moment the automobile had entered on the stage of reliability it won a place in the imperial favour, and is now his most constant means of locomotion. He has never, it is true, emulated the enterprise of his son, the Crown Prince, whom Mr. Orville Wright had as a companion for a quarter of an hour in the air at Potsdam three years ago, but his interest in the aeroplane is none the less keen because he is too conscious of his responsibilities to subject his life to unnecessary risk.
Before closing our sketch of the Emperor as a man by quoting appreciations written by two contemporary writers, one German and the other English, it may be added that there is a statesman still–it is pleasant to think–alive who could, an he only would, draw the Emperor’s character perfectly, both as man and monarch. Indeed, as has been seen, he has more than once sketched parts of it in Parliament, but only parts–the whole character of the Emperor, on all its sides