“The Kaiser is daily growing more and more the shadow of a king,” wrote Princess Blücher in July 1917, “and people talk openly of his abdication…” “He is out in the cold,” wrote Müller, “not because he has abandoned his rights but because he has failed in his duty.” Duty was not the right word, for the Kaiser had given every scrap of his nervous energy to the war. He simply was unequal to the task. Field Marshal von Hindenburg had not “imprisoned” him, as many people suggested, but merely stepped into a perilous gap. There could be no intermediary course. Either peace must be made or the war prosecuted with the utmost vigour. The Kaiser’s inability to make up his mind, and throw his weight firmly on one side or the other, had brought Germany to a dangerous pass, and Hindenburg, in seizing the initiative, had done the only thing possible. As he was a loyal monarchist, he had no intention of replacing the Kaiser, but had felt it essential to grasp the helm of a foundering ship.
Although William II chafed at the impudence of his generals he experienced a sense of deep relief. A few weeks earlier he had been in such a state of agitation that Müller had consulted the Staff Physician and asked if His Majesty should be treated with greater consideration. Niedener had replied in the affirmative, warning the Admiral that “there was the possibility of a complete breakdown for this highly nervous man of whom before the war we had all entertained an entirely false impression. It would have been a different matter had he worked, but this he never did…”
The breakdown came in July, but in a different form than that which the doctor had envisaged. Once Hindenburg had taken matters into his own hands the Kaiser stopped fretting and escaped into a world of fantasy. From July 22nd 1917 to July 22nd 1918 he was more cheerful and composed than at any time in the war. He no longer lived with the nightmare of defeat, for he refused to contemplate the scene as a whole. The fact that the British convoy system was beating the U-boat war, that American reinforcements would be arriving within twelve months, that the deadlock on the western front appeared unbreakable, no longer tormented him. Instead he ignored the overall picture and concentrated on the victories of the German Army in the east.
His jubilation began with the news of Germany’s midsummer offensive against Russia which was to lead to the latter’s final defeat. “His Majesty,” wrote Müller on July 22nd, “is once more in his well-known, impossible victory mood.” From then on the Kaiser lived in a whirl of intoxicating pretension. He visited the scenes of Germany’s successful battles, Tarnopol and Courland, and once again began to make bold speeches. “Where my bayonets are on guard the land will under no circumstances be returned.” In September he visited Romania; in October Bulgaria and Turkey; in November the north of Italy. He told his Chancellor, Count Herding, that he was so enchanted with Romania that he intended to keep it after the war. And when Müller referred to the Reichstag’s Peace Resolution with its emphasis on no annexations he replied: “It couldn’t matter less. The Reichstag can do what it likes. I have the nation and the army behind me and Michaelis has the revolver, my final decree, in his pocket.”
Underneath the surface there was a steady buzz of peace talk. The Reichstag Peace Resolution had induced the Pope to try to bring the belligerents to the conference table, and in August he sent his Nuncio, Pacelli, to Berlin. But the Germans refused to state precise terms and the Entente showed no eagerness to enter discussions. Herr Kühlmann, who had succeeded Zimmermann as Foreign Secretary in the spring of 1917, put out feelers of his own, and tried to establish contact in Paris and London, but each time he came up against the stone wall of French revanche. France insisted on the restoration of Alsace-Lorraine, while Germany insisted on the integrity of her Empire. In October Kulhmann said bitterly: “The quarrel for which Europe is gradually being transformed into a rubbish heap is the future of Alsace-Lorraine.”
The Kaiser, however, had lost interest in the peace moves. At the end of October the Italians suffered a stunning defeat at Caporetto at the hands of the great German General von Mackensen, which practically knocked them out of the war. And far more significant, in November the Bolshevists overthrew Kerensky (who had succeeded Prince Lvov as President in July) and declared Russia’s intention to withdraw from the war. Negotiations opened at Brest-Litovsk on December 22nd.
Signs of softening on the part of the Allies were ignored by the Kaiser. The French and British had suffered enormous casualties during the year 1917. In the spring they once again had tried to achieve a breakthrough by launching huge offensives, the British at Arras and the French between Soissons and Champagne. Although the Canadians had taken Vimy Ridge, the French had suffered one of their heaviest defeats at Chemins des Dames. The number of wounded had been so great the field dressing stations could not cope with them and mutiny broke out in ten divisions. By the close of the year, after more fighting at Paschendaele and Cambrai, French and British casualties numbered nearly 1,400,000 men compared with Germany’s 850,000. And no decisive result had been achieved.
At the end of November Lord Lansdowne, the former British Foreign Secretary, who had been responsible for forging the Entente, wrote a letter to the Daily Telegraph. “We are not going to lose this war; but its prolongation will spell ruin for the civilised world… what will be the value of the blessings of peace to nations so exhausted that they can scarcely stretch out a hand with which to grasp them? If the war is to be brought to a close in time to avert a world-wide catastrophe, it will be because on both sides people realise that it has already lasted too long.” And in January President Wilson outlined his fourteen points, which stressed freedom and self-determination for all people, and seemed to suggest a basis of negotiation.
But while these speeches were being made the Germans and Austrians were parleying with the Russians. Although the talks opened on the acceptance of “no annexations and no indemnities,” the Germans suddenly announced that Poland, Lithuania, Courland, parts of Estonia and Latvia, desired separation from Russia under German protection. Trotsky protested, and asked for a plebiscite, but the Germans answered by breaking off the talks and advancing towards Petrograd. Trotsky capitulated and peace was signed on March 3rd. At the same time a separate peace was concluded with the Ukraine and Romania.
Although the Kaiser had retired to Homburg at the end of January, and refused to move for six weeks to the disgust of his advisers, he lived in his dream world poring over reports and press cuttings with great excitement. “Very disagreeable outbursts of megalomania,” wrote Müller on February 20th, “which always ensue when things are going well for us.”[439] When the Kaiser was asked by the newspaper Kolnische Zeitung whether a plebiscite would be held in Courland he replied proudly: “I will take the Duchy of Courland, I, the victor by the strength of my sword, but not from the hand of the assembly.”
The climax of the first world war came in the spring and early summer of 1918 when Hindenburg and Ludendorff hurled four thunderbolts at the Allied lines in a last desperate attempt to secure a decisive victory. Now that peace had been signed with Russia they were able to transfer 1,000,000 men and 3,000 guns to the western front. The first offensive opened in March on the St. Quentin sector of the British line, and the initial battle, in which the Germans outnumbered their opponents three to one, resulted in the capture of 90,000 British soldiers and 1,300 guns.[440] The Kaiser was at Hindenburg’s Headquarters at Avesnes when the first news came in; and upon his return that night on the imperial train to Charleville he was so excited that he shouted to the guard on the platform: “The battle is won, the English have been utterly defeated.” The fighting continued for some days and the Emperor visited von Hindenburg’s headquarters each morning. He took such childish delight in the victory that the Field Marshal issued a communique beginning: “Under the personal command of His Majesty the Emperor…” This caused the Kolnische Zeitung to refer to “the Kaiser’s Battle,” which upset the Emperor for he protested to Herr Berg that it made it seem as though none of the other battles had had anything to do with him.
However, Ludendorff did not achieve his objective. The British Army, described at German Headquarters as “lions led by donkeys,” put up a furious resistance; this tenacity, coupled with the general exhaustion of the German soldiers, finally brought the drive to a halt. A second attack against the British front at Armentieres in April, designed to reach the Channel ports, also failed after bitter fighting for the same reasons. The third German offensive was launched against the French at Soissons in May. The town was captured, and in three days the Germans advanced thirty miles and crossed the Marne near Chateau Thierry. Five British divisions, who were supposed to be refitting and recuperating, were caught up in the fighting and displayed almost incredible valour. The Kaiser visited the sector where the English were engaged in the opening days of the battle. He was in high spirits, but at lunch, wrote Müller, “spoke very harshly of the brutality of our men, who made no effort to help badly wounded English soldiers, although right in their path. He had seen to it personally that they were bandaged and carried down the line.” However, the German troops were so underfed and weary that they could barely look after their own wounded, much less the enemy. Their poor physical stamina prevented them from exploiting their initial success, and once again their offensive petered out.
Meanwhile the news from Austria was chilling. In June the Emperor Karl’s army struck against the Italians on the Piave. They crossed the river but floods destroyed the bridges and 100,000 Austrian soldiers were drowned or captured. This disaster, coupled with the fact that no matter how many battles were won, none were decisive, produced a sobering effect on the German Foreign Office. On June 25th Herr Kühlmann delivered a speech to the Reichstag in which he said that although the integrity of the German Empire was a basic condition of peace, “a conclusion by military decision without diplomatic negotiations is improbable… The eye therefore must seek for political factors, which might eventually open possibilities…”[441] Kühlmann’s statement was nothing less than a blunt announcement that the German Army could not win the war, and that peace would have to be negotiated. “It has fallen like a bomb,” wrote Princess Blucher. “Everyone seems to agree that what he has said is the truth, and nothing but the truth, but that it was a heinous offence to say it.”[442] Up till now the population had been willing to put up with appalling hardships for the sake of ultimate victory. But if Germany was spilling its blood for nothing, why was the carnage not brought to an end? Conditions in Berlin were almost as bad as in the winter of 1916-17. “We ourselves have little to eat but smoked meat and dried peas and beans, but in the towns they are considerably worse off,” wrote Princess Blücher. “The potatoes have come to a premature end, and in Berlin the population have now a portion of 1 lb. per head a week, and even these are bad. The cold winds of this wintry June have retarded the growth of vegetables, and there is almost nothing to be had. We are all waiting hungrily for the harvest and the prospect of at least more bread and flour.”[443]
General Ludendorff was so angry at Kuhlmann’s speech that he persuaded the Kaiser to dismiss him, and to appoint Herr Hintze in his place. Ludendorff then turned his attention to his fourth and greatest attack which was under preparation and would be launched in the middle of July in the vicinity of Rheims. “If my offensive at Rheims succeeds,” he observed, “we have won the war.” “If the German offensive at Rheims succeeds,” said Marshal Foch, “the Germans have won the war.” The attack opened on July 15th with a barrage from 8,000 guns. It was the largest bombardment of the war, but it was too late. Half a million Americans had landed in France in April, May, and June, and the Entente now had the reserves they needed to pit against German soldiers almost at the end of their resources. Within a week the Allies had stopped the giant attack, and the Kaiser’s world of illusion, which had lasted one year to the day, finally broke into pieces. Müller’s diary gives a laconic account of His Majesty’s reaction. “July 22, 1918. This afternoon the Kaiser drove over to Avesnes to hear a report. He was told the bitter truth which conflicts with the optimistic communiques. The Field Marshal admitted total failure… we left Bosmont late in the evening for Spa. After dinner His Majesty spoke of himself to a small circle… as a defeated War Lord for whom we must show consideration… July 23, 1918. After lunch in the train the Kaiser admitted that he had not closed an eye all night. He had seen visions of all the English and Russian relatives and all the ministers and generals of his own reign marching past and mocking him. Only the little Queen of Norway had been friendly to him…”[444]
During the last week in July, General Foch launched a long-prepared counter-offensive, and started an advance that was not to stop until Germany laid down its arms four months later. The Marne was crossed once again and Soissons recaptured. On August 8th a combined Franco-British attack supported by several hundred tanks — used for the first time in large numbers — broke the spirit of the German defence. It seems incredible today that anyone could have expected troops to stand up against tanks, but Ludendorff lamented the loss of morale and named August 8th “the black day of the German Army.” “Disastrous day on the Somme,” wrote Müller. “The French, British and Canadians have broken through our front to a depth of 12km. The Kaiser was very low in spirits this evening. He said: ‘It’s very strange that our men cannot get used to tanks.’”
Privately Hindenburg and Ludendorff faced reality. Two days later they left the Kaiser in no doubt about the gravity of the situation. “Naturally,” William II replied calmly, “things cannot go on like this indefinitely and we must find a way to end it all.” On September 13th a meeting was held at Great Headquarters — which were now at Spa in Belgium — attended by the Kaiser, the Crown Prince, the Chancellor, and Foreign Secretary Hintze. The Kaiser favoured the communication of German conditions through the Queen of Holland, and Chancellor Hertling was given permission to act when he saw fit, though it was generally agreed that it would be best to wait until the Allied offensive had died down. Apparently the Emperor believed that he had some weeks in hand, for he suggested setting up a Commission of Propaganda for “reducing the enemy’s confidence and enhancing that of the German people.” His proposal came to nothing, for the war was nearly over; but it is interesting to notice that only now, when the German Army was facing defeat, did he begin to understand that power could reside somewhere else than with the military.
The armistice did not come for another three months, but everyone at the meeting in Spa knew that Germany was doomed. What did the Kaiser do during these days so crucial for the fate of his country? He retired to his private castle at Wilhelmshöhe near Kiel “to await the holding up of the enemy.” The Empress had suffered a mild heart attack, and William II seized the excuse to remain three weeks at Wilhelmshöhe pursuing mild diversions. “We behave here as though nothing had happened,” Müller wrote acidly on August 20th. “For example this afternoon we set out in five cars to visit a picture gallery at Kassel…” and on the 24th: “This evening Gontard brought the Kaiser a pencil sketch which had been found in the castle and was thought to be the Kaiser’s work, although in actual fact it was by an Italian seascape painter Marino, now living in London. His Majesty commented: ‘You know, if I had that man’s talents I should have been a seascape painter and not an Emperor and I shouldn’t be in such a horrifying position to-day.’”
The Kaiser recognised the position as horrifying; he knew that the end was approaching but he could not bring himself to initiate the moves that would bring his world crashing around his head; so the war proceeded, and the slaughter continued. Meanwhile Princess Blucher was writing in her diary: “The whole political situation is so perilous at the moment that everyone feels something momentous must be going to take place… Capitalists and large landowners are beginning to talk in earnest about their land being confiscated and their property divided up in the Bolshevik manner. The whole public spirit is so depressed and the universal suffering so great that the people are threatening to take matters into their own hands Wounded men refuse to conse
nt to operations which might heal an injured limb, on the ground that they would then be sent back to the front, and they have no intention of going there.”[445]
The Empress was rapidly improving but after eight days at Wilhelmshöhe the Emperor complained of the state of his own health and summoned Dr. Kraus for consultation. His advisers knew their imperial master so well that they warned Kraus beforehand that if he found nothing wrong with the Emperor to say so with great firmness. But Kraus slipped up, for in answer to a question from the Kaiser he said that it would be a good thing if His Majesty was to supervise the diet and prescriptions given by the doctors to the Empress. “And this was distorted to mean that His Majesty must remain with the Empress. And out there on the Western Front blood is flowing in streams and one strip after another is being given up.”[446]
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