Chapter 24

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.