Book: In the World War

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His political advisers experienced great difficulty in their business
dealings with the Emperor William during the war, as he was generally
at Headquarters and seldom in Berlin. The Emperor Charles's absence
from Vienna was also at times most inconvenient.

In the summer of 1917, for instance, he was at Reichenau, which
necessitated a two hours' motor drive; I had to go there twice or
three times a week, thus losing five or six hours which had to be made
good by prolonged night work. On no account would he come to Vienna,
in spite of the efforts made by his advisers to persuade him to do so.
From certain remarks the Emperor let fall I gathered that the reason
of this persistent refusal was anxiety concerning the health of the
children. He himself was so entirely free from pretensions that it
cannot have been a question of his own comfort that prevented his
coming.

The Emperor's desire to restore the Archduke Joseph Ferdinand to a
post of command was for me a source of much unpleasantness. The
Archduke is said to have been to blame for the Luck failure. I cannot
judge whether wrongly--as the Emperor maintained--or rightly; but the
fact remains that the public no longer had confidence in him. Quite
accidentally I learnt that his reinstatement was imminent. As a matter
of fact, this purely military proceeding in no way concerned me, but I
had to reckon with the feeling of the populace, who were in no mood
for further burdens, and also with the fact that, since Conrad had
gone, none of those in the Emperor's entourage showed the slightest
disposition to acquaint him with the truth. The only general who, to
my personal knowledge, was in the habit of speaking frankly to the
Emperor, was Alvis Schonburg, and he was at this time somewhere on the
Italian front. I therefore told the Emperor that the reinstatement was
an impossibility, giving as my reason the fact that the Archduke had
forfeited the confidence of the country, and that no mother could be
expected to give up her son to serve under a general whom everyone
held to be guilty of the Luck catastrophe. The Emperor insisted that
this view was unjust, and that the Archduke was not culpable. I
replied that, even so, the Archduke would have to submit. Everyone had
lost confidence in him, and the most strenuous exertions of the people
could neither be expected nor obtained if the command were handed to
generals who were unanimously regarded as unworthy of the confidence
placed in them.

My efforts were vain.

I then adopted another course. I sent an official from the Department
of Foreign Affairs to the Archduke with the request that he would
resign voluntarily.

It must be admitted that Joseph Ferdinand took both a loyal and a
dignified attitude, as he himself notified the Emperor that he would
relinquish his command at the front. A short correspondence followed
between the Archduke and myself, which on his side was couched in an
indignant and not over-polite tone; this, however, I did not take
amiss, as my interference had been successful in preventing his
resuming the command.

His subsequent appointment as Chief of the Air Force was made without
my knowledge; but this was of no importance when compared to the
previous plans.

* * * * *

There is no doubt that the Byzantine atmosphere of Berlin took a more
objectionable form than ever was the case in Vienna. The very idea of
high dignitaries kissing the Emperor's hand, as they did in Berlin,
would have been impossible in Vienna. I never heard of anyone, even
among the keenest sycophants, who demeaned themselves by such an act,
which in Berlin, as I know from personal observation, was an everyday
occurrence. For instance, after a trip on the _Meteor_, during the
"Kiel Week," the Emperor presented two German officials with
scarf-pins as a souvenir. He handed the pins to them himself, and
great was my surprise to see them kiss his hand as they thanked him.

Many foreigners were in the habit of coming for the Kiel Week:
Americans, French, and English. The Emperor paid them much attention,
and they nearly always succumbed to the charm of his personality.
Apparently William II. had a preference for America; on the subject
of his feelings regarding England it is difficult to express an
opinion. My impression always was that the Emperor resented the scant
sympathy shown him in England; he strove to make himself beloved, and
the failure of his efforts caused him a certain annoyance. He was
quite aware that the extent of his popularity in England would
proportionately influence Anglo-German relations, and his desire to
find favour in England did not proceed from personal vanity, but from
political interests.

King Edward was known to be one of the best judges of men in all
Europe, and his interest in foreign policy was predominant. He would
have been an ideal ambassador. There was never a very good
understanding between uncle and nephew. When the nephew was already
Emperor, and his much older uncle still only a prince, the difference
in their positions was characterised by the satirical Kiderlen-Waechter
in the following terms: "The Prince of Wales cannot forgive his nephew,
eighteen years younger than himself, for making a more brilliant career
than has fallen to his lot."

Personal sympathy and personal differences in leading circles are
capable of influencing the world's history. Politics are, and always
will be, made by men, and individual personal relations will always
play a certain part in their development. Who can to-day assert that
the course of the world might not have been different had the monarchs
of Germany and England been more alike in temperament? The encircling
policy of King Edward was not brought into play until he was persuaded
that an understanding with the Emperor William was impossible.

The difficulty the Emperor experienced in adapting himself to the
ideas and views of others increased as the years went by, a state of
things largely the fault of his entourage.

The atmosphere in which he lived would have killed the hardiest plant.
Whatever the Emperor said or did, whether it was right or wrong, was
received with enthusiastic praise and admiration. Dozens of people
were always at hand to laud him to the skies.

For instance, a book was published during the war entitled, "Der
Kaiser im Felde," by Dr. Bogdan Kriegen. The Emperor presented me with
a copy when at Kreuznach in May, 1917, and wrote a suitable
inscription inside. The book contained an accurate account of all the
Emperor had done during the campaign--but it was entirely superficial
matter; where he had driven to, where breakfasted, with whom he had
spoken, the jokes he had made, what clothes he wore, the shining light
in his eyes, etc., etc. It also recorded his speeches to the troops;
dull and uninteresting words that he addressed to individual soldiers,
and much more in the same strain. The whole book is impregnated and
permeated with boundless admiration and unqualified praise. The
Emperor gave me the book when I was leaving, and I read it through
when in the train.

I was asked a few weeks later by a German officer what I thought of
the book. I replied that it was trash and could only harm the Emperor,
and that it should be confiscated. The officer shared my opinion, but
said that the Emperor had been assured on all sides that the book was
a splendid work and helped to fire the spirit of the army; he
therefore had it widely distributed. Once, at a dinner at Count
Hertling's, I called his attention to the book and advised him to
suppress it, as such a production could only be detrimental to the
Emperor. The old gentleman was very angry, and declared: "That was
always the way; people who wished to ingratiate themselves with the
Emperor invariably presented him with such things." A professor from
the University had warmly praised the book to me, but he went on to
say: "The Emperor had, of course, no time to read such stuff and
repudiate the flattery; neither had he himself found time to read it,
but would make a point of doing so now." I did not know much of that
professor, but he certainly was not in frequent touch with the
Emperor, nor was the author of the book.

In this instance, as in many others, I concluded that many of the
members of the Emperor's suite were far from being in sympathy with
such tendencies. The court was not the principal offender, but was
carried away by the current of sycophancy.

During my period of office Prince Hohenlohe, the ambassador, had
numerous interviews with the Emperor William, and invariably spoke
most freely and openly to him, and yet always was on the best footing
with him. This was, of course, an easier matter for a foreign
ambassador than for a German of the Empire, but it proves that the
Emperor accepted it when done in proper form.

In his own country the Emperor was either glorified and exalted to the
skies or else scorned and scoffed at by a minority of the Press in a
prejudicial manner. In the latter case it bore so evidently the stamp
of personal enmity that it was discredited _a priori_. Had there
existed earnest papers and organs that would, in dignified fashion,
have discussed and criticised the Emperor's faults and failings, while
recognising all his great and good qualities, it would have been much
more satisfactory. Had there been more books written about him showing
that the real man is quite different from what he is made to appear to
be; that he is full of the best intentions and inspired with a
passionate love of Germany; that in a true and profound religious
sense he often wrestles with himself and his God, asking himself if he
has chosen the right way; that his love for his people is far more
genuine than that of many of the Germans for him; that he never has
deceived them, but was constantly deceived by them--such literature
would have been more efficacious and, above all, nearer the truth.

Undoubtedly the German Emperor's gifts and talents were above the
average, and had he been an ordinary mortal would certainly have
become a very competent officer, architect, engineer, or politician.
But for lack of criticism he lost his bearings, and it caused his
undoing. According to all the records the Emperor William I. was of a
very different nature. Yet Bismarck often had a hard task in dealing
with him, though Bismarck's loyalty and subservience to the dynastic
idea made him curb his characteristically ruthless frankness. But
William I. was a self-made man. When he came to the throne and began
to govern his kingdom was tottering. Assisted by the very capable men
he was able to find and to retain, he upheld it, and by means of
Koeniggraetz and Sedan created the great German Empire. William II. came
to the throne when Germany had reached the zenith of her power. He had
not acquired what he possessed by his own work, as his grandfather
had; it came to him without any effort on his part; a fact which had a
great and far from favourable influence on his whole mental
development.

The Emperor William was an entertaining and interesting _causeur_. One
could listen to him for hours without wearying. Emperors usually enjoy
the privilege of finding a ready audience, but even had the Emperor
William been an ordinary citizen he would always have spoken to a
crowded house. He could discourse on art, science, politics, music,
religion, and astronomy in a most animated manner. What he said was
not always quite correct; indeed, he often lost himself in very
questionable conclusions; but the fault of boring others, the greatest
of social faults, was not his.

Although the Emperor was always very powerful in speech and gesture,
still, during the war he was much less independent in his actions than
is usually assumed, and, in my opinion, this is one of the principal
reasons that gave rise to a mistaken understanding of all the
Emperor's administrative activities. Far more than the public imagine
he was a driven rather than a driving factor, and if the Entente
to-day claims the right of being prosecutor and judge combined in
order to bring the Emperor to his trial, it is unjust and an error,
as, both preceding and during the war, the Emperor William never
played the part attributed to him by the Entente.

The unfortunate man has gone through much, and more is, perhaps, in
store for him. He has been carried too high and cannot escape a
terrible fall. Fate seems to have chosen him to expiate a sin which,
if it exists at all, is not so much his as that of his country and his
times. The Byzantine atmosphere in Germany was the ruin of Emperor
William; it enveloped him and clung to him like a creeper to a tree; a
vast crowd of flatterers and fortune-seekers who deserted him in the
hour of trial. The Emperor William was merely a particularly
distinctive representative of his class. All modern monarchs suffer
from the disease; but it was more highly developed in the Emperor
William and, therefore, more obvious than in others. Accustomed from
his youth to the subtle poison of flattery, at the head of one of the
greatest and mightiest states in the world, possessing almost
unlimited power, he succumbed to the fatal lot that awaits men who
feel the earth recede from under their feet, and who begin to believe
in their Divine semblance.

He is expiating a crime which was not of his making. He can take with
him in his solitude the consolation that his only desire was for the
best. And notwithstanding all that is said and written about William
II. in these days, the beautiful words of the text may be applied to
him: "Peace on earth to men of goodwill."[4]

In his retirement from the world his good conscience will be his most
precious possession.

Perhaps in the evening of his days William II. will acknowledge that
there is neither happiness nor unhappiness in mortal life, but only a
difference in the strength to endure one's fate.


2

War was never in William II.'s programme. I am not able to say where,
in his own mind, he had fixed the limits he proposed for Germany and
whether it was justifiable to reproach him with having gone too far in
his ambition for the Fatherland. He certainly never thought of a
_unified_ German world dominion; he was not so simple as to think he
could achieve that without a war, but his plan undoubtedly was
permanently to establish Germany among the first Powers of the world.
I know for certain that the Emperor's ideal plan was to come to a
world agreement with England and, in a certain sense, to divide the
world with her. In this projected division of the world a certain
part was to be played by Russia and Japan, but he paid little heed to
the other states, especially to France, convinced that they were all
nations of declining power. To maintain that William intentionally
prepared and started this war is in direct opposition to his long
years of peaceful government. Helfferich, in his work "Die
Vorgeschichte des Weltkrieges," speaks of the Emperor's attitude
during the Balkan troubles, and says:

A telegram sent by William II. at that time to the Imperial
Chancellor explains the attitude of the German Emperor in this
critical position for German politics, being similar to the
situation in July, 1914. The contents of the telegram are as
follows: "The Alliance with Austria-Hungary compels us to take
action should Austria-Hungary be attacked by Russia. In that case
France would also be involved, and in those circumstances England
would not long remain quiescent. The present prevailing questions
of dispute cannot be compared with that danger. It cannot be the
intention of the Alliance that we, the life interest of our ally
not being endangered, should enter upon a life-and-death conflict
for a caprice of that ally. Should it become evident that the
other side intend to attack, the danger must then be faced."

This calm and decided standpoint which alone could maintain peace
was also the German policy observed in further developments. It
was upheld when confronted by strong pressure from Russia, as also
against other tendencies and a certain transitory ill-feeling in
Vienna.

Whether such feeling did exist in Vienna or not I cannot say, but I
believe the account is correct.

It has already been mentioned that all the warlike speeches flung into
the world by the Emperor were due to a mistaken understanding of their
effect. I allow that the Emperor wished to create a sensation, even to
terrify people, but he also wished to act on the principle of _si vis
pacem para bellum_, and by emphasising the military power of Germany
he endeavoured to prevent the many envious enemies of his Empire from
declaring war on him.

It cannot be denied that this attitude was often both unfortunate and
mistaken, and that it contributed to the outbreak of war; but it is
asserted that the Emperor was devoid of the _dolus_ of making war;
that he said and did things by which he unintentionally stirred up
war.

Had there been men in Germany ready to point out to the Emperor the
injurious effects of his behaviour and to make him feel the growing
mistrust of him throughout the world, had there been not one or two
but dozens of such men, it would assuredly have made an impression on
the Emperor. It is quite true that of all the inhabitants of the
earth, the German is the one the least capable of adapting himself to
the mentality of other people, and, as a matter of fact, there were
perhaps but few in the immediate entourage of the Emperor who
recognised the growing anxiety of the world. Perhaps many of those who
so continuously extolled the Emperor were really honestly of opinion
that his behaviour was quite correct. It is, nevertheless, impossible
not to believe that among the many clever German politicians of the
last decade there were some who had a clear grasp of the situation,
and the fact remains that, in order to spare the Emperor and
themselves, they had not the courage to be harsh with him and tell him
the truth to his face. These are not reproaches, but reminiscences
which should not be superfluous at a time when the Emperor is to be
made the scapegoat of the whole world. Certainly, the Emperor, being
such as he is, the experiment would not have passed off without there
being opposition to encounter and overcome. The first among his
subjects to attempt the task of enlightening the Emperor would have
been looked upon with the greatest surprise; hence no one would
undertake it. Had there, however, been men who, regardless of
themselves, would have undertaken to do it, it would certainly have
succeeded, as not only was the Emperor full of good intentions, but he
was also impressionable, and consistent purposefulness on a basis of
fearless honesty would have impressed him. Besides, the Emperor was a
thoroughly kind and good man. It was a genuine pleasure for him to be
able to do good, neither did he hate his enemies. In the summer of
1917 he spoke to me about the fate of the deposed Tsar and of his
desire to help him and subsequently bring him to Germany, a desire due
not to dynastic but to human motives. He stated repeatedly that he had
no desire for revenge, but "only to succour his fallen adversary."

I firmly believe that the Emperor clearly saw the clouds grow blacker
and blacker on the political horizon, but he was sincerely and
honestly persuaded that it was not through any fault of his that they
had accumulated, that they were caused by envy and jealousy, and that
there was no other way of keeping the threatening war danger at bay
than by an ostentatious attitude of strength and fearlessness.
"Germany's power and might must daily be proclaimed to the world, for
as long as they fear us they will do us no harm"--that was the
doctrine that obtained on the Spree. And the echo came back from the
world, "This continued boasting of German power and the perpetual
attempts at intimidation prove that Germany seeks to tyrannise the
world."

When war broke out the Emperor was firmly convinced that a war of
defence was being forced on him, which conviction was shared by the
great majority of the German people. I draw these conclusions solely
from my knowledge of the Emperor and his entourage and from other
information obtained indirectly. As I have already mentioned, I had
not had the slightest connection with Berlin for some years previous
to the war, and certainly not for two years after it broke out.

In the winter of 1917, when I met the Emperor again in my capacity as
Minister for Foreign Affairs, I thought he had aged, but was still
full of his former vivacity. In spite of marked demonstrations of the
certainty of victory, I believe that William II. even then had begun
to doubt the result of the war and that his earnest wish was to bring
it to an honourable end. When in the course of one of our first
conversations I urged him to spare no sacrifice to bring it to an end,
he interrupted me, exclaiming: "What would you have me do? Nobody
longs for peace more intensely than I do. But every day we are told
that the others will not hear a word about peace until Germany has
been crushed." It was a true answer, for all statements made by
England culminated in the one sentence _Germanium esse delendam_. I
endeavoured, nevertheless, to induce the Emperor to consent to the
sacrifice of Alsace-Lorraine, persuaded that if France had obtained
all that she looked upon in the light of a national idea she would not
be inclined to continue the war. I think that, had the Emperor been
positively certain that it would have ended the war, and had he not
been afraid that so distressing an offer would have been considered
unbearable by Germany, he would personally have agreed to it. But he
was dominated by the fear that a peace involving such a loss, and
after the sacrifices already made, would have driven the German people
to despair. Whether he was justified in this fear or not cannot now be
confirmed. In 1917, and 1918 as well, the belief in a victorious end
was still so strong in Germany that it is at least doubtful whether
the German people would have consented to give up Alsace-Lorraine. All
the parties in the Reichstag were opposed to it, including the Social
Democrats.

A German official of high standing said to me in the spring of 1918:
"I had two sons; one of them fell on the field of battle, but I would
rather part with the other one too than give up Alsace-Lorraine," and
many were of the same opinion.

In the course of the year and a half when I had frequent opportunities
of meeting the Emperor, his frame of mind had naturally gone through
many different phases. Following on any great military success, and
after the collapse of Russia and Roumania, his generals were always
able to enrol him on their programme of victory, and it is quite a
mistake to imagine that William II. unceasingly clung to the idea of
"Peace above all." He wavered, was sometimes pessimistic, sometimes
optimistic, and his peace aims changed in like manner. Humanly
speaking, it is very comprehensible that the varying situation in the
theatre of war must have influenced the individual mind, and everyone
in Europe experienced such fluctuations.

Early in September, 1917, he wrote to the Emperor Charles on the
subject of an impending attack on the Italian front, and in this
letter was the following passage: "I trust that the possibility of a
common offensive of our allied armies will raise the spirits of your
Foreign Minister. In my opinion, and in view of the general situation,
there is no reason to be anything but confident." Other letters and
statements prove the Emperor's fluctuating frame of mind. He, as well
as the diplomats in the Wilhelmstrasse, made use, with regard to the
"war-weary Austria-Hungary," of such tactics as demonstrated a
pronounced certainty of victory in order to strengthen our powers of
resistance.

* * * * *

The Archduke Friedrich deserves the greatest praise for having kept up
the friendly relations between Vienna and Berlin. It was not always
easy to settle the delicate questions relating to the conduct of the
war without giving offence. The honest and straightforward nature of
the Archduke and his ever friendly and modest behaviour saved many a
difficult situation.

After our collapse and overthrow, and when the Imperial family could
be abused with impunity, certain newspapers took a delight in covering
the Archduke Friedrich with contumely. It left him quite indifferent.
The Prince is a distinguished character, of faultless integrity and
always ready to put down abuse. He prevented many disasters, and it
was not his fault if he did not succeed every time.

When I saw the Crown Prince Wilhelm again after several years, in the
summer of 1917, I found him very tired of war and most anxious for
peace. I had gone to the French front on purpose to meet him and to
try if it were possible through him to exercise some conciliatory
pressure, above all, on the military leaders. A long conversation that
I had with him showed me very clearly that he--if he had ever been of
warlike nature--was then a pronounced pacifist.

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