The Kaiser

by Virginia Cowles

  The army, however, was fighting for its life, and Headquarters, buzzing with staff officers, was far too harassed to pay lip-service to the Emperor in order to sooth his ego. William openly mourned his old friend, General Moltke; and although he had installed the breezy Falkenhayn in his stead, began to complain of his off-hand manner. “This evening,” wrote Admiral Müller on November 6th, “Prince Max of Baden came to dinner. Remarkable frankness on the part of His Majesty. A great many stories of the war in the air were told. The Kaiser had not heard them before and said to the Prince: ‘You see I only hear such things purely by chance. The General Staff tells me nothing and never asks my advice. If people in Germany think that I am the Supreme Commander they are grossly mistaken. I drink tea, saw wood and go for walks, which pleases the gentlemen. The only one who is a bit kind to me is the Chief of the Field Railway Department who tells me all he does and intends to do.’ This was of course said as a joke but it was none the less true.”[413]

  The Kaiser’s three Cabinet chiefs whose duty it was to keep him in touch with civil, military, and naval affairs had the worst task of all. They not only discovered that they were dealing with a man who was unable and unwilling to apply himself to urgent problems, but to whom it was dangerous to supply too much information. He exaggerated good news out of all proportion, and allowed bad news to unnerve him for days. The Cabinet chiefs, locked in daily and inescapable contact with him, began to find his lack of balance not only distressing but repellent. Admiral Müller, the chief of the naval Cabinet, kept a day-by-day diary and sourly recorded the Sovereign’s change of moods.

  “Oct. 26, 1914. His Majesty returned this evening at 6 p.m. He had seen Heeringen and Kluck (First Army), spoken to many senior officers and visited the 12th Grenadier Regiment (Frankfurt-on-Oder). He was in excellent fettle… full of lust for battle.”

  “Oct. 28, 1914. The Kaiser looked very ill and depressed. He said, amongst other things: ‘No one comes to our aid. We stand completely alone and must suffer defeat with dignity.”

  “Nov. 8, 1914. The Kaiser, with a small escort, attended Divine Service in the field on Sunday with the Crown Prince. He was very depressed by the news reported to him yesterday evening of the fall of Tsingtau.”

  “Dec. 1, 1914. The Kaiser very depressed at not receiving the expected news of victories in the East and West. ‘Where are we heading?’ he asked. ‘Never a victory, always defeat.’”

  “December 17, 1914. 1 p.m. lunch with the Kaiser who had just received from Hindenburg final confirmation of our victory. Flags are to be put out!… The Kaiser is elated…”

  “February 15, 1915. Lotzen. His Majesty has decided to remain for the moment in East Prussia, giving as his reason that ‘I wish to be considered the liberator of East Prussia, otherwise it will be merely looked upon as another triumph for Hindenburg.’”[414] The Kaiser was determined not to let the control of the navy slip out of his grasp as he felt that of the army had done. “I will not have anyone,” he told Admiral Tirpitz at the outbreak of war, “come between me and my navy.” He made it clear that neither Admiral Tirpitz, as Secretary of State, nor Admiral Pohl as Naval Chief of Staff, had the authority to issue operational commands. “I need no chief,” he told Admiral Müller. “I can do this myself.”

  The Kaiser’s object, however, was not to employ the navy but to preserve it. His first order to his fleet was to wage “only guerrilla warfare against the English until we have achieved such a weakening of their fleet that we could safely send out our own.” This decision not only surprised Admiral Tirpitz but the British Admiralty. Although Germany possessed only 16 super-dreadnoughts compared with England’s immediately available 24, the German Naval Staff knew that never again would it have such a favourable moment in which to attack the British Navy. Not only was England transporting a steady flow of troops across the Channel which made them particularly vulnerable, but by requisitioning the ships building for foreign powers in British yards, plus her own construction, she would have in three months’ time seven new dreadnoughts, and in six months’ time twelve new dreadnoughts. This would put the ratio at 34 to 19, and 39 to 21. “We therefore looked for open battle… we expected it,” wrote the First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr. Winston Churchill, “and we courted it… and nothing happened. The Grand Fleet remained at sea: the German Fleet did not quit the shelter of its harbours…” Even when, on August 28th, units of the British Navy broke into the Heligoland Bight in a daring raid and went “rampaging about” the Emperor was furious to learn that his ships had struck back. Several German cruisers proceeded to the assistance of the flotillas under attack and suffered severe damage. The Kaiser did not congratulate them on their gallantry. He would not tolerate, he said, losses of this kind, and immediately issued orders, restricting still further the initiative of the Commander-in-Chief. In future, even fleet sallies would have to be approved by His Majesty. “I learned of this orally,” wrote Tirpitz, “and took the first opportunity to explain to the Emperor the fundamental error of such a muzzling policy. This step had no success, but on the contrary there sprang up from that day forth an estrangement between the Emperor and myself, which steadily increased…”[415]

  This was an understatement; Tirpitz argued and fought and raged. On September 16th, 1914, he wrote to the Naval Chief of Staff: “I cannot see the use of preserving the fleet intact until the declaration of peace;” and on October 1st: “If the fleet remains in its withdrawn position its moral strength and capacity will deteriorate;” and on October 11th: “The instruction that the fleet is to be held back… will result in the fleet never having an opportunity of a decision by battle.”[416]

  William II was adamant. The German Battle Fleet had been built as a tribute to his reign and he could not bear to risk it against far superior forces. Politically, it was the most expensive fleet ever constructed. It had cost Germany the friendship of England, and, without question, was the most important single factor in convincing the British Foreign Office that England could not stand aside in a European war. Yet, except for occasional “fleet sallies” and the Battle of Jutland in 1916, which in no way affected Britain’s control of the seas, the great monster dreadnoughts lay in harbour throughout the war. This was more than ironic. Why had Britain been so frightened? Why had she believed in the possibility of an invasion throughout 1908? Why had she guarded herself against a German naval attack after Agadir?[417] The answer was that although the British had an immediate superiority in home waters of eight dreadnoughts, “there was not,” as Winston Churchill points out, “much margin here for mischance, nor for the percentage of mechanical defects which in so large a fleet has to be expected, and no margin whatever for a disaster occasioned by surprise had we been unready. To a superficial observer who from the cliffs of Dover and Portland had looked down upon a Battle Squadron of six or seven ships, lying in distant miniature below, the foundation upon which the British world floated would have presented itself in a painfully definite form.”[418]

  Furthermore, how could England know that the feverish, glittering, arrogant Kaiser had fear in his heart? For thirty years he had stormed and threatened, and although no one doubted that the German Army was the most formidable machine in the world, his war-like posturing had finally persuaded the British that his fleet was a mortal danger as well as his legions. Although the British Admiralty knew the approximate strength of the German Navy, they feared surprise, or misadventure, or new and unforeseen weapons. “None of the gloomy prophecies,” wrote the First Lord cheerfully, “which had formed the staple of so many debates and articles… materialised.”

  When Admiral Tirpitz realised that his imperial master did not intend to risk his dreadnoughts in any important engagement with the British Navy, he began to champion the idea of submarine warfare as the only means by which England’s tight naval blockade could be broken. However, Tirpitz had neglected to build submarines in peacetime and in 1915 Germany possessed only 25 of these vessels, which meant that no more than seven cou
ld be in continuous use. The German Admiralty now initiated a huge submarine-building programme which would give the navy 50 U-boats by 1916 and 200 by 1917.

  Despite the paucity of U-boats Tirpitz was in favour of launching a campaign immediately, while the Kaiser was against unrestricted submarine warfare either now or in the future. William II was right about this, and was strongly supported by Chancellor Bethmann-Hollweg. They justly feared that indiscriminate sinkings not only would endanger their relations with Holland and the Scandinavian countries, but might bring them into conflict with America as well. The cold, immaculate President Wilson, who had declared that the United States was “above battle,” was greatly concerned with the freedom of the seas. In November 1914 he had protested to Britain against searching of ships for contraband, and seizing foodstuffs destined for Germany, both of which were an infringement of the Declaration of London, an agreement on the rules of sea blockade signed by the European powers and the United States in 1909. Germany intervened by announcing on February 4, 1915, that as a retaliatory measure she would sink enemy merchantmen in the waters around the British Isles. This, in turn, gave the English a trump card; because of Germany’s proclamation, said Mr. Asquith, Britain would maintain a total blockade against Germany, intercepting all imports or exports no matter what they were.

  President Wilson was annoyed with both countries, but, as Winston Churchill points out, “between taking a ship and sinking a ship there was a gulf.” Therefore, when the giant liner Lusitania was sent to the bottom of the sea off the coast of Ireland in May 1915, and 1,200 passengers were drowned, the civilised world was stunned and horrified. 124 Americans lost their lives, and the United States was brought to the brink of war. The fact that the German Government pointed out that the ship was carrying munitions had little effect, and the American Secretary of State made it clear that a repetition of the act would mean hostilities.

  Consequently, the Kaiser and Bethmann-Hollweg refused to authorise the “unrestricted” warfare for which Tirpitz was pressing. The old Admiral was incensed; indeed, he had been in a continuous rage ever since the outbreak of war. Even before the Lusitania was sunk he was complaining of the Kaiser’s timidity, and Bethmann’s flabby outlook. “Really it is hopeless,” he wrote to a friend on March 22nd. “There’s a fleet of forty armoured ships more than half super-dreadnoughts, and over 100 torpedo boats lying rusting in harbour,[419] while Germany is engaged in a struggle for her very existence, and I have to sit here, powerless… In the navy, in the army, in politics, no co-operation, nearly everyone trying to keep one eye on the Kaiser, who is surrounded with weak people…” And five days later: “I see only one way out: the Kaiser must give out that he is on the sick list for eight weeks or more, Hindenburg must come and take Bethmann’s place, and take control of everything including the army and navy.”[420]

  Admiral Tirpitz won the support of the Crown Prince to the idea of making General von Hindenburg a “dictator,” mainly because the Prince loathed Bethmann-Hollweg, but no doubt because he also saw an opportunity for himself if his father retired for several months. But Tirpitz soon learned that young William was a doubtful asset. His reputation among members of the military hierarchy lay in shreds. Although His Royal Highness commanded an army group, everyone knew that his Chief of Staff did all the work, and that the Prince was pleasure-loving and woman-mad. “He often shocked soldiers returning from the front,” writes his biographer, Klaus Jonas, “when he greeted them in his extravagant clothing, with a narrow riding whip in his hands, surrounded by Indian whippets. If now and then, in his white uniform, he threw them cigarettes, many of them indignantly thought that he had just come back from playing tennis. Whenever young French girls waved to him, he stopped his bright red car in the streets, picked them up and listened with a great deal of interest to their worries about their husbands or sweethearts. Often he promised to make inquiries for them at Supreme Headquarters, and by doing so he completely ruined his reputation at the German High Command.”[421] Not only this, but the Crown Prince took one French woman after another for his mistress, and even moved into the house of a widow at Stenay. He tried to telegraph General Joffre to ask news of the lady’s father, but the telegram was intercepted and sent to Bethmann-Hollweg, who protested angrily to the Prince that his irresponsible action might have enabled the Allies to make harmful propaganda.

  Tirpitz’s plan with the Crown Prince, therefore, did not get far, but he managed to win a good many recruits to the idea of unrestricted U-boat warfare. The Admiral who, in peacetime, had insisted that the building of the German Navy was not the cause of England’s antagonism, now was unperturbed at the idea of bringing the United States into the conflict. He disapproved hotly of “kowtowing” to anyone, and was highly indignant at the conciliatory tone of the German note after the sinking of the Lusitania. “America is so shamelessly, so barefacedly pro-English,” he wrote on July 25th, 1915, “that it is hard to credit that we shall eat humble pie. Yet in this connection I believe nothing to be impossible. A remark in the Note indicates that we have already made promises privately to limit the submarine activity… I, for my part, will not join in a formal renunciation of the submarine warfare, whereby we should abandon the only weapon we have in our hands against England in the future.”[422]

  Admiral Tirpitz managed to convince General Falkenhayn and Admiral Holtzendorff, the new naval Chief of Staff, of the necessity for submarine warfare. But Tirpitz got nowhere with his attempt to make Hindenburg Chancellor, and the Kaiser and Bethmann-Hollweg continued to block his submarine plans. Nevertheless, at the beginning of 1916 he succeeded in bringing the issue to the forefront once again. In January, Admiral Müller, as the Kaiser’s personal adviser, found himself caught between a cross-fire of opinion. Bethmann-Hollweg told him that if Germany embarked on this type of warfare the neutrals would band together and launch a crusade depicting her as the “mad dog” among the civilised peoples of the world. Holtzendorff, on the other hand, insisted that England would be obliged to sue for peace within six months — and once England was knocked out American help would not be effective, no matter whether or not she declared war.

  William II began to waver. On January 15th Müller wrote in his diary: “His Majesty took the humane standpoint that the drowning of innocent passengers was an idea that appalled him. He also bore a responsibility before God for the manner of waging war. On the other hand he must ask himself: could he go against the counsel of his military advisers, and from humane considerations prolong the war at the cost of so many brave men who were defending the Fatherland?”

  The Kaiser finally reached a compromise. On March 6th he held a meeting in which it was decided to initiate submarine warfare against “armed merchantmen,” and to study the effect on the neutrals before embarking in an all-out attempt to cut Britain off from vital supplies by sinking everything approaching her shores. Tirpitz was so disgusted that he handed in his resignation which was accepted. However, a few weeks later the passenger steamer Sussex, with a few Americans aboard, was torpedoed in the Channel; once again the United States threatened to break off relations, and once again Germany abandoned U-boat warfare.

  The Kaiser’s quarrel with Admiral Tirpitz did not create much stir, for on the whole the first eighteen months of the war were fairly satisfactory for Germany, and Berlin remained in the grip of optimism. “Our first demand in peace,” wrote Professor Delbruck, “will be for a great colonial empire, a German India, big enough to defend itself in war, consisting of the Belgian and the French Congo and English tropical Africa. If that is not enough we can develop Turkey with capital and advice…” Belgium, of course, would remain German, and many intellectuals were in favour of retaining northern France as well.

  The Professor’s sanguine outlook sprang from the fact that although Germany had not been able to deliver a decisive blow, neither had the Entente; and Germany had more than held her own in the feverish scramble for allies. In almost every case, participation in the struggle
by uncommitted countries revolved around the question of material gain. In August 1914 Japan joined Britain and France and seized Germany’s Far Eastern bases, but in October of the same year Turkey joined the Central Powers because of her enmity to Russia. Greece wobbled precariously but remained neutral. Italy joined the Allies in 1915 after months of cynical bargaining with both sides, finally settling for the huge territorial acquisitions promised by London at the expense of Austria, Turkey, and even (secretly) Serbia. Bulgaria, on the other hand, coveted Serbia and joined Germany.

  Germany’s policy throughout 1915 was to keep her armies in France on the defensive while the Allies drenched themselves in blood by launching gigantic and abortive offensives at Champagne, Artois, Ypres, and Loos.[423] Meanwhile, Falkenhayn sent reinforcements to the east, enabling Hindenburg and Ludendorff, now firmly entrenched as national heroes, to drive the Russians out of Poland, Lithuania, and Courland. Austria, the country which had been the most reckless in provoking the European war, had been partially over-run in 1914 both by Russia and Serbia; now Falkenhayn rid Galicia of the Russians, while Bulgaria, who entered the contest when the British failed to force the Dardanelles, smashed Serbia and Montenegro. This enabled Germany to establish rail communications with Turkey, and gave her mastery of the Balkans.

  In 1916, however, Falkenhayn made a serious mistake. He believed that he could break the deadlock in the west by launching a prolonged offensive at Verdun, with such a concentration of artillery fire that the French Army, forbidden by pride to abandon the historic fortress, would be “bled white.” Falkenhayn’s forces would advance step by step under protection of cannon, exacting two or three lives for every German, until the enemy’s will to resist was broken and a total collapse occurred.