Writing to the German Ambassador in Washington, Baron Speck von
Sternburg, in November, 1905, the Emperor said:
"Express my fullest sympathy with the movement regarding the exchange of professors. We are very well satisfied with Professor Peabody, the first exchange professor, and thankful to have him. He comes to me in my house, an honourable and welcome guest. My hearty thanks also to Mr. Speyer, for his fine gift for the erection of a professorship in Berlin. The exchange of the learned is the best means for both nations to know the inner nature of each other, and from thence spring mutual respect and love, which are securities for peace."
The idea of the exchange, as described by Professor John W. Burgess, of Columbia University, the first Roosevelt professor to Germany, is
"an exchange of educators which has for its purpose the bringing of the men of learning of one country into other countries and by a comparison of fundamental ideas to arrive at a world-philosophy and a world-morality upon which the world's peace and the world's civilization may finally and firmly rest."
The conception of a world-philosophy and a world-morality upon which the world's peace and civilization may rest is not new, being now a little over 1900 years old, and, moreover, educators and men of science in all countries are constantly exchanging ideas by personal visits, correspondence, and publications; but in any case, the Emperor's exchange system has the advantage that it brings the educators into touch with large numbers of the rising generation in America and Germany and undoubtedly helps towards a better mutual understanding of the relations, and in especial the economic relations, of the two countries.
It has worked well, and the Emperor has encouraged it by showing constant hospitality to the American professors who have come to Berlin since the system was instituted. One or two episodes have given rise to a diplomatic question as to whether or not exchange professors and their wives have the privilege of being presented at Court. The question has practically been decided in the negative. This, however, does not prevent the Emperor entertaining the professors at his palace, or making the acquaintance of the professors' wives on other than Court ceremonious occasions.
XIII.
BEFORE THE "NOVEMBER STORM"
1906-1907
In the domestic life of the Emperor during these years fall two or three events of more than ordinary interest. From the dynastic point of view was of importance the birth of a son and heir to the Crown Prince in the Marble Palace at Potsdam.
The Emperor was at sea, on his annual northern trip, when the birth occurred. As the ship approached Bergen the town was seen to be gaily decorated with flags. As it happened, everybody on board knew of the birth except the Emperor, but none of the officers round him ventured to congratulate him, because they supposed he knew of it already and were waiting for him to refer to it. At Bergen the German Minister, Stuebel, and German Consul, Mohr, came on board. The Minister, being a diplomatist, said nothing, but the Consul, as Consuls will, spoke his mind and ventured his congratulations. "What? I am a grandfather!" exclaimed the Emperor. "Why, that's splendid! and I knew nothing about it!" The captain of the ship then asked should he fire the salute of twenty-one guns usual on such occasions. "No," said the Emperor, "that won't do. Mohr is a great talker. Let us first see the official despatches from Berlin." The party, including the Emperor, went down into the cabin to await the despatches, which were being brought from Bergen.
On their arrival a basketful of State papers was placed before the Emperor. The first one he took out was a telegram from the Sultan of Turkey with congratulations (great merriment); the second from an unknown lady in Berlin, with a name corresponding to the English "Brown," with four lines of congratulatory poetry; and it was not until more than a hundred despatches had been opened that they came to one from the Minister of the Interior and another from the Empress announcing the birth. Popular reports at the time represented the Emperor as boiling over with anger at his being kept or left in ignorance of the happy event. As a matter of fact, he was in high good-humour, and himself mentioned a similar occurrence at Metz in 1870, when an important movement of the French army was not reported because it was assumed that it was already known to the Intelligence Department. As a public sign of his satisfaction he amnestied the half-dozen of his subjects who happened to be in gaol as punishment for lèse majesté.
Another domestic event at this time was the celebration by the Emperor and Empress of their silver wedding. Berlin, of course, was illuminated and beflagged. There was a great gathering of royal relatives, a State banquet, and a special parade of troops. At the latter were remarkable for their huge proportions two former grenadiers of the regiment of Guards the Emperor commanded in his youth. They were now settled in America, but came over to Germany on the Emperor's particular invitation and, of course, at his private expense.
The last item of domestic interest this year (1906) worth record was the marriage of Prince Eitel Frederick, the Emperor's second son, with Princess Sophie Charlotte of Oldenburg. In his speech to the bridal pair on their wedding-day the Emperor referred to the personal likeness the young Prince bore to his great-grandfather, Emperor William, and expressed the hope that the Prince might grow more like him in character from year to year.
Meantime the Emperor had to pass through a season of great annoyance owing to the scandal which arose in connection with the so-called "Camarilla." The existence of a small and secret group of viciously minded men among the Emperor's entourage was disclosed to the public by the well-known pamphleteer, Maximilian Harden, a Jew by birth named Witowski, who as a younger man had been on semi-confidential terms with Prince Bismarck and subsequently with Foreign Secretary von Holstein. As a result of Harden's disclosures some highly placed friends of the Emperor were compromised and had ultimately to disappear from public life as well as from the Court. It was perfectly evident throughout that the Emperor had been totally ignorant of the private character of the men forming the "Camarilla," and nothing was proved to show that the group which formed it had ever unduly, or indeed in any fashion, influenced him.
An allusion made to the scandal by a deputy in the Reichstag brought the Chancellor, Prince von Bülow, to his feet in defence of the monarch. "The view," he said,
"that the monarch in Germany should not have his own opinions as to State and Government, and should only think what his Ministers desire him to think, is contrary to German State law and contrary to the will of the German people"
("Quite right," on the Right). "The German people," continued the
Chancellor,
"want no shadow-king, but an Emperor of flesh and blood. The conduct and statements of a strong personality like the Emperor's are not tantamount to a breach of the Constitution. Can you tell me a single case in which the Emperor has acted contrary to the Constitution?"
The Chancellor concluded:
"As to a Camarilla—Camarilla is no German word. It is a hateful, foreign, poisonous plant which no one has ever tried to introduce into Germany without doing great injury to the people and to the Prince. Our Emperor is a man of far too upright a character and much too clear-headed to seek counsel in political things from any other quarter than his appointed advisers and his own sense of duty."
The Camarilla scandal was all the more painful as it was made a ground for insinuations disgraceful to German officers as a body. Such insinuations were, as they would be to-day, entirely unfounded.
Another thing that annoyed the Emperor this year was the publication of ex-Chancellor Prince Hohenlohe's Memoirs. The publication drew from him a telegram to a son of the ex-Chancellor in which he expressed his "astonishment and indignation" at the publication of confidential private conversations between him and Prince Hohenlohe regarding Prince Bismarck's dismissal. "I must stigmatize," the Emperor telegraphed,
"such conduct as in the last degree tactless, indiscreet, and entirely inopportune. It is a thing unheard-of that occurrences relating to a sovereign reigning at the time should be published without his permission."
Germans as a people are passionately fond of dancing, and though everybody knows that the people of Vienna bear away the palm in this respect, claim to be the best waltzers in the world. The Emperor, accordingly, won great popularity among the dancers of his realm this year by lending a favourable ear to the sighing of the young ladies of the provincial town of Crefeld for a regiment which would provide them with a supply of dancing partners. The Emperor took occasion to visit the town, and brought with him a regiment of the Guards from Düsseldorf to form part of the new garrison. He was received by the city authorities, and was at the same time, doubtless, greeted from balcony and window by multitudes of fair-haired Crefeld maidens, who looked with delightful anticipations on the gallant soldiers, who were to relieve the tedium of their evenings, riding by. "To-day," the Emperor told the assembled city fathers, "I have kept my word to the town of Crefeld, and when I make a promise I keep it too (stormy applause). I have brought the town its garrison and the young ladies their dancers." The "stormy applause" was again renewed—amid, one may imagine, the enthusiastic waving of pocket-handkerchiefs from the windows and the balconies.
The salient feature of foreign politics just now was, naturally, the close on March 31st of the Conference of Algeciras. Its results have been referred to in the chapter on Morocco, and mention need only be made here of the famous telegram regarding it sent by the Emperor on April 12th of this year (1906) to the Foreign Minister of Austria, Count Goluchowski. "A capital example of good faith among allies!" he telegraphed to the Count, meaning Austria's support of Germany at Algeciras. "You showed yourself a brilliant second in the tourney, and can reckon on the like service from me on a similar occasion."
Internal affairs, and particularly the parliamentary situation in Germany, had during the three or four years before that of the "November Storm" demanded a good deal of the Emperor's attention. The everlasting fight with the rebel angels of the Hohenzollern heaven, the Social Democracy, had been going on all through the reign. Now the Emperor would fulminate against it, now his Chancellor, Prince von Bülow, would attack it with brilliant ability and sarcasm in Parliament. Still the Social Democratic movement grew, still the Vorwärts, the party organ, continued to rail at industrial capitalists and the large landowners alike, still Herr Lucifer-Bebel bitterly assailed every measure of the Government. The fact seems to be that the people were getting restive under the imperial burdens the Emperor's world-policy entailed. The cost of living, partly as a result of the new German tariff, with maximum and minimum duties, which now replaced the Caprivi commercial treaties, was steadily rising. The Morocco episode had ended without territorial gain, if with no loss of national honour or prestige. The Poles were antagonized afresh by a stricter application of the Settlement Law for Germanizing Prussian Poland. Colonial troubles in South-west Africa with Herero and other recalcitrant tribes were making heavy demands on the Treasury.
The parliamentary situation was, as usual, at the mercy of the Centrum party, which, with its hundred or more members, can always make a majority by combining with Liberal parties of the Left (including the Socialists) or Conservative parties of the Right. In December, 1906, when the Budget was laid before Parliament, it was found to contain a demand for about £1,500,000 for the troops in South-west Africa. The Centrum refused to grant more than £1,000,000, and required, moreover, an undertaking that the number of troops in the colony should be reduced. The Social Democrats, with a number of Progressives and other Left parties sufficient to form a majority, joined the Centrum, and the Government demand was rejected by 177 to 168 votes. On the result of the voting being declared, Chancellor von Bülow solemnly rose and drew a paper from his pocket. It was an order from the Emperor dissolving Parliament.
The general elections were to be held in January following, and great efforts were made by the Emperor and Chancellor to secure a Government majority against the combined Centrists and Socialists. The country was appealed to to say whether Germany should lose her African colonies or not; a patriotic response was made, and, though the Centrum, as always, came back to Parliament in undiminished strength, the Socialists lost one-half of their eighty seats.
The Emperor, needless to say, was tremendously gratified. On the night the final results were announced he gave a large dinner-party at the Palace, and read out to the Royal Family and his guests the bulletins as they came in. Towards one o'clock in the morning the official totals were known. The streets were knee-deep in snow, but the people were not deterred from making a demonstration in their thousands before the palace. By and by lights were seen moving hurriedly to and fro along the first floor containing the Emperor's apartments. A general illumination of the suite of rooms followed, a window was thrown up, and the Emperor, bare-headed, was seen in the opening. Instantly complete stillness fell on the vast square, and the Emperor, leaning far out over the balcony, and evidently much excited, spoke in stentorian tones and with a dramatic waving of his right arm as follows: "Gentlemen!"—the "gentlemen" included half the hooligans of Berlin, but such are the accidents of political life—
"Gentlemen! This fine ovation springs from the feeling that you are proud of having done your duty by your country. In the words of our great Chancellor (Bismarck), who said that if the Germans were once put in the saddle they would soon learn to ride, you can ride and you will ride, and ride down, any one who opposes us, especially when all classes and creeds stand fast together. Do not let this hour of triumph pass as a moment of patriotic enthusiasm, but keep to the road on which you have started."
The speech closed with a verse from Kleist's "Prince von Homburg," a favourite monarchist drama of the Emperor's, conveying the idea that good Hohenzollern rule had knocked bad Social-Democratic agitation into a cocked hat.
The result of the elections enabled the Chancellor to form a new "bloc" party in Parliament, consisting of conservatives and Liberals, on whose united aid he could rely in promoting national measures. As the Chancellor said, he did not expect Conservatives to turn into Liberals and Liberals into Conservatives overnight nor did he expect the two parties to vote solid on matters of secondary interest and importance; but he expected them to support the Government on questions that concerned the welfare of the whole Empire.
Before 1907, the year we have now reached, Franco-German and Anglo-German relations had long varied from cool to stormy. They had not for many years been at "set-fair," nor have they apparently reached that halcyon stage as yet. During the Moroccan troubles it was generally believed that on two or three occasions war was imminent either between France and Germany or between Germany and England. That there was such a danger at the time of M. Delcassé's retirement from the conduct of French foreign affairs just previous to the Algeciras Conference is a matter of general conviction in all countries; but there is no publicly known evidence that danger of war between England and Germany has been acute at any time of recent years. Nor at any time of recent years has the bulk of the people in either country really desired or intended war. There has been international exasperation, sometimes amounting to hostility, continuously; but it was largely due to Chauvinism on both sides, and was in great measure counteracted by the efforts of public-spirited bodies and men in both countries, by international visits of amity and goodwill, and by the determination of both the English and German Governments not to go to war without good and sufficient cause.
Among the most striking testimonies to this determination was the visit of the Emperor to England in November, 1907.
The visit was made expressly an affair of State. The Emperor was accompanied by the Empress, and the visit became a pageant and a demonstration—a pageant in respect of the national honours paid to the imperial guests and a demonstration of national regard and respect for them as friends of England. Nothing could have been simpler, or more tactful or more sincere than the utterances, private as well as public, of the Emperor throughout his stay. His very first speech, the few words he addressed to the Mayor of Windsor, displayed all three qualities. "It seems to me," he said, "like a home-coming when I enter Windsor. I am always pleased to be here." At the Guildhall subsequently, referring to the two nations, he used, and not for the first time, the phrase "Blood is thicker than water."
At the Guildhall, on this occasion, the Emperor reminded his hearers that he was a freeman of the City of London, having been the recipient of that honour from the hands of Lord Mayor Sir Joseph Savory on his accession visit to London in 1891. He then referred to the visit of the Lord Mayor, Sir William Treloar, to Berlin the year previous, and promised a similar hearty welcome to any deputation from the City of London to his capital. "In this place sixteen years ago," continued the Emperor,
"I said that all my efforts would be directed to the preservation of peace. History will do me the justice of recognizing that I have unfalteringly pursued this aim. The main support, however, and the foundation of the world's peace is the maintenance of good relations between our two countries. I will, in future also, do all I can to strengthen them, and the wishes of my people are at one with my own in this."
The procession that followed upon the visit to the Guildhall made a special impression on the Emperor. "I was so close to the people," he said afterwards,
"who were assembled in hundreds of thousands, that I could look straight into their eyes, and from the expression on their faces I could see that their reception of the Empress and myself was no artificial welcome but an out-and-out sincere one. That stirred us deeply and gave us great satisfaction. The Empress and I will take back with us recollections of London and England we shall never forget."
While at Windsor the Emperor received a deputation of sixteen members of Oxford University, headed by Lord Curzon, who came to present him with the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws voted him by the University while he was still on his way to England. It was a picturesque scene: the members of the University in their academic robes were surrounded by a brilliant company representing the intellect of the country; and the Emperor, with the doctor's hood over his field-marshal's uniform, was the cynosure of all eyes.
The Emperor's reply to Lord Curzon's address, highly complimentary to the University though it was, was perhaps chiefly remarkable for the expression of his expectations from the Rhodes' Scholarship foundation. "The gift of your great fellow-countryman, Cecil Rhodes," he said,
"affords an opportunity to students, not only from the British colonies, but also from Germany and the United States, to obtain the benefits of an Oxford education. The opportunity afforded to young Germans during their period of study to mix with young Englishmen is one of the most satisfactory results of Rhodes's far-seeing mind. Under the auspices of the Oxford alma mater, the young students will have an opportunity of studying the character and qualities of the respective nations, of fostering by this means the spirit of good comradeship, and creating an atmosphere of mutual respect and friendship between the two countries."
The Emperor had always admired the Colossus of South Africa, discerning in him no doubt many of those attributes which he felt existed in himself or which he would like to think existed; and the admiration stood the test of personal acquaintance when Cecil Rhodes visited Berlin in March, 1899, in connexion with his scheme for the Cape to Cairo railway. It does not sound very complimentary to his own subjects, the "salt of the earth," but it is on record that the Emperor then said to Rhodes that he wished "he had more men like him." At the close of the visit the Empress returned to Germany, while the Emperor took a much needed rest-cure for three weeks at Highcliffe Castle, a country mansion in Hampshire he rented for the purpose from its owner, Colonel Stuart-Wortley.
In the course of this work, it may have been noticed, no particular attention has been devoted to the Emperor in his military capacity. The reason is, because it is taken for granted that all the world knows the Emperor in his character as War Lord, that he is practically never out of uniform, and that his care for the army is only second—if it is second—to that for the stability and power of his monarchy. The two things in fact are closely identified, and, from the Emperor's standpoint, on both together depend the security, and to a large extent the prosperity, of the Empire. He knows or believes that Germany is surrounded by hordes of potential enemies, as a lighthouse is often surrounded by an ocean that, while treacherously calm, may at any time rage about the edifice; that round the lighthouse are gathered his folk, who look to it for safety; and that the monarchy is the lighthouse itself, a rocher de bronze, towering above all.
In this connexion it may be noted that the army in Germany is not a mercenary body like the English army, but is simply and solely a certain portion of the people, naturally the younger men, passing for two or three years, according as they serve in the infantry or cavalry, through the ranks. The system of recruiting, as everybody knows, is called conscription; it ought rather to be described as a system of national education, whereby the rude and raw youth of the country is converted into an admirable class of well-disciplined, self-respecting and healthy, as well as patriotic, citizens. The Emperor believes, contrary to the opinion of many English army officers, that a man to be a good soldier must also be a good Christian, and thus we find him enforcing, or trying to enforce, among his officers the moral qualities which Christianity is meant to foster.
Among these qualities is simplicity of life, and as a result of simplicity of life, contentment with simple and not too costly pleasures. We saw the Emperor as a young colonel forbidding his officers to join a Berlin club where gambling was prevalent. This year, after a luxurious lunch at one of the regimental messes, he issues an order, or rather an edict, expressing his wish that officers in their messes should content themselves with simpler food and wines, and in particular that when he himself is a guest, the meal should consist only of soup, fish, vegetables, a roast and cheese. Ordinary red or white table-wine, a glass of "bowl" ("cup"), or German champagne should be handed round. Liqueurs, or other forms of what the French know as "chasse-café," after dinner were best avoided. The edict of course caused amusement as well as a certain amount of discontent with what was felt to be a kind of objectionable paternal interference, and it is doubtful whether it has had much lasting effect. Even now, the German officer laughingly tells one that when the Emperor dines at an officers' mess either French champagne (which is infinitely superior to German) is poured into German champagne bottles, or else the French label is carefully shrouded in a napkin that swathes the bottle up to the neck. Apropos of German champagne, a story is current that Bismarck, one day dining at the palace, refused the German champagne being handed round. The Emperor noticed the refusal and said pointedly to Bismarck: "I always drink German champagne, because I think it right to encourage our national industries. Every patriot should do so." "Your Majesty," replied the grim old Chancellor, "my patriotism does not extend to my stomach."
In the domain of æsthetics this year the Emperor had some pleasant and some painful experiences. Joachim, the great violinist, and a great favourite of his, died in August, and his death was followed next month, September, by that of the composer Grieg, the "Chopin of the North," as the Emperor called him, whose friendship the Emperor had acquired on one of his Norwegian trips. Quite at the end of the year his early tutor, Dr. Hinzpeter, for whom he always had a semi-filial regard, passed away.
On the other hand, among the Emperor's pleasant experiences may be reckoned the visit of Mr. Beerbohm Tree and his English company to the German capital. Their repertory of Shakespearean drama greatly delighted the Emperor, who expressed his pleasure to Mr. Tree and his fellow-players personally, and did not dismiss them without substantial tokens of his appreciation.
Earlier in the year the French actress, Suzanne Deprès, visited Berlin and appealed strongly to the Emperor's taste for the "classical" in music and drama. Inviting the actress to the royal box, he said to her:
"You have shown us such a natural, living Phædra that we were all strongly moved. How fine a part it is! As a youngster I used to learn verses from 'Phædra' by heart. I am told that in France devotion to classical tradition is growing weaker, and that Molière and Racine are more and more seldom played. What a pity! Our people, on the contrary, remain faithful to their great poets and enjoy their works. After school comes college, and after college—the theatre. It should elevate and expand the soul. The people do not need any representation of reality—they are well acquainted with that in their daily lives. One must put something greater and nobler before them, something superior to 'La Dame aux Camélias.'"
A month later, however, he made one of his extremely rare visits to an ordinary Berlin theatre to see—"The Hound of the Baskervilles"!
Meanwhile in domestic politics Chancellor von Bülow's famous "bloc" continued to work satisfactorily, notwithstanding difficulties arising from the conflicting interests of industry and agriculture, Free Trade and Protection and differences of creed and race. At the end of this year it was near falling asunder in connection with the question of judicial reform, but Prince von Bülow kept it together for a while by an impassioned appeal to the patriotism of both parties. In the course of the speech he told the House how, when he was standing at Bismarck's death-bed, he noticed on the wall the portrait of a man, Ludwig Uhland, who had said "no head could rule over Germany that was not well anointed with democratic oil," and drew the conclusion from the contrast between the dying man of action and the poet that only the union of old Prussian conservative energy and discipline with German broad-hearted, liberal spirit could secure a happy future for the nation. The "bloc," as we shall see, broke up in 1909 and Prince von Bülow resigned. The Chancellor afterwards attributed his fall entirely to the Conservatives, but it is possible, even probable, that it was in at least some measure due to the events of the annus mirabilis, 1908, which now opened.
XIV
THE NOVEMBER STORM
1908
The "November Storm" was a collision between the Emperor and his folk, a result of his so-called "personal regiment."
In a general way the latter phrase is intended to describe and characterize the method of rule adopted by the Emperor from the very beginning of his reign, especially as exhibited in his semi-official utterances, public and private, in his correspondence, private conversation, and public and private conduct generally. According to the popular interpretation of the Imperial Constitution—the nearest thing to a Magna Charta in Germany—the Emperor should observe, in his words and acts, a reserve which would prevent all chance of creating dissension among the federated States and in particular would secure the avoidance of anything which might disturb Germany's relations to foreign countries or interfere with the course of Germany's foreign policy as carried on through the regular official channel, the Foreign Office. The ground for this popular interpretation is a constitutional device which to an Englishman, if it be not offensive to say so, can only recall the well-known definition of a metaphysician as "a blind man, in a dark room, looking for a black cat, which is not there."
The device is known as the Chancellor's "responsibility," which was regarded, and is still regarded in Germany, as at once "covering" the Emperor and offering to his folk a safeguard against unwisdom or caprice on his part. The nature of this responsibility which is evidenced by the Chancellor signing the Emperor's edicts and other official statements, is so frequently discussed by German politicians, the position of the Chancellor—the Grand Vizier of Germany he has been picturesquely called—is so influential, and the intercourse between the Emperor and the Chancellor is so close, exclusive, and confidential, that an examination of the meaning of the term "responsibility" in this connexion is desirable.
Whenever the Emperor does anything important or surprising, especially in foreign policy, the first question asked by his subjects is, has he taken the step with the knowledge, and therefore with the joint responsibility, of the Chancellor? If the answer is in the negative, it is the "personal regiment" again, and people are angry: if the latter, they may disapprove of the step and grumble at it, but it is covered by the Chancellor's signature and they can raise no constitutional objection. Hence the demand usually made on such occasions for an Act of Parliament once for all defining fully and clearly the Chancellor's responsibilities. According to Prince von Bülow, and it is doubtless the Emperor's own view, the responsibility mentioned in the Constitution is a "moral responsibility," and only refers to such acts and orders of the Emperor as immediately arise out of the governing rights vested in him, not to personal expressions of opinion, even though these may be made on formal occasions; and the Prince goes on to say that if a Chancellor cannot prevent what he honestly thinks would permanently and in an important respect be injurious to the Empire, he is bound to resign.
The Chancellor, then, takes responsibility of some kind. But responsibility to whom? To the Emperor? To the Parliament? To the people? The answer is, solely to the Emperor, for it is the Emperor who appoints and dismisses him as well as every other Minister, imperial or Prussian, and the Emperor is only responsible to his conscience. In parliamentarily ruled countries like England Ministers are responsible to Parliament, which expresses its disapproval by the vote of a hostile majority, or in certain circumstances by a vote of censure or even impeachment. In Germany, where the parliamentary system of government does not exist, and where there is no upsetting Ministries by a hostile majority, and no parliamentary vote of censure or impeachment, no Minister, including the Chancellor, is responsible, in the English sense of the word, to Parliament; accordingly, a German Chancellor may continue in office in spite of Parliament, provided of course the Emperor supports him. At the same time the Chancellor to-day is to some indefinable extent responsible to Parliament, and therefore to the people, in so far as they are represented by it, for he must keep on tolerable terms with Parliament as well as with the Emperor, or he will have to give up office. How he is to keep on terms with a Parliament consisting of half a dozen powerful parties and as many more smaller fractions and factions is probably the part of his duties that gives him most trouble and at times, doubtless, very disagreeably interferes with the placidity of his slumbers.
There is no struggle for government in Germany between the Crown and the people: Germans have no ancient Magna Charta, no Habeas Corpus, no Declaration of Rights to look back to on the long road to liberty. In the protracted struggle for government between the English people and their rulers, the people's victory took the form of parliamentary control while retaining the monarch as their highest and most honoured representative. Socially he is their master, politically their servant, the "first servant of the State." In Germany there has never, save for a few months in 1848, been any struggle of a similar political extent or kind. German monarchs including the Emperor, have applied the expression "first servant of the State" to themselves, but they did not apply it in the English sense. They applied it more accurately. In Germany the State means the system, the mechanism of government, inclusive of the monarch's office: in England the word "State" is more nearly equivalent to the word "people." To serve the system, the government machinery, is the first duty of the monarch, and government is not a changing reflection of the people's will, but a permanent apparatus for maintaining the power of the Crown, harmonizing and reconciling the sentiments and interests of all parts of the Empire, and for conducting foreign policy.
It may be objected that legislation is made by the Reichstag, that the Reichstag has the power of the purse, and that it is elected by universal suffrage; but in Germany the Government is above and independent of the Reichstag; legislation is not made by the Reichstag alone, since it requires the agreement of the Federal Council and of the Emperor, and—what is of great practical importance—Government issues directions as to how legislation shall be carried into effect. The law of 1872 passed against the Jesuits forbade the "activity" of the Order, but the interpretation of the word "activity," and with it the effects of the law, were left to the Government.
Kings of Prussia and German Emperors have never shown much affection for their Parliaments: Parliaments are apt to act as a check upon monarchy, and in Prussia in particular to interfere with the carrying out of the divinely imposed mission. This is not said sarcastically; and the Emperor, like some of his ancestors, has more than once expressed the same thought. Parliaments in Germany only date from after the French Revolution. After that event there came into existence in Germany the Frankfurt Parliament (1848), the Erfurt Parliament (1850), and the Parliament of the German Customs Union (1867). These, however, were not popularly elected Parliaments like those of the present day, but gatherings of class delegates from the various Kingdoms and States composing the Germany and Austria of the time. Since the Middle Ages there had always been quasi-popular assemblies in Prussia, but they too were not elected, and only represented classes, not constituencies. The present Parliaments in Prussia and the Empire are Constitutional Parliaments in the English sense, elected by universal suffrage, the one indirectly, the other directly.
The present Prussian Diet dates from the "First Unified Diet," summoned by Frederick William IV in 1847, which was transformed next year under pressure of the revolutionists into a "national assembly." This was treated a year after by General Wrangel almost exactly as Cromwell treated the Rump. The General entered Berlin with the troops which a few weeks before had fought against the revolutionists of the "March days." He passed along the Linden to the royal theatre, where the "national assembly" was in session, and was met at the door by the leader of the citizens' guard with the proud words, "The guard is resolved to protect the honour of the National Assembly and the freedom of the people, and will only yield to force."
Wrangel took out his watch—one can imagine the old silver "turnip"—and with his thumb on the dial replied:
"Tell your city guard that the force is here. I will be responsible for the maintenance of order. The National Assembly has fifteen minutes in which to leave the building and the city guard in which to withdraw."
In a quarter of an hour the building was empty, and next day the city guard was dissolved. A month later the King, Frederick William IV, granted his octroyierte Constitution—that is, a concession of his own royal personal will—which established the Diet as it is to-day.
Emperor William I, as King of Prussia, had a good deal of trouble with his Parliament, and in 1852 wanted to abdicate rather than rule in obedience to a parliamentary majority—it was the "conflict time" about funds for army reorganization. Bismarck dissuaded him from doing so by promising to become Minister and carry on the government, if need were, without a parliament and without a budget. He actually did so for some years, but there was no change in the Constitution as a result.
Nor has there been any constitutional change in the relations of Crown to Parliament during the present reign. As a young man, the Emperor had of course nothing to do with Parliament, Prussian or Imperial, and since his accession, though there is always latent antagonism and has been even friction at times, he has, generally speaking, lived on "correct," if not friendly terms with it. There is little, if any, of the devoted affection one finds for the monarch in the English Parliament.
And not unnaturally. Early in his reign, in 1891, he made a reference to Parliament little calculated to evoke affection. "The soldier and the army," he said to his generals at a banquet in the palace, "not parliamentary majorities and decisions, have welded together the German Empire. My confidence is in the army—as my grandfather said at Coblenz: 'These are the gentlemen on whom I can rely.'" Again, a year or two afterwards he dissolved the Reichstag for refusing to accept a military bill and did not conceal his anger with the recalcitrant majority. In 1895 he telegraphed to Bismarck his indignation with the Reichstag for refusing to vote its congratulations on the old statesman's eightieth birthday. In 1897, speaking of the kingship "von Gottes Gnaden" he took occasion to quote his grandfather's declaration that "it was a kingship with onerous duties from which no man, no Minister, no Parliament, no people" could release the Prince. In 1903 his Chancellor, Prince Bülow, had to defend in Parliament his action in the case of the Swinemunde despatch already mentioned. Attention was called to the telegram in the Reichstag and the Chancellor defended the Emperor. He denied that the telegram was an act of State—it was a personal matter between two sovereigns, the statement of a friend to a friend. "The idea," said the Chancellor, who contended that the Emperor had a right to express his opinions like any citizen,
"that the monarch's expression of opinion is to be limited by a stipulation that every such expression must be endorsed with the signature of the Chancellor is wholly foreign to the Constitution."
Next day the Chancellor had again occasion to defend his imperial master against a charge of being "anti-social," brought by the Socialist von Vollmar, who coupled the charge with insinuations of absolutism and Cæsarism. Prince Bülow said:
"Absolutism is not a German word, and is not a German institution. It is an Asiatic plant, and one cannot talk of absolutism in Germany so long as our circumstances develop in an organic and legal manner, respecting the rights of the Crown, which are just as sacred as the rights of the burgher; respecting also law and order, which are not disregarded 'from above,' and will not be disregarded. If ever our circumstances take on an absolute, a Cæsarian, form, it will be as the consequence of revolution, of convulsion. For on revolution follows Cæsarism as W follows U—that is the rule in the A B C of the world's history."
There is no harm in reminding Prince Bülow that the letter V—which may be a very important link in the chain of events—comes between U and W. It is clear also that the Chancellor must have forgotten his English history for the moment, for though Cromwell's rule may be called Cæsarism of a kind, the reign of William III, of "glorious, pious, and immortal memory," which followed the revolution of 1688, could not fairly be so named.
Three years later, in 1906, Prince Bülow found it necessary to defend the Emperor on the score of the "personal regiment." "The view," Prince Bülow said,
"that the monarch should have no individual thoughts of his own about State and government, but should only think with the heads of his Ministers and only say what they tell him to say, is fundamentally wrong—is inconsistent with State rights and with the wish of the German people";
and he concluded by challenging the House to mention a single case in which the Emperor had acted unconstitutionally. None of these bickerings between Crown and Parliament went to the root of the constitutional relations between them, but they betrayed the existence of popular dissatisfaction with the Emperor, which in a couple of years was to culminate in an outbreak of national anger.
An occurrence calls for mention here, not only as a kind of harbinger of the "storm," but as one of the chief incidents which in the course of recent years have troubled Anglo-German relations. The incident referred to is that of the so-called "Tweedmouth Letter," which was an autograph letter from the Emperor to Lord Tweedmouth, First Lord of the British Admiralty at the time, dated February 17, 1908, and containing among other matters a lengthy disquisition on naval construction, with reference to the excited state of feeling in England caused by Germany's warship-building policy. The letter has never been published, but it is supposed to have been prompted by a statement made publicly by Lord Esher, Warden of Windsor Castle, in the London Observer, to the effect that nothing would more please the German Emperor than the retirement of Sir John Fisher, the originator of the Dreadnought policy, who was at the time First Lord of the Admiralty; and to have contained the remark that "Lord Esher had better attend to the drains at Windsor and leave alone matters which he did not understand." The Emperor was apparently unaware that Lord Esher was one of the foremost military authorities in England.
The sending of the letter became known through the appearance of a communication in the London Times of March 6th, with the caption "Under which King?"—an allusion to Shakespeare's "Under which king, Bezonian, speak or die"—and signed "Your Military Correspondent." The writer announced that it had come to his knowledge that the German Emperor had recently addressed a letter to Lord Tweedmouth on the subject of British and German naval policy, and that it was supposed that the letter amounted to an attempt to influence, in German interests, the Minister's responsibility for the British Naval Estimates. The correspondent concluded by demanding that the letter should be laid before Parliament without delay. The Times, in a leading article, prognosticated the "painful surprise and just indignation" which must be felt by the people of Great Britain on learning of such "secret appeals to the head of a department on which the nation's safety depends," and argued that there could be no question of privacy in a matter of the kind. The article concluded with the assertion that the letter was obviously an attempt to "make it more easy for German preparations to overtake our own." The incident was immediately discussed in all countries, publicly and privately.
Everywhere opinion was divided as to the defensibility of the Emperor's action; in France the division was reported by the Times correspondent to be "bewildering." All the evidence available to prove the Emperor's impulsiveness was recalled—the Kruger telegram, the telegram to Count Goluchowski, the Austrian Minister of Foreign Affairs, after the Morocco Conference, characterizing him as a "brilliant second (to Germany) in the bout at Algeciras," the premature telegram conferring the Order of Merit on General Stoessel after the fall of Port Arthur, and other evidence, relevant and irrelevant. Reuter's agent in Berlin telegraphed on official authority that the Emperor "had written as a naval expert."
On the whole, continental opinion may be said to have leaned in favour of the Emperor. Mr. Asquith, the English Prime Minister, at once made the statement that the letter was a "purely private communication, couched in an entirely friendly spirit," that it had not been laid before the Cabinet, and that the latter had come to a decision about the Estimates before the letter arrived.
All eyes and ears were now turned to Lord Tweedmouth, and on March 10th he briefly referred to the matter in the House of Lords. He received the letter, he said, in the ordinary postal way; it was "very friendly in tone and quite informal"; he showed it to Sir Edward Grey, who agreed with him that it should be treated as a private letter, not as an official one; and he replied to it on February 20th, "also in an informal and friendly manner." A discussion, in which Lord Lansdowne and Lord Rosebery took part, followed, the former—to give the tone, not the words of his speech—handing in a verdict of "Not guilty, but don't do it again," against the Emperor, and laying down the principle that "such a communication as that in question must not be allowed to create a diplomatic situation different from that which has been established through official channels and documents"; and Lord Rosebery, while he recognized the importance of the incident, seeking to minimize its effects by an attitude of banter. The treatment of the incident by the House of Commons as a whole gave considerable satisfaction in Germany, where all efforts were directed to showing malevolent hostility to Germany on the part of the Times.
Prince von Bülow dealt with the letter in a speech on the second reading of the Budget on March 24, 1908. After referring to the Union Internationale Interparlementaire, which was to meet in a few months in Berlin, and to the "very unsatisfactory situation in Morocco," he said:—
"From various remarks which have been dropped in the course of the debate I gather that this honourable House desires me to make a statement as to the letter which his Majesty the Kaiser last month wrote to Lord Tweedmouth. On grounds of discretion, to the observance of which both the sender and receiver of a private letter are equally entitled, I am not in a position to lay the text of the letter before you, and I add that I regret exceedingly that I cannot do so. The letter could be signed by any one of us, by any sincere friend of good relations between Germany and England (hear, hear). The letter, gentlemen, was in form and substance a private one, and at the same time its contents were of a political nature. The one fact does not exclude the other; and the letter of a sovereign, an imperial letter, does not, from the fact that it deals with political questions, become an act of State ('Very true,' on the Right).
"This is not—and deputy Count Kanitz yesterday gave appropriate instances in support—the first political letter a sovereign has written, and our Kaiser is not the first sovereign who has addressed to foreign statesmen letters of a political character which are not subject to control. The matter here concerns a right of action which all sovereigns claim and which, in the case of our Kaiser also, no one has a right to limit. How his Majesty proposes to make use of this right we can confidently leave to the imperial sense of duty. It is a gross, in no way justifiable misrepresentation, to assert that his Majesty's letter to Lord Tweedmouth amounts to an attempt to influence the Minister responsible for the naval budget in the interests of Germany, or that it denotes a secret interference in the internal affairs of the British Empire. Our Kaiser is the last person to believe that the patriotism of an English Minister would suffer him to accept advice from a foreign country as to the drawing up of the English naval budget ('Quite right,' hear, hear). What is true of English statesmen is true also of the leading statesmen of every country which lays claim to respect for its independence ('Very true'). In questions of defence of one's own country every people rejects foreign interference and is guided only by considerations bearing on its own security and its own needs ('Quite right'). Of this right to self-judgment and self-defence Germany also makes use when she builds a fleet to secure the necessary protection for her coasts and her commerce ('Bravo!'). This defensive, this purely defensive character of our naval programme cannot, in view of the incessant attempts to attribute to us aggressive views with regard to England, be too often or too sharply brought forward ('Bravo!'). We desire to live in peace and quietness with England, and therefore it is embittering to find a portion of the English Press ever speaking of the 'German danger,' although the English fleet is many times stronger than our own, although other lands have stronger fleets than us and are working no less zealously at their development. Nevertheless it is Germany, ever Germany, and only Germany, against which public opinion on the other side of the Channel is excited by an utterly valueless polemic ('Quite right').
"It would be, gentlemen,"
the Chancellor continued,
"in the interests of appeasement between both countries, it would be in the interest of the general peace of the world, that this polemic should cease. As little as we challenge England's right to set up the naval standard her responsible statesmen consider necessary for the maintenance of British power in the world without our seeing therein a threat against ourselves, so little can she take it ill of us if we do not wish our naval construction to be wrongly represented as a challenge against England (hear, hear, on the Right and Left). Gentlemen, these are the thoughts, as I judge from your assent, which we all entertain, which find expression in the statements of all speakers, and which are in harmony with all our views. Accept my additional statement that in the letter of his Majesty to Lord Tweedmouth one gentleman, one seaman, talks frankly to another, that our Kaiser highly appreciates the honour of being an admiral of the British navy, and that he is a great admirer of the political education of the British people and of their fleet, and you will have a just view of the tendency, tone, and contents of the imperial letter to Lord Tweedmouth. His Majesty consequently finds himself in this letter not only in full agreement with the Chancellor—I may mention this specially for the benefit of Herr Bebel—but, as I am convinced, in agreement with the entire nation. It would be deeply regrettable if the honourable opinions by which our Kaiser was moved in writing this letter should be misconstrued in England. With satisfaction I note that the attempts at such misconstruction have been almost unanimously rejected in England ('Bravo!' on the Right and Left). Above all, gentlemen, I believe that the admirable way in which the English Parliament has exemplarily treated the question will have the best effect in preventing a disturbance of the friendly relations between Germany and England and in removing all hostile intention from the discussions over the matter (agreement, Right and Left).
"Gentlemen, one more observation of a general nature. Deputies von Hertling and Bassermann have recommended us, in view of the suspicions spread about us abroad, a calm and watchful attitude of reserve, and for the treatment of the country's foreign affairs consistency, union, and firmness. I believe that the foreign policy we must follow cannot be 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.