In the foregoing pages an attempt has been made to consider the series of events which immediately preceded the recent outbreak of war. But the most complete account of moves and counter-moves, and of all the pretexts, arguments, demands, and appeals which were put forward by the various governments concerned, with the object of forcing on, justifying, circumscribing, or preventing the present struggle, can never give us the true explanation of why it occurred. For this we must look much further back than Midsummer last, and at other things besides the correspondence between Foreign Ministers and Ambassadors.
Nobody in his senses believes that Europe is at present in a convulsion because the heir-presumptive to the throne of Austria was murdered at Serajevo on the 28th of June. This event was tragic and deplorable, but it was merely a spark—one of that cloud of sparks which is always issuing from the chimney-stack of the European furnace. This one by ill-luck happened to fall upon a heap of combustibles, and set it in a blaze.
Great events, as the Greeks discovered several thousand years ago, do not spring from small causes, {70} though more often than not they have some trivial beginning. How came it that so much inflammable material was lying ready to catch fire?
To answer this question truthfully we need more knowledge of men and things than is given in those books, of varying hue, which the Chancelleries of Europe have published to explain their causes of action. The official sources provide much valuable information; but they will never explain to us why public opinion in Germany, ever since the beginning of the present century, has been inflamed with hatred against this country. Nor will they ever give us any clear idea as to what extent, and where, the practical aims and policies of that nation and our own were in conflict.
According to the state papers, it would appear that Russia was drawn into this war because of Servia, and France because of Russia, and Belgium because of France, and we ourselves because of Belgium; but it may well be doubted if even the first of this row of ninepins would have been allowed to fall, had it not been for the feelings which the German people and their rulers entertained towards Britain.
It is always hard for a man to believe in the sincerity, friendliness, and peaceful intentions of one against whom he is himself engaged in plotting an injury. German distrust of England was based upon the surest of all foundations—upon her own fixed and envious determination to overthrow our empire and rob us of our property. Her own mind being filled with this ambition, how could she be otherwise than incredulous of our expressions of goodwill? How could she conceive that we were so blind as not to have penetrated her thoughts, so deaf as not to have heard the threats which her public characters {71} were proclaiming so openly? Consequently when British Statesmen uttered amiable assurances they were judged guilty of a treacherous dissimulation.... One can only shrug one's shoulders, marvelling at the nightmares and suspicions which a bad conscience is capable of producing even among intelligent people.
THE DANGER POINT
It has been the fashion for half a century or more to talk of the Balkans as the danger-point of European peace. In a sense this is true. The crust is very thin in that region, and violent eruptions are of common occurrence. But the real danger of upheaval comes, not so much from the thinness of the crust, as from the violence of the subterranean forces. Of these, by far the most formidable in recent times have been the attitude of public opinion in Germany towards England—the hatred of England which has been sedulously and systematically inculcated among the people of all ranks—the suspicions of our policy which have been sown broadcast—the envy of our position in the world which has been instilled, without remission, by all and sundry the agencies and individuals subject to the orders and inspiration of government. An obsession has been created, by these means, which has distorted the whole field of German vision. National ill-will accordingly has refused to yield to any persuasion. Like its contrary, the passion of love, it has burned all the more fiercely, being unrequited.
The fact which it is necessary to face, fairly and squarely, is that we are fighting the whole German people. We may blame, and blame justly, the Prussian junkers, the German bureaucracy, the Kaiser himself, for having desired this war, schemed {72} for it, set the match to it by intention or through a blunder; but to regard it as a Kaiser's war, or a junkers' war, or a bureaucrats' war is merely to deceive ourselves. It is a people's war if ever there was one. It could not have been more a people's war than it is, even if Germany had been a democracy like France or England.
The Kaiser, as regards this matter, is the mirror of his people. The Army and the Navy are his trusted servants against whom not a word will be believed. The wisdom of the bureaucracy is unquestioned. In matters of faith the zealous eloquence of the learned men is wholly approved. All classes are as one in devotion, and are moved by the same spirit of self-sacrifice. Hardly a murmur of criticism has been heard, even from the multitudes who at other times march under the red flag of Socialism.
Although a German panic with regard to Russia may have been the proximate occasion of this war, the force which most sustains it in its course is German hatred of England. We must recognise this fact with candour, however painful it may be. And we must also note that, during the past nine months, the feelings against England have undergone a change by no means for the better.
At the beginning the German people, if we may judge from published utterances, were convinced that the war had been engineered by Russia, and that England had meanly joined in it, because she saw her chance of crushing a dangerous and envied rival.
Two months later, however, it was equally clear that the German people were persuaded—Heaven {73} knows how or why!—that the war had been engineered by England, who was using France and Russia as her tools. Behind Russia, France, Belgium, Servia, and Japan—according to this view—stood Britain—perfidious throughout the ages—guiding her puppets with indefatigable skill to the destruction of German trade, colonies, navy, and world-power.
FANTASTIC ERRORS
Confiding Germany, in spite of all her unremitting abuse of Britain, had apparently, for some reason, really believed her to be a friend and a fellow Teuton! Could any treachery have been blacker than our own in outraging these family affections? And for Britain to support the Slav and the Celt against the Teuton, was judged to be the worst treachery of all—race treachery—especially by the Prussians, who, having forgotten that they themselves are half Slavs, seemed also to have forgotten that the British are largely Celts.
Every Englishman, whether he be an admirer of Sir Edward Grey's administration of Foreign Affairs or not, knows these dark suspicions to be merely nonsense. He knows this as one of the common certainties of existence—just as he knows that ginger is hot i' the mouth. Every Englishman knows that Sir Edward Grey, his colleagues, his advisers, his supporters in Parliament and out of it, and the whole British race throughout the world, hated the idea of war, and would have done—and in fact did, so far as in them lay—everything they could think of to avert it. Yet the German people do not at present believe a single word of this; and there must be some reason for their disbelief as for other things.
Unfortunately the nations of the world never {74} see one another face to face. They carry on their intercourse, friendly and otherwise, by high-angle fire, from hidden batteries of journalistic howitzers. Sometimes the projectiles which they exchange are charged with ideal hate which explodes and kills; at others with ideal love and admiration which dissolve in golden showers, delightful and amazing to behold. But always the gunners are invisible to each other, and the ideal love and admiration are often as far removed from the real merits of their objective as the ideal hate.
That there was no excuse, beyond mere fancy on Germany's part, for her distrust of British policy, no one, unless he were wholly ignorant of the facts, would dream of maintaining. During the years which have passed since 1870, our intentions have very rarely been unfriendly. Still more rarely, however, have we ever shown any real comprehension of the German point of view. Never have we made our policy clear. The last is hardly to be wondered at, seeing that we had not ourselves taken the pains to understand it.
On occasions, it is true, we have been effusive, and have somewhat overstepped the limits of dignity, plunging into a gushing sentimentality, or else wheedling and coaxing, with some material object—the abatement of naval expenditure, for example—showing very plainly through our blandishments. And as our methods at these times have been lacking in self-respect, it is not wonderful if they have earned little or no respect from others. Our protestations that we were friends, our babble about blood-relationship, were suspected to have their origin in timidity; our appeals for restriction of armaments, {75} to our aversion from personal sacrifice and our senile penuriousness.
FAULTS OF ENGLISH METHODS
Until lately these lapses into excessive amiability, it must be allowed, were not very frequent. The main excuse for German suspicion is to be found elsewhere—in the dilatoriness of our foreign policy—in its inability to make up its mind—in its changeability after its mind might have been supposed made up—in its vagueness with regard to the nature of our obligations towards other powers—whom we would support, and to what extent, and upon what pleas.
Irritation on the part of Germany would have been natural in these circumstances, even if she had not been in the mood to suspect dark motives in the background. From the days of Lord Granville to those of Sir Edward Grey, we had been dealing with a neighbour who, whatever her failings might be, was essentially businesslike in her methods. We, on the other hand, continued to exhibit many of those faults which are most ill-regarded by business men. We would not say clearly what regions came within our sphere of influence. We would not say clearly where Germany might go and where we should object to her going; but wherever she went, we were apt after the event to grumble and make trouble.
The delay and indecision which marked Lord Granville's dealings with Bismarck over the partition of Africa were both bad manners in the international sense, and bad policy. The neglect of Sir Edward Grey, after Agadir, to make clear to his fellow-countrymen, and to the world at large, the nature and extent of our obligations to France, was bad business. Next {76} to the British people and our present allies, Germany had the best reason to complain of this procedure, or rather of this failure to proceed.
The blame for this unfortunate record rests mainly upon our political system, rather than on individuals. We cannot enjoy the benefits of the most highly developed party system in the world, without losing by it in various directions. A change of Government, actual or impending, has more often been the cause of procrastination and uncertainty than change in the mind of the Foreign Minister. There are people who assure us that this must always be so, that it is one of the inherent weaknesses of party government, and even of democracy itself. This is not altogether true. It is true, however, that whereas statesmen may be reticent and keep their own counsel under an autocracy, they are bound to be frank, and simple, and outspoken as to their aims, where their power is drawn directly from popular support.
BAD DIPLOMACY
The criticism against British foreign policy for upwards of a century, is that it has aimed at managing our international relations on a system of hoodwinking the people, which is altogether incompatible with the nature of our institutions. The evils which have resulted from this mistake are not confined to ourselves, but have reacted abroad. "With whom," we can imagine some perplexed foreign Chancellor asking himself—"with whom does power really rest in England? With the Government or with the people? With which of these am I to deal? To which must I address myself? As regards France there is little difficulty, for her policy is national, and agreed on all hands. But in England, so far as we can judge, the people have no idea of {77} being dragged under any circumstances into a European war; while on the other hand, the Government is obviously drifting, consciously or unconsciously, into continental relations which, in certain events, can lead to no other result...." Nor is it surprising that under these conditions German diplomacy should have directed itself of late, with much industry, to the cultivation of public opinion in this country, and should at times have treated our Government with scant respect.
The fact is that the two nations, which had most to gain by clear-sighted and tactful foreign policy, were perhaps of all nations in the world the least well served in that particular. English relations with Germany have for many years past been more mismanaged than anything except German relations with England. In their mutual diplomacy the fingers of both nations have been all thumbs.
It is not to be wondered at that two characters so antagonistic in their natures and methods as English and German foreign policy should have come to regard one another as impossible. The aggressive personage who does know his own mind, and the vague, supercilious personage who does not, have only one point in common—that they understand and care very little about the feelings of other people. But although this is a point in common, it is anything but a point of agreement.[1]
{78} The causes of what has happened will never be clear to us unless we can arrive at some understanding of the ideas, aspirations, and dreams which have filled the minds of the German people and our own during recent years. On logical grounds we must consider the case of Germany first, for the reason that all the warmth of enmity has proceeded from her side, and, until recent events suddenly aroused the Old Adam in us, the uncharitable sentiments of our neighbours were not at all cordially reciprocated over here.
As in romantic drama, according to the cynics, there is usually one who loves and another who allows itself to be loved, so in this case there was one who hated and another who allowed itself to be hated. The British nation could not understand why the Germans were so angry and suspicious. Nor would it trouble to understand. It was bored with the whole subject; and even the irritation which it felt at having to find huge sums annually for the Navy did not succeed in shaking it out of its boredom.
INTERNATIONAL MISCONCEPTIONS
The most careful analysis of our thoughts about Germany would do little to explain matters, because, as it happened, by far the greater part of our thoughts was occupied with other things. Indeed we thought about Germany as little as we could help thinking; and although we regretted her annoyance, {79} our consciences absolved us from any responsibility for it.
It was entirely different with Germany. For many years past she had been more occupied with her grievances against Britain, and with the complications and dangers which would beset any attempt at redress, than with any other single subject; or indeed, so it would appear, with all other subjects put together.
It is important to understand the German point of view, but it is difficult. For at once we are faced with the eternal obstacle of the foreigner, who sets out in search of a simple explanation. The mind of the ordinary man, like that of the philosopher, is hypnotised by a basic assumption of the One-ness of Things. He wants to trace all trouble to a single root, as if it were a corn and could be extracted. But in an enquiry like the present we are confronted at every turn with the Two-ness of Things, or indeed with the Multiplicity of Things.
We have only to read a few pages of any German book on England to see that the other party to the dispute is confronted with exactly the same difficulty. We are amazed, and perhaps not altogether chagrined, to discover that, to German eyes, British policy appears to be a thing of the most rigorous consistency. It is deliberate, far-sighted, and ruthless. It is pursued with constancy from decade to decade—nay from century to century—never faltering, never retreating, but always going forward under Whig and Tory, Liberal and Conservative alike, to the same goal. And we of course know, if we know anything, that this picture, though very flattering to our political instinct, is untrue.
If Englishmen know anything at all, they know that the foreign policy of this country during the last fifty years—under Lord Beaconsfield, and Mr. Gladstone, Lord Salisbury, and Mr. Asquith—has been at times a series of the most eccentric wobbles and plunges, like a kite which is drawn at the wrong angle to the wind. Nay, even as regards our participation in this very War—which in the German White Book is asserted to have been preconceived and undertaken by us with a craft and coolness worthy of Machiavelli himself—we can see from our own White Paper that the final decision wavered this way and the other, from day to day during the critical week, neither the Cabinet nor public opinion being clear and unanimous as to the course which ought to be pursued.
Vacillation in national policy usually appears to hostile observers in the light of perfidy. And it must be admitted that there is good excuse for the mistake, seeing that weakness in such high matters is quite as likely to injure everybody concerned as wickedness itself.
Assuredly no sensible person who was required to make a defence of British foreign policy, either during the century which has passed since the battle of Waterloo, or in the much shorter period since the death of Queen Victoria, would ever dream of doing so on the ground that its guiding principles have been consistency and singleness of purpose. These, indeed, are almost the last virtues he would think of claiming for it. And yet these are the very qualities which foreign nations are inclined to attribute to British statesmen, by way of praise or blame. Our failures are apt to be overlooked by outside {81} observers; our successes on the other hand are plain and memorable. Other nations assume that because we have happened to achieve some particular result, we must therefore have deliberately and patiently set out to achieve it. Much more often this result has been due either to pure good luck or else to some happy inspiration of the moment.
A wise apologist for our foreign policy would at once concede that it has frequently been characterised by feebleness and indecision, and almost always by a want of clear perception of the end in view; but he could contend with justice that upon the whole, for upwards of a century, it has meant well by other nations, and that accusations of far-sighted duplicity are purely ridiculous.
Our own temptation on the other hand is to visualise a single, gross, overbearing, and opinionated type of the Teuton species. We tend to ignore important differences; and because German public opinion appears to be unanimous in regard to the present War, we are apt to overlook the fact that the love and admiration of the Bavarian and the Saxon for the Prussian are probably some degrees less cordial than those which the men of Kerry and Connemara entertain for the Belfast Covenanters. And we incline also to forget, that though opinion in Germany in favour of war became solid so soon as war was apprehended, and certainly before it was declared, it is exceedingly unlikely, that even in governing circles, there was an equal unanimity as to the procedure which led up to the climax.
THE TRIANGLE OF FORCES
If it were really so, the case is unique in history, which shows us at every other crisis of this sort always the same triangle of forces—a War party, a Peace {82} party, and a Wait-and-See party; each of them pulling vigorously in its own direction; each intriguing against, and caballing with, the other two by turns; until at last the group, still struggling, falls back on the side of safety or, as in the recent instance, pitches over the edge of the precipice.
It would be very hard to persuade any student of history that something of this sort was not occurring both in Vienna and Berlin during the months of June and July 1914. While he would admit to more than a suspicion that intelligences had been passing for a considerably longer period—for a year at least[2]—between the War parties in these two capitals, he would be inclined to take the view, that in the last stage of all, the Berlin group went staggering to perdition, dragging after it the Vienna group, which by that time was struggling feebly in the opposite direction.
LIMITS OF ENQUIRY
When we come to consider the German case it is wise to bear in mind the erroneous judgments which foreigners have passed upon ourselves. It is probable that the One-ness of things which we discover in their actions is to some extent an illusion, like that which they have discovered in our own. Indeed it is a fruitless task to hunt for logic and consistency in things which, in their nature, are neither logical nor consistent. For most of us, who have but a limited range of German books, state papers, journalism, and acquaintances to judge from, it would be vain and foolish to pretend that in a chapter, or a volume, we can lay bare the German attitude of {83} mind. The most we can hope to do is to illuminate this complex subject at certain points; and these for the most part are where the edges rub, and where German policy and temperament have happened to come into conflict with our own.
[1] If we may offer a very homely simile—German policy may be compared to a rude heavy fellow, who comes shoving his way into a crowded bus, snorting aggressively, treading on everybody's corns, poking his umbrella into people's eyes, and finally plumping himself down without a word of regret or apology, between the two meekest and most helpless-looking of the passengers.
British diplomacy, on the other hand, bears a close resemblance to a nuisance, equally well known to the bus public, and no less dreaded. It reminds us constantly of that dawdling, disobliging female who never can make up her mind, till the bus has actually started, whether she wants to go to Shepherd's Bush or the Mansion House. If she has taken a seat she insists on stopping the conveyance in order to get out. If she has remained gaping on the pavement she hails it in order to get in. She cares nothing about the inconvenience caused thereby to other passengers, who do know whither they want to be conveyed, and desire to arrive at their destination as quickly as possible.
[2] We have recently learned from Signor Giolitti, ex-Premier of Italy, that in August 1913 the Foreign Minister, the late Marquis di San Giuliano, was sounded by Austria-Hungary as to whether he would join in an attack upon Servia.