Then Holstein turned to the problem of Lord Salisbury, who would be eager to talk politics but who must be “disposed of fairly quickly and with immaculate politeness, but with everyday small talk and no more, asking how his wife is and so on;” then Mr. Chamberlain, who “will try and rush matters and, while ready to offer substantial concessions, will try and push Your Majesty there and then into definite promises with their points raised against Russia… Your Majesty will just listen politely to him and then give him the reply that his suggestion merits careful consideration and that Your Majesty will ‘ give full attention to it…” Finally, the Prince of Wales “or perhaps H.M. the Queen herself” might raise the question of an alliance. “It would be precisely at this point, in my most humble opinion, that it would then be of far-reaching influence on Germany’s political future if Your Majesty were to decline to agree to anything definite, to permit no glimpse to be obtained of Your Majesty’s own plans…” [179]
The Kaiser could not follow Holstein’s instructions regarding Lord Salisbury, for the Prime Minister’s wife had died a few days before the imperial visit, and Salisbury, eager to seize any excuse for avoiding the Emperor, was absent. However, William II and Bülow obediently followed Holstein’s warnings in their meetings with Mr. Arthur Balfour — designated as the next Prime Minister — and with Mr. Joseph Chamberlain. Coyly they played the role of undecided maidens with ardent suitors, encouraging one moment, rebuffing the next. Chamberlain told them that personally he favoured an alliance including both Germany and America. If the two Anglo-Saxon nations made common cause with their Teutonic cousin, peace and order would be maintained throughout the world. He realised that Germany had colonial aspirations and believed that he could obtain the backing of his Cabinet colleagues to support her in establishing a protectorate in Morocco. Morocco was a large undeveloped country, rich in iron ore. The Sultan was unable to maintain his authority and warring tribes were threatening to overthrow his regime and plunge the inhabitants into chaos. Even now he could not protect foreign trade or foreign lives and it was plain that some European power would have to step in and restore order. The possession of Morocco, Chamberlain emphasised, would not only give Germany great trading prospects, but an opportunity to acquire important seaports on the Atlantic.
Considering Germany’s persistent agitation for colonial expansion, it is curious that the bait of Morocco met with no response. Holstein was so concerned with “high policy” that he scarcely alluded to it while the Kaiser expressed total disinterest. This was partly due to the fact that for years Morocco had been in a state of anarchy; it was so large and wild and rocky it was difficult to police, and the Sultan had achieved even less than might have been expected. As far back as 1880 the European powers had become so alarmed by Moorish lawlessness and corruption — which made it impossible for them to do business — that they had called a conference at Madrid and forced the Sultan to sign a treaty promising protection for foreign lives, and guaranteeing equal rights in commerce. However, the situation did not improve much. “I have been in most Oriental countries but I have never seen such complete darkness as reigns here,” Arthur Nicolson had written to the British Foreign Office in 1896. “The main policy and occupation of the Government is to set the tribes by the ears, to support one side, then wring money out of the victims for assistance rendered…”[180]
William II remembered Bismarck saying that Morocco was a good trap in which to lure France, for it would drain her resources and keep her quiet in Europe. He did not want Germany to carry the burden; besides, he was not interested in colonial territory as much as colonial power. He wanted land in central Africa and China, where the other great nations were competing, so that his voice might be heard in the international councils that mattered. He told Eckardstein that he had no interest in acquisition on the west coast or anywhere else in Morocco; and he had never understood why some Germans placed such emphasis on it.
So the Kaiser and Bülow listened sympathetically to Chamberlain’s arguments, then gently raised obstacles that were almost insuperable. Bülow stressed the fact that Germany was on very good terms with Russia and that it would be impossible for her to jeopardize this relationship by an alliance with England unless both parties in the British Parliament endorsed it, and bound themselves to it for a number of years. On the other hand, he assured Chamberlain that an Anglo-German agreement was close to his heart; that he believed in it and would do his best to further the idea in every way possible.
Chamberlain was encouraged, and after the royal visitors departed, decided to test public opinion by flying a kite. He was aware of the hostility that the Boer war had aroused in Germany, but the Kaiser had assured him that he, and he alone, could control German emotions. “I am the sole master of German policy, and Germany must follow me wherever I go.” So in a speech at Leicester, Chamberlain hinted at what was in his mind. “Every far-sighted statesman has long been anxious that we should not remain permanently isolated on the Continent and I think that the most natural alliance is between ourselves and the great German Empire…”
This remark provoked a far greater storm of anger in Germany than Chamberlain had foreseen. Join hands with a bully who was beating down the helpless Boers? Never! But Bülow’s reaction was even more surprising. Instead of trying to lower the temperature, he fell in with the prevailing mood, and deliberately raised it. In a speech in the Reichstag he delivered a severe rebuff to Britain, mocking her for her haughtiness and jealousy and asserting that “the days of Germany’s political and economic humility were over.” He ended on the triumphant note that the coming century would decide whether Germany was to be “the hammer or the anvil.”
Why had Bülow delivered this surprising attack? The answer was that a new Navy Bill was coming before the Reichstag. The first bill had approved the idea of a fleet, but the second bill was the one that mattered for it determined the size and shape of the German Navy for the next seventeen years. As Holstein was opposed to the alliance with England, Bülow merely followed the course of least resistance and capitalised on the anti-British feeling. He told the Budget Committee that England was deeply jealous of Germany because she was becoming a serious competitor in world markets. “In view of our weakness at sea,” he said, “the majority of people in England consider a war with Germany a relatively simple matter in which England would only need her fleet…” On a wave of Anglophobia the Bill was carried through the Reichstag.
Bülow was not disturbed by the fact that Chamberlain was angry and chagrined. Time was on Germany’s side; and all that really mattered to him was the Kaiser’s goodwill. Near the end of the year, in October 1900, he realised his life ambition by succeeding the aged Prince Hohenlohe as Imperial Chancellor. When the moment approached, however, he suffered some anxiety, for although he had been earmarked as the next Chancellor for many months, the Kaiser hesitated and began to toy with several new names. “Candidly,” he told Bülow, “for me, personally, Phil Eulenburg would be much the most acceptable successor. He is my best friend, I am his ‘Highest.’ But I do not know whether he is equal to it. I have the impression that he himself doubts it. Quite recently he told me that he had neither the knowledge nor the energy wanted for carrying on an important office. He has used up too much of his nervous energy in my service.”[181]
Chapter 8. Britain’s Last Offer
The German people had grown so accustomed to the Kaiser’s melodramatic poses that they almost regarded his exhibitionism as an endearing characteristic. “The trouble with the Kaiser,” a Hamburg lady remarked with fond indulgence, “is that he wants to be the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral.” Even Count von Waldersee was forced to admit that William was “quite a popular figure.” “Apart from his political gambols and his speeches (which are not taken too seriously as people know his excitable temperament),” he wrote in his diary in January 1900, “his whole bearing, his animation and restless activity, impress the masses. By the feminine half of the n
ation the Sovereign is esteemed as a good husband and father of seven children. People recognize also that he interests himself most warmly in the growth of Germany’s happiness and greatness, and devotes his life to these aims; and they are impressed moreover by the numbers of the subjects he takes up and seems to master, and by his more than ordinary capabilities.”
Although the Wilhelmstrasse did not share the public estimate of the Kaiser’s mental capacity many diplomats regarded his magnetism as a factor to be reckoned with. “The spell of His Majesty’s personality” is a phrase that often appears in German official documents. As it was generally conceded that William could charm whomever he chose, no one was surprised when Count Paul Hatzfeldt reported to Berlin, after the imperial visit to Windsor Castle, that even the sophisticated Mr. Arthur Balfour had “never experienced a more stimulating hour” than that which he had spent with the Emperor. Unfortunately, however, William rarely sustained the effect of his stupendous first impressions. Those who came into regular contact with him soon discovered that his desire to fascinate vanished at the first twinge of boredom. Indeed, his good humour was as transient as an ocean breeze, for the smallest irritation could turn it into a tempest leaving in its wake a wreckage of wounded feelings and bitter resentment.
Philip Eulenburg was one of the few people who had nothing personally to complain about. In 1900 the Emperor made him a prince to show him his esteem. Yet even this devoted servant was deeply disillusioned by his imperial master’s superficiality and frightening lack of discipline. The man whom he once had described as “that rare and talented being” had long ago become “the poor dear Emperor.” Nevertheless Philip still grappled with the Sovereign’s turbulent moods, still tried to restrain him from tactless and unnecessary interferences. Once, when he warned William against the use of arbitrary power, the Sovereign feigned astonishment. “I, an absolute monarch!” he ejaculated sneeringly; then added somewhat illogically: “When I get back to Germany I shall make Bernhard set the press on the lunatics who see in me the ‘absolutist Emperor.’” However Eulenburg could have saved himself considerable anxiety on this score, for the truth was that although Bismarck’s constitution had given the Kaiser fully autocratic powers he rarely over-rode the advice of the Wilhelmstrasse.
Far more dangerous was the Kaiser’s temperament. Philip found the Norwegian cruises an increasing strain with each passing year, for the Kaiser’s tantrums seemed to increase with the advancement of age. In 1900 almost any annoyance was sufficient to provoke a storm, a fact which Philip found alarming in a man of forty. “His Majesty cannot control himself any more when he is angry,” he wrote distractedly to Bülow from the Hohenzollern. “Yesterday he did not even notice that there were sailors nearby, he simply raved on, so that they could hear every word… I feel as if I were sitting on a powder magazine, and scarcely dare to breathe. Please let political reports be as few as possible, and ask him for none but unavoidable decisions.”[182]
Much of the Kaiser’s excitement was due to frustration. He had a deep urge to achieve great things for Germany, yet his course was never clear; there was always a tiresome reason why he could not do what he wished, why his impulses must be stifled, his desires quelled. He could not make an alliance with England for fear of alienating Russia; he could not join with Russia because of France; he could not expand his colonial empire because of England. Whatever direction he turned he always came up against the negative words and the restraining hands of his own advisers.
When the anti-foreign Boxer Rebellion broke out in China in the spring of 1900 he at last saw a chance of action. Once again he expounded on the Yellow Peril, and without consulting the Wilhelmstrasse, volunteered to send an expeditionary force of 30,000 men. A few weeks later he requested the powers to place Germany in charge of an international relieving force. There already were some thousands of European troops in the Far East — not to mention American and Japanese — for almost all the major powers were doing business in China and had their own military protection. However it was obvious that someone would have to co-ordinate the operation, and as the British Army was fully occupied in South Africa, and Russia and Japan refused to allow each other to direct an expedition, the Kaiser’s request was granted. Furthermore, the German Ambassador, Baron von Ketteler, had been assassinated, which, William claimed, gave Germany a prior claim.
The Kaiser regarded the operation as an imperial prerogative and made it clear from the start that military matters were “no business of the Foreign Office,” but to be directed “from the saddle as it were.” Peking was under siege, and he saw Germany not only as an avenging angel, but as a pillar of Christendom. In this frame of mind he disembarked from the Hohenzollern at Bremerhaven on July 27th to inspect the marines about to depart for the Far East. He began by exhorting them to “open the door for culture” but in his excitement recommended very different methods. “You must know, my men, that you are about to meet a crafty, well-armed, cruel foe! Meet him and beat him! Give no quarter! Take no prisoners! Kill him when he falls into your hands! Even as, a thousand years ago, the Huns under their King Attila made such a name for themselves as still resounds in terror through legend and fable, so may the name of Germans resound through Chinese history a thousand years from now…”
Both Eulenburg and Bülow — who had joined the party at Bremerhaven — did their best to suppress the speech, handing an expurgated copy to the press, but one reporter got the story and soon the Kaiser’s words were ringing round the globe. When the World War broke out fourteen years later his phrases were remembered and the word “Hun” became common usage. The Kaiser, however, appeared oblivious to the impression he was making and when he read a revised version of his oration in a German paper he protested to Bülow in dismay: “You have struck out the best parts of it.”
A few weeks later William received a severe blow. Field Marshal von Waldersee, the Commander-in-Chief of the Joint Relieving Force, was still on the high seas when news arrived that the troops already in China had succeeded in relieving Peking and that the Imperial Government had fled. “Naturally,” wrote Waldersee, “this was at first a great disappointment for the Emperor. He had got it firmly fixed in his head that… the Allied advance on Peking, till now regarded as impracticable on account of the rainy season… would begin under my supreme command, and mine would be the glory of capturing Peking. Now that dream was over…”[183] The Emperor declared that Russia and England deliberately had “betrayed him,” and once again Eulenburg’s frayed nerves had to bear the brunt of royal chagrin.
Biographers of William II often attempt to explain his character in terms of his crippled arm. Emil Ludwig in his Kaiser Wilhelm Ü, published in 1923, depicts him as a psychological study, fashioned by the hatred of his mother who, he claims, was horrified at having produced a maimed son. But this accusation was found to be false when the Empress Frederick’s letters were published some years later; she did not hate her son; her concern about his arm reflected the sorrow and anxiety that any mother might feel; and her relations with William were undisturbed and friendly until his manhood.
It is tempting to blame the Kaiser’s affliction for a nature that swung between two extremes; to claim that his boastfulness hid an inferiority complex; that the arrogance was an attempt to conceal hysteria and timidity. However, no one can be sure that William’s character would have been any different if he had had two good arms; and for the sake of the record this writer can find no evidence to suggest that in adult life he found his crippled arm an embarrassment. Almost the only allusion he ever made to it was when he landed at Tangiers and had to ride a strange horse with his “bad arm.” He was exceptionally strong and used his one hand with great dexterity. He had a special knife and fork which enabled him to cut his food; he rode with ease; and in ordinary daily life carried himself with such ease that his affliction was scarcely noticeable. The Princess of Pless, who saw him often, wrote in her memoirs: “All the writings about the Emperor’s suffering under a mor
bid sense of his incapacity to use his left arm and his feeling crippled is so much nonsense. Of course, like anyone else he would have preferred to have the full use of his limbs; from birth he had no useful left arm, was brought up to do without one and, I feel certain, never seriously missed it. In public and when posing for his pictures, naturally he did not stick out his ungrown arm and hand for people to wonder at; nevertheless in private he never bothered about it. I have sat next to him hundreds of times, watched him use the special combined knife and fork he always carried, or I have cut up his food for him and he never once showed the sign of any foolish sensitiveness or embarrassment.”[184]
Despite the Kaiser’s temperamental outbursts during 1900, he behaved extremely well to Britain throughout the Boer war, and, ironically enough, he received little credit for it. His stand was not wholly due to magnanimity, for he remembered how he had burned his fingers over the Jameson Raid. He had learned that Germany could not oppose Britain effectively in Africa without a fleet, so this time he resolved, early on, to remain strictly neutral. When, in March 1900, Queen Wilhelmina of Holland appealed to him to intervene on behalf of the Boers, he replied that he could play no part until he possessed more ships. The ships were vital. For although, he explained to the Queen, the Lord had said “Vengeance is mine,” He might select William one day as “His chosen instrument.” “Therefore it is in the interests of the world peace as well as the Dutch-Frisian race on the continent that a mighty German fleet shall be on the seas… until then Silence and Work.”
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