Читать книгу In the World War - Graf Ottokar Theobald Otto Maria Czernin von Chudenitz - Страница 19

Table of Contents

The Emperor William has been for so long the centre of historic events, so much has been written about him, that apparently he should be known to all the world; and yet I believe he has often been misrepresented.

It is well known that the scarlet thread running through the whole character of William II. was his firm conviction that he was the "elect of God," and that the dynasty was inextricably bound to the German people. Bismarck also believed in the dynastic fidelity of the Germans. It seems to me that there is just as little dynastic as republican spirit in nations—just as little in the Germans as in others. There is merely a feeling of content or discontent which manifests itself either for or against the dynasty and the form of government. Bismarck himself was a proof of the justice of this argument. As he himself always maintained, he was thoroughly dynastic—but only during the lifetime of the Emperor William I. He had no love for William II., who had treated him badly, and made no secret of his feelings. He hung the picture of the "young man" in the scullery and wrote a book about him which, owing to its contents, could not be published.

The Monarchists who derive benefit from their attachment to the reigning monarch deceive themselves as to their true feelings. They are Monarchists because they consider that form of government the most satisfactory one. The Republicans, who apparently glorify the majesty of the people, really mean themselves. But in the long run a people will always recognise that form of government which soonest can give it order, work, prosperity and contentment. In ninety-nine per cent. of the population the patriotism and enthusiasm for one or other form of government is nothing but a matter of material considerations. They prefer a good king to a bad republic, and vice versa; the form of government is the means to the end, but the end is the contentment of the people governed. Nor has the liberty of those governed anything to do with the form of government. Monarchical England is just as free as Republican America, and the Bolshevists have demonstrated ad oculus to the whole world that the proletariat exercises the greatest tyranny.

The war that was lost swept away the monarchs, but the Republics will only be maintained if they can convince the people that they are more successful in satisfying the masses than the monarchs were, a proof which—it seems to me—the German-Austrian Republic, at any rate, has hitherto failed to give.

The conviction that these questionable statements not only are false but also objectionable and criminal errors; that the Divine Will has placed the monarch at his post and keeps him there—this conviction was systematically imprinted in the German people, and formed an integral part of the views attributed to the Emperor. All his pretensions are based on this; they all breathe the same idea. Every individual, however, is the product of his birth, his education and his experience. In judging William II. it must be borne in mind that from his youth upwards he was deceived and shown a world which never existed. All monarchs should be taught that their people do not love them; that they are quite indifferent to them; that it is not love that makes them follow them and look up to them, but merely curiosity; that they do not acclaim them from enthusiasm, but for their own amusement, and would as soon hiss at them as cheer them. The loyalty of subjects can never be depended on; it is not their intention to be loyal, but only contented; they only tolerate the monarchs as long as they themselves are contented, or as long as they have not enough strength to abolish them. That is the truth, a knowledge of which would prevent monarchs from arriving at unavoidably false conclusions.

The Emperor William is an example of this. I do not think there is another ruler who had better intentions than he had. He lived only for his calling—as he viewed it. All his thoughts and longings were centred round Germany. His relations, pleasures and amusements were all subservient to the one idea of making and keeping the German people great and happy, and if good will were sufficient to achieve great things William II. would have achieved them. From the very beginning he was misunderstood. He made statements and gestures intended not only to win his listeners but the whole world, which had just the contrary effect. But he never was conscious of the practical effect of his actions, because he was systematically misled, not only by those in his immediate presence, but by the entire German people. How many millions, who to-day fling curses at him, could not bow low enough when he appeared on the horizon in all his splendour; how many felt overjoyed if the Imperial glance fell on them!—and none of them realise that they themselves are to blame for having shown the Emperor a world which never existed, and driven him into a course which he otherwise would never have taken. It certainly cannot be denied that the whole nature of the Emperor was peculiarly susceptible to this characteristically German attitude, and that monarchs less talented, less keen, less ready, and above all, less impregnated with the idea of self-sufficiency, are not so exposed to the poison of popularity as he was.

I once had the opportunity of studying the Emperor William in a very important phase of his life. I met him at the house of a friend in the celebrated days of November, 1908, when great demonstrations against the Emperor occurred in the Reichstag, and when the then Imperial Chancellor, Prince Bülow, exposed him. Although he did not allude to the matter to us with whom he was not familiar, the powerful impression made upon him by these events in Berlin was very obvious, and I felt that in William II. I saw a man who, for the first time in his life, with horror-stricken eyes, looked upon the world as it really was. He saw brutal reality in close proximity. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he felt his position on his throne to be a little insecure. He forgot his lesson too quickly. Had the overwhelming impression which prevailed for several days been a lasting one it might perhaps have induced him to descend from the clouds to which his courtiers and his people had raised him, and once more feel firm ground beneath his feet. On the other hand, had the German people often treated the German Emperor as they did then it might have cured him.

A remarkable incident which occurred on this occasion is characteristic of the way in which the Emperor was treated by many of the gentlemen of his suite. I had opportunity, while waiting at a German station restaurant for the arrival of the next train, to watch and study the excitement of the population at the events in Berlin, which bore signs of a revolutionary character. The densely crowded restaurant re-echoed with discussion and criticisms of the Emperor, when suddenly one of the men stood up on a table and delivered a fiery speech against the head of the Government. With the impression of this scene fresh in my mind, I described it to the members of the Emperor's suite, who were just as disagreeably affected by the episode, and it was suggested that nothing should be said about it to the Emperor. One of them, however, protested most energetically and declared that, on the contrary, every detail should be told to the Emperor, and, so far as I know, he himself probably undertook this disagreeable task. This case is characteristic of the desire to keep all unpleasantness from the Emperor and to spare him even the most well-founded criticisms; to praise and exalt him, but never to show that he was being blamed. This systematic putting forward of the Emperor's divine attributes, which in reality was neither due to love of his personality nor any other dynastic cause, but to the purely egotistical wish not to get into disfavour themselves or expose themselves to unpleasantness; this unwholesome state must in the long run act on mind and body as an enervating poison. I readily believe that the Emperor William, unaccustomed to so great an extent to all criticism, did not make it easy for those about him to be open and frank. It was, nevertheless, true that the enervating atmosphere by which he was surrounded was the cause of all the evil at his court. In his youth the Emperor William did not always adhere strictly to the laws of the Constitution; he subsequently cured himself of this failing and never acted independently of his counsellors. At the time when I had official dealings with him he might have served as a model of constitutional conduct.

In the case of so young and inexperienced a man as the Emperor Charles it was doubly necessary to uphold the principle of ministerial responsibility to the fullest extent. As according to our Constitution the Emperor is not responsible to the law, it was of the greatest importance to carry out the principle that he could undertake no administrative act without the cognisance and sanction of the responsible Ministers, and the Emperor Francis Joseph adhered to this principle as though it were gospel.

The Emperor Charles, though full of good intentions, was devoid of all political training and experience, and ought to have been brought up to understand the principles of the Constitution. This, however, had never been taken into consideration.

After my resignation in April, 1918, a deputation from the Constitutional and Central Party in the Herrenhaus waited on the Prime Minister, Dr. von Seidler, and pointed out the importance of a severely constitutional régime, whereupon Dr. von Seidler declared that he took upon himself the full responsibility of the "letter incident."

This was quite preposterous. Dr. von Seidler could not be responsible for events that had occurred a year before—at a time when he was not Minister—apart from its being an established fact that during his tenure of office he was not aware of what had happened, and not until after my resignation did he learn the Imperial views on the situation. He might just as well have accepted responsibility for the Seven Years War or for the battle of Königgrätz.

In 1917 and '18, when I had certain official dealings with the Emperor William, his horror of an unpleasant discussion was so great that it was a matter of extreme difficulty to impart the necessary information to him. I recollect how once, at the cost of the consideration due to an Emperor, I was compelled to extract a direct statement from him. I was with the Emperor Charles on the Eastern front, but left him at Lemberg and, joining the Emperor William in his train, travelled with him for a couple of hours. I had certain things to submit to him, none of which was of an unpleasant nature. I do not know why it was, but it was obvious that the Emperor was expecting to hear some disagreeable statements, and offered a passive resistance to the request for a private interview. He invited me to breakfast with him in his dining-car, where he sat in the company of ten other gentlemen, and there was no possibility of beginning the desired conversation. Breakfast had been over some time, but the Emperor made no sign of moving. I was several times obliged to request him to grant me a private interview before he rose from the table, and even then he took with him an official from the Foreign Ministry to be present at our conversation as though to have some protection against anticipated troubles. The Emperor William was never rude to strangers, though he often was so to his own people.

With regard to the Emperor Charles, the situation was very different. He was never anything but friendly; in fact I never saw him angry or vexed. There was no need for any special courage in making an unpleasant statement to him, as there was no danger of receiving a violent answer or any other disagreeable consequences. And yet the desire to believe only what was agreeable and to put from him anything disagreeable was very strong in the Emperor Charles, and neither criticism nor blame made any lasting impression on him. But in his case, too, the atmosphere that surrounded him rendered it impossible to convince him of the brutal realities prevailing. On one occasion, when I returned from the front, I had a long conversation with him. I reproached him for some act of administration and asserted that not only on me but on the whole Monarchy his action had made a most unfavourable impression. I told him in the course of the conversation that he must remember how, when he came to the throne, the whole Monarchy had looked to him with great hopes, but that now he had already lost 80 per cent. of his popularity. The interview ended without incident; the Emperor preserved, as usual, a friendly demeanour, though my remarks must have affected him unpleasantly. Some hours later we passed through a town where not only the station but all buildings were black with people, standing even on the roofs, waving handkerchiefs and loudly welcoming the Imperial train as it passed through. The same scenes were repeated again and again at other stations that we passed. The Emperor turned to me with a smile and a look that showed me he was firmly convinced everything I had told him as to his dwindling popularity was false, the living picture before our eyes proving the contrary.

When I was at Brest-Litovsk disturbances began in Vienna owing to the lack of food. In view of the whole situation, we did not know what dimensions they would assume, and it was considered that they were of a threatening nature. When discussing the situation with the Emperor, he remarked with a smile: "The only person who has nothing to fear is myself. If it happens again I will go out among the people and you will see the welcome they will give me." Some few months later this same Emperor disappeared silently and utterly out of the picture, and among all the thousands who had acclaimed him, and whose enthusiasm he had thought genuine, not one would have lifted a little finger on his behalf. I have witnessed scenes of enthusiasm which would have deceived the boldest and most sceptical judge of the populace. I saw the Emperor and the Empress surrounded by weeping women and men wellnigh smothered in a rain of flowers; I saw the people on their knees with uplifted hands, as though worshipping a Divinity; and I cannot wonder that the objects of such enthusiastic homage should have taken dross for pure gold in the firm belief that they personally were beloved of the people, even as children love their own parents. It is easy to understand that after such scenes the Emperor and Empress looked upon all the criticism of themselves and the discontent among the people as idle talk, and held firmly to the belief that grave disturbances might occur elsewhere but not in their own country. Any simple citizen who has held for a time a higher position experiences something of the kind, though in a lesser degree. I could mention names of many men who could not bow low enough as long as I was in power, but after my resignation would cross the street to avoid a bow, fearing that Imperial disfavour might react on them. But years before his rise the simple citizen has an opportunity of learning to know the world, and, if he be a man of normal temperament, will feel the same contempt for the servility shown during his time in office as for the behaviour he meets with afterwards. Monarchs are without training in the school of life, and therefore usually make a false estimate of the psychology of humanity. But in this tragi-comedy it is they who are led astray.

It is less easy, however, to understand that responsible advisers, who are bound to distinguish between reality and comedy, should also allow themselves to be deceived and draw false political conclusions from such events. In 1918 the Emperor, accompanied by the Prime Minister, Dr. von Seidler, went to the South Slav provinces to investigate matters there. He found, of course, the same welcome there as everywhere, curiosity brought the people out to see him; pressure from the authorities on the one hand, and hope of Imperial favours on the other, brought about ovations similar to those in the undoubtedly dynastic provinces. And not only the Emperor, but von Seidler returned in triumph, firmly convinced that everything stated in Parliament or written in the papers respecting the separatist tendencies of the South Slavs was pure invention and nonsense, and that they would never agree to a separation from the Habsburg Empire.

The objects of these demonstrations of enthusiasm and dynastic loyalty were deceived by them, but I repeat that those who were to blame were not the monarchs, but those who were the instigators and organisers of such scenes and who omitted to enlighten the monarchs on the matter. But any such explanation could only be effectual if all those in the immediate neighbourhood of the ruler concurred in a similar reckless disregard of truth. For if one out of ten people declares such scenes to be not genuine and the others contradict him and assert that the demonstrations of the "love of the people" are overwhelming, the monarch will always be more inclined to listen to the many pleasant rather than to the few unpleasant counsels. Willingly or unwillingly, all monarchs try, very humanly, to resist awakening out of this hypnotic complacency. Naturally, there were men in the entourage of the German Emperor whose pride kept them from making too large an offering to the throne, but as a rule their suffering in the Byzantine atmosphere of Germany was greater than their enjoyment. I always considered that the greatest sycophants were not those living at court, but generals, admirals, professors, officials, representatives of the people and men of learning—people whom the Emperor met infrequently.

During the second half of the war, however, the leading men around the Kaiser were not Byzantine—Ludendorff certainly was not. His whole nature was devoid of Byzantine characteristics. Energetic, brave, sure of himself and his aims, he brooked no opposition and was not fastidious in his choice of language. To him it was a matter of indifference whether he was confronted by his Emperor or anyone else—he spoke unrestrainedly to all who came in his way.

The numerous burgomasters, town councillors, professors of the universities, deputies—in short, men of the people and of science—had for years prostrated themselves before the Emperor William; a word from him intoxicated them—but how many of them are there now amongst those who condemn the former régime with its abuses and, above all, the Emperor himself!

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 Königgrätz 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.